Lattes, black coffee, Ludwig, Big Tex
Stuck on the farm with no cream for my morning coffee. Bummer.
Texans should drink their coffee black and not even know how to spell “latte.” I know that. Cowboys historically never milked a cow to add anything to their boiled brew. I’m pretty sure that’s still the rule.
Hats off to cowboys. They set the mark for things truly Texan. They’re good at it. They’re naturals.
Anecdote:
On an episode of the television series “Dallas,” the long-lost mother of the character Cliff showed up. As they were getting acquainted for the first time as adults, he was making fresh coffee. He asked her how she wanted hers.
"Black,” she said.
What a simple answer for a show that featured such convoluted plots! I suspect true Texan Larry Hagman, who played the role of the powerful scoundrel J. R. Ewing, influenced that little part of the script. I once heard he was the unofficial authority on all things Texas for the scriptwriters. They could depend on Larry, a Weatherford boy. Don’t quote me. But as rumors go, if that one isn’t true it should be.
Me, I’ve just never gotten the hang of black. My parents drank their coffee black. My husband drinks his coffee black. Me, I’m headed to town for a latte.
Dressing right is easier.
Today I’ll be playing country music with friends in a part of Oklahoma that used to be Texas and might as well still be. I’ll have to change clothes first.
Boots and jeans are the rule. Any nice blouse or shirt will do — just not a T-shirt. Pearl snaps are a plus.
Looking like performers takes us up a notch from the jammers we are. We even have a name, but I can’t ever quite remember it. Southwest Oklahoma County something-or-other. Once we almost got a gig at a local festival, but something happened.
Does every culture favor special attire for its version of country musicians? Think about Bavarian lederhosen and dirndls. Those outfits are go-to choices for volkslieder groups.
When I sang alto in the German Seaman’s House Choir in New Orleans, the Austrian cultural attachée gave me a blouse, skirt, half-apron and lace-up bodice — close enough to a dirndl. We sang German folk songs and occasionally got invited to sing at Kolb’s, a German restaurant downtown just off Canal Street. For those occasions, we dressed the part.
I remember Walter Maschmeier promising to wear his lederhosen when someone asked, “How are your knees, Walter?”
The most interesting feature at Kolb’s was a working mannequin at ceiling fan level. Ludwig dutifully bobbed up and down, his hands “turning” a crank attached to a system of pulley-driven fans.
You guessed it. Ludwig wore lederhosen. Everybody loved him.
Pity the culture that doesn’t have an exemplary iconic personage like little Ludwig or even Big Tex, famous greeter at the Fair. Especially Big Tex.
Pity us Texans who’ve been pulled off course by counterculture lattes. We’re sorry.
This article originally appeared on Wichita Falls Times Record News: Lattes, black coffee, Ludwig, Big Tex