The only way to see a city is to be a tourist. This is a requirement for those who reside in one as much as it is for someone passing though. When we first arrived in Houston, we knew very little about our new city. Unlike Washington, D.C., which had different destinations we could examine each weekend, our new location did not lend itself to weekend sightseeing. So, on occasion, we became tourists. We would rent a room in a hotel downtown or near the Galleria for use as a center from which we would make our walking excursions.
The Warwick Hotel, on the edge of Hermann Park overlooking the Mecom Fountain, was an example of a truly “grand hotel.” It now has the improbable name: Hotel ZaZa Houston, having been bought by a luxury hotel chain. Karen and I were originally introduced to the Warwick when BCM made reservations there for our first visit to the medical school. Later, we thought it would make an excellent headquarters for a tourist visit to the Park with its zoological and botanical gardens and to the nearby Museum District.
We enjoyed the ability to spend time exploring the sites around us, both natural and artificial. The weather was pleasant. We had chosen an appropriate time during the spring season, when riding the train through the Park presented lively views of people and places. We pinched leaves in the herb garden to induce aromas distinct from the fragrances of plants in bloom in the nearby rose garden. We were surprised when we came upon a young lady and her photographer using one of the smaller, pillared fountain-colonnades as the venue for the usual bridal poses. I recognized her as being a member of our own parish, Christ the Good Shepherd, in Spring. Our interaction led me to realize that Houston may be a smaller town than I had once thought it to be.
The Modern Arts Museum, of course, cannot be appreciated in only a single visit. However, our tourist-weekend afforded an introduction to expeditions we made over the many years which followed. I have a special delight for works from the Middle Ages and the Italian Renaissance. Houston has a very worthwhile permanent exhibit for these periods. During our early years in Houston, I made visits to several traveling exhibits in the museum’s galleries. When they were young, I even took two of our grandsons to the King Tut show. Later, they found the Star Wars exhibit to be of greater interest.
During the last decades, Hermann Park and the Museum District have made significant enhancements. Unfortunately, I have not taken the time to experience them. My interest in art and nature readily available in Houston has not changed but my physical reluctance for waking through new locations has increased. I’m pleased I made use of the time I had years ago to see as much of Houston as I did.
My interest in the performing arts has continued, but, again, there is a case of the spirit being willing, but the joints are weak. In earlier times, while I was still employed downtown at Baylor Med, I would remain in the city after my working hours and Karen would join me for dinner and an evening performance in one of the sites in the Theater District. We never became regular customers at Biraporetti’s but it was our usual place to eat before taking in a performance scheduled for the Broadway Series or for Theater-Under-the-Stars. This was during the era when TUTS had become an indoor venue for traveling musicals.
Among my possessions is a Little Tin Box stuffed with ticket stubs from such events as Brigadoon, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, West Side Story, Thoroughly Modern Millie, Hair, Music Man, A Chorus Line, The King and I, Peter Pan, Singing in the Rain, Fiddler on the Roof, The Lion King, Mama Mia, South Pacific, My Fair Lady, Oliver, and of course: Man of La Mancha. Since Karen had a particular interest in horses, there are also stubs for performances for Cavalia, in which the rider and the ridden seem to become one, and for the more traditional Lipizzaner Stallions appearing at the Compaq Center, since we were able to attend only their practice session on one of our visits to Vienna.
My own Little Tin Box is filled with physical mementos – ticket stubs for times of past enjoyments. Karen gave the box to me many years ago. Among its other contents there is a very tiny book written by Edward Hays, a true storyteller, who believes all of life is a narrative we tell one another. His tale of the Little Tin Box contains the line: “The purpose of any possession … is to make memories! The purpose of money – the only purpose – is to make memories. Things and possessions only rust and age, but memories … are like fine wine – they grow in value with time.”
In Hays’ story, his main characters, Tommy and his wife, have their own twin boxes which hold invisible memories they could take out for warming reflections, until the day when Tommy’s box clicked shut for the last time. In the funeral parlor, his wife replaces the rosary, clasped in his hands, with his Little Tin Box, as he lay in his coffin – an action much to the displeasure of their Polish priest. In response to his pious indignation, she says the memories it contains are Tommy’s daily beads for prayer. That night, her own tin box clicks shut for the final time.
My own Little Tin Box bears the name: Cameos and Carousels: Legacy in Words. I intend to place more memories into it before it clicks shut, the final time.