The Alamo and the Irish Invasion

We left Lafayette, LA and spent the next two days at Galveston Island (TX) State Park.  Our campsite was within walking distance of the beach, but our hopes for a sunny beach vacation went unfulfilled. The weather was cold.  The weather was drizzly. The weather was very windy. I only took a few pictures of some brave kids flying kites in a 25-mile wind. I’ll share them at some point.

Next, we took off for San Antonio and a reunion with Mary Jo and Ed, a couple who lived across from us in Wurzburg, Germany over forty years ago during our first Army assignment. The campground at Fort Sam Houston would be our home for the next three days.  Mary Jo and Ed retired in the San Antonio area. They came out to spend some time with us in Lucy, then led us to a very nice Thai restaurant for dinner. They both looked great, and we had much fun catching up after all the years that had passed. The night moved so quickly; I forgot to take pictures. Take my word for it; they looked terrific.

The next day was Sunday, and our plans included a visit to the Alamo and a stroll along San Antonio’s famous Riverwalk. Mary Jo had warned us that because Sunday was also St. Patrick’s Day that we might want to start early…a task that usually gives Helen (adorable wife) a challenge.  Nevertheless, she was up to it, and we made it downtown soon enough to get a parking place near the Alamo as traffic began to build.

At the Alamo, an Irish-American Friendship ceremony was underway, and an Irish dignitary was speaking to the crowd. A long line formed at the entrance to the Alamo.  It took about twenty minutes to reach the front door.  There is no fee for a tour. The exhibits inside are excellent and there is no need for a tour guide. Outside, a short video explained the events of the attack led by General Santa Ana and his 6,000 men against a tiny number of brave fighters inside the small open-air church. As a Tennessean, I spent some time learning about the role of Davy Crockett in the attack.  He performed well but, in the end, Santa Ana spared only the women and children and slaughtered the men.

From the Alamo, Helen and I walked a few blocks to some steps leading down to the Riverwalk.  The color green was everywhere.  Even the river was dyed green. Except for Helen and me, everyone wore green, and the green throng along the river was huge. Boats, similar to parade floats drifted in front of us, filled with St. Patrick’s Day partygoers.  The first float we spotted bore the title of “Mad Dogs” and had a celebrant in the front dressed to resemble the Pope (pictured above). What a hoot!

Continuing along the Riverwalk, an Irish Pub named Waxy O’Conner’s called us inside for an Irish lunch. We shared a table with Connie and Tim, a fun couple from Wisconsin.  Connie was into the celebration in a big way.  She greeted every restaurant patron that passed by and applied a Shamrock sticker to their cheek. Helen and I both received one.  Finally, we wore green.

Soon, the Pope mentioned above entered Waxy O’Conner’s.  Connie posed for a picture with him, then broke out into an Irish dance as the lunchtime musician played a tune on his guitar.  The crowd applauded. Connie can dance. An overserved underling wearing a kilt accompanied the Pope and, on command from His Excellence, the portly fellow would bend over and raise the kilt to allow bar patrons to autograph his derriere with a Sharpie. Several patrons (females among them) accepted the offer. A dozen or more cameras recorded the event. Somehow, this didn’t make my Reuben taste any better, but a bottle of Guinness helped forestall the shock.

We hated to leave the party, but we wanted to take a boat ride in the canal and depart the scene before the traffic got heavy.  Many of the float boats were forming for the parade that was to start in a few minutes. The participants were ready to put on a show and full of the Irish spirit(s). Our boat left ahead of them but the crowd along the canal assumed we were part of the Parade and greeted us with exuberant waves and shouts. At one point along the route, a group of skilled Irish dancers performed to a lively tune for us.

As we returned to the dock, the party showed no sign of letting up, and music everywhere seemed to grow only louder. We took that as our cue to exit at stage left. Helen danced a jig up the stairs and down the block.

It’s days like this that make Easin’ Along so much fun.