Loving again

I went back to Loving today. The intention was to send myself a postcard, with Loving as the postmark.

I’d lined up a few places not too far away – Paradise, Athens, Paris, Palestine – and planned to mail a postcard from each. Fortunately, I got chatting to the postmistress in Loving, and she told me that the only way to do that was to go into the post office, and ask them to frank it. If I just mailed it outside, it would go to Fort Worth to be franked. That saved me some worthless trekking around, because it was 10:45am, and most of the rural post offices close at around 11am on Saturdays. Anyway, I got one; I foresee some early Saturday starts.

I came back through Jermyn, a very small town with a very small post office, and stopped in Jacksboro for lunch. A billboard had announced that “City Drug” had a soda fountain that was a tourist attraction, so I had to check it out. I wasn’t even sure what a “soda fountain” was. They were somewhat bemused by my questions: What’s the difference between a shake and a malt? (a malt has malt in it …) What’s “frito pie”? (fritos with chilli, cheese and onion). I had a chocolate malt and a grilled cheese sandwich. The locals weren’t as chatty as I’m used to coming across, so that’s about all I learned.

From Jacksboro, I headed towards Bridgeport, through Runaway Bay. Runaway Bay is a bit of an oddity – it has the atmosphere of a beach community, although, of course, it’s hundreds of miles from the coast. It is on the shore of Lake Bridgeport, which is quite a sizeable lake (13,000 acres, or 20 square miles, with 170 miles of shoreline), and is obviously affluent. Nevertheless, it’s not quite what you’d expect to find in the middle of Texas. Bridgeport, on the other hand, is distinctly forgettable – and this is a feature, I think, of every city named Bridgeport that I have thus far encountered.

Decatur has a little more going for it – a town square that, like so many others, is at least attempting rejuvenation. I’m sure you can imagine what it looks like – the town hall in a central island surrounded by a square (with ample parking) populated with bijou coffee shops, cafés, antique and “collectibles” stores, and the inevitable attorney’s offices. Unfortunately, for the most part, if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all, but there’s almost always something to waste money on. It would be reasonable to think that Justin is the city from which “Justin” brand boots originate, especially since the town has several outlet stores selling principally that. It would also be wrong. The Justin boot company started in Indiana, moved to Texas in 1889 (Nocona, not too far from Justin), and then to Fort Worth in 1925. They bought rivals Tony Lama in 1990, and today are owned by Warren Buffet (probably the richest person in the world, at least, if you believe Forbes magazine). I only bought a couple of shirts – difficult to pass up at $12.95 – and so I’ve probably made Warren just a little bit richer.

Justin is, or rather was, also famous for being the home of the Texas Motor Speedway. I say “was” because, in 1995, the US Post Office changed its mailing address from Justin to Fort Worth. I must confess that I haven’t been to the Speedway. I keep thinking I should go, to see what it’s like, but keep forgetting to pick up earplugs.

On an entirely different topic, on an adjacent table at breakfast, a US Marine sat with his back to me. I could tell he was a marine, because his t-shirt proudly hailed “US Marines – First to Fight, Last to Leave.” I think I know what this means, but it’s easy to see how it could be misinterpreted, especially by another culture. This sort of arrogance is what makes America grate (sic).

Jermyn Post Office

Bridgeport Mural

Decatur Mural

Soda Fountain in Jacksboro