Yes, Texas is Different

One of the attractions of the Bob Bullock Museum of Texas State History, an imposing institution just across the street from the campus of the University of Texas at Austin, is “The Star of Destiny,” a fifteen-minute “multimedia experience” purporting to tell “the stories of determination, perseverance, and triumph that have formed the Texas spirit.” It’s a World’s Fair-type presentation, narrated by an actor dressed up as Sam Houston and filmed to look like he’s standing onstage. What makes it “multimedia” is that, besides film, it uses slides projected on a three-screen setup and, in a segment about the gargantuan Galveston hurricane of 1900, employs strobe lights to mimic lightning and a hidden wind machine to blow great gusts of cold misty air into the startled faces of audience members.

At one point, the screens go black and we see projected in white letters:

TEXAS IS BIGGER THAN FRANCE AND ENGLAND

Black again. Then (you knew it was coming):

…COMBINED.

A bit later, another black screen/white letters sequence:

BEFORE TEXAS WAS A STATE…

(portentous pause)

TEXAS WAS A NATION

This, of course, is a reference to the Republic of Texas, as this spacious corner of the world styled itself from 1836 to 1846. In truth, the Republic of Texas was a transitional entity, the larval stage of the State of Texas. Nevertheless, “The Star of Destiny” has a point. Texas is different. It is big, for a start. Not as big as Alaska, which is bigger than France and England and Germany and Japan … combined, but big enough. And it was a nominally independent if ramshackle republic, with embassies and a Congress and everything. Vermont, Hawaii, and, arguably, California were once independent republics, too, but they don’t make a fetish of it. Texas does.

Texas is different. The qualities—the very existence—of the Bob Bullock Museum of Texas State History are evidence of that. Modesty is not the museum’s keynote. On the plaza out front is a huge sculpture of a five-pointed star. It must be twenty feet high. (“Mmm, subtle,” our ninth-grader murmured.) Inside, the exhibits are an uneasy combination of ethnic correctness and unrestrained boasting. One would think that Texas, besides being very, very great, has always been ruled by a kind of U.N. Security Council consisting of one white male, one white female, one black person, one American Indian, and one Mexican or Mexican-American, all of them exemplars of—the phrase is repeated ad nauseam—courage, determination, and hard work.

The stories the exhibits tell are mostly about the state’s economy, agricultural and industrial. Whether it’s oil extraction or cattle raising, rice farming or silicon chipmaking, quicksilver mining or sheepherding, the elements of each are usually the same. A few men become extraordinarily rich. These men are praised for their courage, determination, and hard work. The laborers whose labor produces their wealth are ruthlessly exploited. (The exhibits don’t put it this way, obviously, but the facts are there if you have eyes to see them.) These unfortunates may be poor white men; they may be Mexican immigrant women; they may be enslaved blacks or African-Americans held in sharecropper peonage. They, too, are praised for their courage, determination, and hard work. It all adds up to an unending progression of triumphs for the Texas spirit.

The boasting does not take long to taste a little sour. It begins to feel defensive and insecure. One begins to sense that the museum, on some level, knows that a lot of it is, well, bullockshit.

And yet, and yet. There are redeeming grace notes. The current temporary exhibit at the Bob Bullock Museum is one of them. It’s about Texas music: blues, rock, country, country rock, bluegrass, singer-songwriter, alt-whatever. In this exhibit, the boastfulness feels like simple accuracy and the nods to “diversity” are not a stretch. Respect is shown, properly, to Willie Nelson, Leadbelly, Stevie Ray Vaughan (whose battered Stratocaster occupies a place of honor), Janis Joplin, Big Mama Thornton, and many equally deserving others. And, as befits Austin, there’s live music. During our visit, a fine, fringed six-piece cowboy-country band played and sang a tribute to mid-century radio. All was forgiven.

Does the name Bob Bullock ring a bell? As lieutenant governor “under” George W. Bush (in Texas the post is independently elected and has powers that rival those of the governorship itself), Bob Bullock (1929-1999), a Democrat, was responsible for Dubya’s pre-Presidential reputation for bipartisanship and moderation. In his long career in state government, Bullock was, as far as I can tell, a net plus for Texas, even if his late-in-life Bush-enabling made him a net minus for the nation and the world. But you have to hand it to Texas. How many states would name their enormous marble-clad museum of state history not after a big donor but after a backroom career politician who, by the way, was also a five-times-married alcoholic?

by Hendrick Hertzberg, New Yorker |  Read more:
Photo: Paul Morse