"Don't Mess with Texas:" 30 years of swagger works

(okay, before reading this, DISREGARD YOUR KNOWLEDGE OF TEXAS AND ANY OF THE FOLLOWING: the governor and the legislature, the gun nuts, over-the-top church-goers, school funding (or lack thereof), traffic, our newly elected Senator, yankee immigrants, Tea Partiers, environmental laxity, whoever disassembled the Southwest Conference, Vidor and its (hopefully) former residents, John Connally (who I think started the swing from 99 percent Democrat to 99.9 percent Republican), litigious nightmares that keep physicians out of low-income regions, and any of the crazies who have attracted international media attention)


So screw you, we're from Texas

Screw you, we're from Texas

Screw you, we're from Texas

We're from Texas, screw you

 -- Ray Wylie Hubbard, "Screw You, We're From Texas"

Yeah, we Texans can be a proud and vocal group, and we can certainly turn a phrase:

• Remember the Alamo
• America's Team
• Houston ... the Eagle has landed
• One riot, one Ranger
• Bless her heart
• "Poor George ... he was born with a silver foot in his mouth" -- Ann Richards, former Texas governor

And, of course -- going back to the days when today's residents were immigrants and immigrants now were residents -- Davy Crockett's "You can go to hell. I'm going to Texas."

My in-laws are from the East Coast -- Maryland, Virginia, West Virginia -- and at a family gathering a few years ago, a new-to-me family member said, "You Texans sure are cocky. I've seen those "Don't Mess with Texas" signs.

It broke my heart to tell him that "Don't Mess with Texas" -- his perceived beacon of chest-beating, Texan-machismo swagger -- is an anti-litter campaign.



Ask any long-time Texan about the days before open-container laws, and he'll share with you stories of drinking a six-pack while driving, and tossing the cans out the window of his pick-up and into the truck's bed. Unfortunately, not all Texas drive pick-ups so there is nothing to catch the litter; and most, especially after drinking while driving, aren't very good shots, so Texas found itself with a huge amount of trash on its highways.

In 1985, the Texas Highway Commission (now the Texas Department of Transportation or TxDOT) researched its worst offenders and launched the "Don't Mess with Texas" public-education campaign to stop the embarrassment and clean up the mess.

The advertising and public relations campaign kicked off during the 1986 Cotton Bowl with a television ad featuring Texas blues-guitar legend Stevie Ray Vaughn. Audience-specific ads featuring an anti-litter rendition of The Fabulous Thunderbirds' "Are you Tough Enough" and Dallas Cowboys legends Randy White and Ed "Too Tall" Jones followed.

In 1987, Texas music icon Jerry Jeff Walker gave us all credit for getting the can in the back of the truck, but reminded us that it won't stay there at 70 MPH. Two years later, the god of Texas music (and, therefore, all of Texas) Willie Nelson involved our mamas and told them not to let us grow up and throw cans from our pick-up trucks. In 1998, born-again non-litters voted this "Don't Mess with Texas" TV commercial as their all-time favorite.

One of my favorites is 1994's "Cowboy Poet," featuring Fort Worth's Steve Murrin -- the "Mayor of Worth Stockyards" -- reciting anti-litter poetry around a campfire ... when an oncoming 18-wheeler reminds him of his pappy's advice of not camping in the middle of the road (screw you, we're from Texas).

By 1998, TxDOT research indicated that 98 percent of Texans had heard of "Don't Mess with Texas," but only 61 percent knew it was an anti-litter campaign (guess I should take back all those names I called my in-law).

Research also found that the greatest littering offenders --- tagged Gen L for Generation Litter -- were 16- to 24-year-olds known for drinking, smoking, eating fast food and, of course, driving a lot. Smooth-talking, hot-bodied actor and native Texan Matthew McConaughey spoke directly to the age group with a little mock vigilante action that resulted in Scarlet Letter-style deportation for litterers.

In 2005, the TxDOT announced that litter on Texas highways had dropped 33 percent since 2001. It also launched the Litter Force, a school-by-school awareness campaign urging "super-hero" first graders to "blast the trash," hoping to create Texas' first litter-free generation.

Responding to research that children who saw their parents litter were more likely to litter, TxDOT shored up the Litter Force campaign with a series of TV ads -- "I wouldn't do it," "This is" and "Trashball" -- featuring Texans popular among parents of younger children to deliver its role-model-needed message. Chuck Norris helped deliver the message, and as we all know, litter throws itself back in the truck when it sees Chuck Norris.

In 2006, Advertising Week named "Don't Mess with Texas" to its Walk of Fame as America's Favorite Slogan. Since its first Austin ADDY Award in 1986, the campaign has continued to rank among the top award-winning advertising and public relations campaigns.

By 2010, when all-that-is-country-music's George Strait (my name is George; what happened?) joined the fray, 82 percent of Texans had heard of "Don't Mess with Texas" and knew what it meant.

Earlier this year, TxDOT rolled out an updated "Don't Mess with Texas" advertising and public relations campaign, targeting the same Gen L, this time those 16- to 24-year-olds not born when the original campaign started.

And because Texas music played a major role in "Don't Mess with Texas" and because it didn't involve Gary P. Nunn ... well, you could ask me what I like about Texas, "but we'd be here all night long."

