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On the Road Again
Ode to D.C.: a melting pot of beauty, funk, culture, heritage and history
Once a Texan, always a Texan. Well, according to my Nana. Since I moved away from the Lone Star State in 1981, that’s been my motto. True, I had to adjust to a distinct dearth of Tex-Mex places in my new hometown, but an abundance of expat Tejanos helped me get settled.
It was the beginning of the Reagan presidency, and Moker and I found ourselves settled in D.C. It helped a ton that George H.W. Bush — a Texan by habit if not by birth, just like me — was Ronnie’s Veep. We were part of what was known as the “Texas on the Potomac” tribe — transplanted Texans there to monitor the doings of the new prez and his Lone Star sidekick, Bush. That included politicians, lobbyists, and that all-important third side of the real Federal Triangle — reporters and editors like Moker and me.
We moved from Fort Worth to Capitol Hill, a slowly gentrifying Victorian neighborhood that at the time had more break-ins than neighborhood block parties. Moker used to joke that our rented row house on 11th Street SE was in the middle of the “two Doberman” zone. Translated from ’80s-Speak, I reckon you’d say we were in a “Pitbull Prominent” area of the Nation’s Capital. But the small-town boy and the suburban gal immersed themselves in city life. After a short…