(all research data provided by dontmesswithtexas.org)

Follow me on Twitter @FWgib

Dad-isms #2

More temporarily useless tips and advice for my kids

Sometimes the things that may or may not be true are the things a man needs to believe in the most. That people are basically good. That honour, courage and virtue mean everything; that power and money ... money and power mean nothing. That good always triumphs over evil. And I want you to remember this.... that love....true love never dies ! Remember that, boy ... remember that. Doesn’t matter if it is true or not, a man should believe in those things because those are the things worth believing in...... got that ? . . . Hub McCann, Second-Hand Lions

In Texas, they don’t worry much, about things they can’t control . . . Jerry Jeff Walker (Keep Texas Beautiful)

And you still can hear me singing to the people who don’t listen to the things that I am saying, praying someone’s going to hear; And I guess I’ll die explaining how the things that they complain about are things they could be changing, hoping someone’s goin’ to care . . . Kris Kristofferson (To Beat the Devil)

If you want to become the best runner you can be, start now. Don’t spend the rest of your life wondering if you can do it . . . Priscilla Welch (running legend, author)

He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint . . . Isaiah 40: 29-31 (a perfect prayer for old guys wanting to run)

And from me:

Screw credit before it screws you.

Best advice ever: treat everyone as if they have WIFM written on their forehead -- 'what's in it for me?'

Stand up straight. Be tall (there’s nothing better than being tall).

Come up with solutions, not problems or excuses. Find a way to get it done.

Be a leader. People need someone to step up to the plate.

Chew with your mouth closed.

Role Models

The Drive Home

Today's drive home (even though I left early enough to not battle rush hour), just like every day, was a b****. It brought to mind a few songs:

Welcome to Texas
Brian Burns
Welcome to Texas, don't anybody get me wrong;
We’re glad y’all came to see us, just don’t forget to go back home.
We don’t need your politics, we don’t need your prayers,we don’t need your moral compass leadin’ us anywhere.
We don’t need your business, we don’t need your art, we don’t really give a damn how you did things up north.

Screw You. We're From Texas
Ray Wylie Hubbard
So screw you, we're from Texas
Screw you, we're from Texas
Screw you, we're from Texas
We're from Texas, screw you
(Has he seen me before? I got on my cowboy boots, jeans; And Hawaiian shirt, mirrored sunglasses; And a mobile phone; I guess I look like some Port Aransas dope dealer that's out on bail; Just trying to get home)

I Don't Live in Dallas
Jarrod Birmingham
You're a whole bunch of yuppies
With nothing to do but keep Isuzu in business
We all know it's true
I'd like to sell you to Oklahoma
If they could only afford you
Cuz I don't live in Dallas
I live in Texas

Southbound 35
Pat Green
I'm staring at this ocean full of Yankees, and I'd rather be in Texas on my own.
So we were southbound 35 (okay, I live northbound on IH-35, but I do have a yankee-child wife and a pick-up . . . truck)
We were headed down the road, hit the border by the morning
Let Texas fill my soul, yeah let Texas fill my soul.

Whew! I feel better now.

Escaping the Witness Protection Program

I think my wife believes I'm part of the Witness Protection Program.

She's from Baltimore, and I'm from Texas. I've spent time with her family in Maryland and have met some long-time family friends and even some high school and college classmates. My wife's met members of my extended family, mostly at my Aunt Dorothy's beach birthday parties (yea, Bolivar!) or at weddings and funerals; and, although she's visited Port Arthur, she's never heard anyone say, 'I knew George when . . . .'

I grew up in Port Arthur, which for those of you not from 'round here, is about 90 miles east of Houston, 10-15 miles from the beach, and a quick drive 'cross the river' to Louisiana. Except for a high school friend now married to my ex-wife, she's never met high school or college friends from my life in Port Arthur. As a result, she must think that I made it all up and that I'm hiding from . . . well, somebody. Upside . . . at least I'm important enough to have to hide.

So, who cares?

As my kids have grown older and are beginning to leave home, I'm more disappointed that they've never connected with their heritage (my mother's was born in Jeanerette, Louisiana, and grew up in Port Arthur; my dad's from Mayfield, Kentucky, and moved to Texas after World War II).

Tell my kids that they're Cajuns -- coon-asses to some -- and that boudain, dirty rice and gumbo are heavenly delicacies (sorry, I'm not a crawfish fan), and they'll look at you like you're . . . well, just about as out of touch as their dad. I left Port Arthur right after college, didn't look back and didn't visit much, and before I knew it -- after I realized that my kids thought Cajun was a chicken sandwich at Wendy's -- my parents were old and soon died.

We live in suburban Fort Worth and have no family within a six-hour drive; no family that my kids know well within the two-day drive to Baltimore (don't cry for me, Evangelina; we have friends here from all over the country . . . all over the world actually, some we've known since our arrival in Fort Worth in 1990).

If you're still with me, you're asking what's set me off?

1) Nobody in my family will eat boudain or gumbo. Dirty rice is out of the question, just on name alone.

2) I Googled "'Port Arthur' and 1974" last week, and found the blog site of a former high school classmate who I knew but not well. We chatted (why couldn't any of us be that interesting in high school?), and she closed with 'Good luck finding other TJ classmates.'

I realized that I sounded like I was looking to re-live the 'glory days (or in my case, the gory days) of high school. In reality, I think I'm Googling for that recipe to mend the disconnect between our Chili's-Home Depot-Staples-Target-Dillards (and a bunch of teen-trendy. one-word-name mall stores) suburban lifestyle and our diluted Cajun heritage.

By the way, did you know that in Baltimore they steam their seafood and not deep-fry it? After rassling for a couple of ounces of crab meat, I ask for a cheeseburger.

So . . . know any good Cajun recipes? And if you know me, but don't know anybody named Corleone (remember the Witness Protection Program? . . . oh, come on; it wasn't that bad!), holler at me.