Sunday, November 04, 2007

November marks the first anniversary of Tales of the City. During the past year, we've received personal essays on every sort of topic: geek love, accidental encounters, the saving grace of music and dealing with cancer and Alzheimer's disease. But the most popular subject is one to which we dedicate this month's Tales of the City: home sweet home. Today, three writers remember their first Austin home.

Close encounters at Morris Williams

When my husband and I moved to Austin in 1979, our first residence was a duplex close to what was then Robert Mueller Municipal Airport. John and I lived there for only five months, but that little duplex will always stand out in my mind, mainly because of what lay beyond the hedges of its backyard: the Morris Williams Municipal Golf Course.

I've always detested golf. My parents were avid golfers who discussed their daily rounds in excruciating, hole-by-hole detail at the dinner table. On weekends, when our single TV wasn't tuned to football, the screen was filled with images of manicured green expanses bordered by spectators, breathlessly watching the pros tee off while commentators spoke in reverential whispers.

The Morris Williams course, on the other hand, was anything but quiet. It was so close to the airport that the blasts of jets taking off and landing could be deafening. When we were in our backyard and one of the big planes screamed through the sky, all conversation ceased while we waited for it to pass.

At night, the golf course beckoned to us. We and the neighbors would squeeze through the bushes and head toward the landing lights that bordered one of the fairways. There, we all settled back into a semi-reclining position against the light structures, as if lounging at a seaside resort, and awaited the show.

Most nights, with prevailing winds out of the southeast, the planes took off toward us. By the time they passed overhead, they had already gained substantial altitude, but it was still thrilling as we watched them soar past.

The best nights, however, were the ones in which the winds changed course. Then, the planes took off in the opposite direction, neglecting the Morris Williams route altogether — but the incoming flight paths were precisely over the golf course lights.

The planes appeared to dive directly at us, low to the ground, giving us a close-up view of their lighted underbellies during their thunderous descents. We squealed with delight and panic at every one. It was "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" for a private audience of four.

Never once during those nocturnal outings in 1979 did we have any competition for the best seats at the landing lights. And never before that time, nor since, have I had such a magical experience on a golf course.

Jo Dwyer and her husband, John, own and live on Angel Valley Organic Farm in Jonestown.

My magical town

I was eight months pregnant with our third child when my husband and I drove over the hill outside Buda in 1968 and caught our first glimpse of Austin. It was love at first sight. Trees, hills, lots of green.

Corpus Christi had not been good to us the previous two years. The city couldn't support one more struggling young dentist like Jim.

We moved into a rented house in Cherry Creek and Jim moved his practice to Austin. His office was in the heart of what is now SoCo.

Six months later, we poured the foundation for a home of our own in a new neighborhood near rustic Slaughter Lane. We liked being out in the boonies, and the trees in Castlewood Forest were magnificent. We went into major debt to finance the $28,000, four-bedroom home.

Our kids and the dog had the run of the neighborhood. Gradually other families moved in, but it was still relatively secluded in 1977, the year Jim and I divorced. Mother pressured me to move "back home" to Houston, but I wanted my kids to grow up in the city I had come to love.

Where else could you shop at a Kmart right across the street from a working sheep farm? The schools were good, the lakes were nearby, and we had live music at Armadillo World Headquarters, Threadgill's, Antone's and the Vulcan Gas Company. We could hear Willie Nelson or Leon Russell or Waylon Jennings and Jessi Colter at night, and during the day, we tuned in to KMFA, the only noncommercial classical music station in the country. The kids and I caught Longhorn fever and hung out at Disch-Falk Field all spring. Every August, there was Aquafest, with its fireworks display and river parade on Town Lake.

In 1983 I remarried, and Homer and I settled in Tarrytown. What we love about this neighborhood is the small-town feeling, the sense of community that's rare these days. It's almost like being a kid again — I can bike to extracurricular classes on the UT campus. The post office, Howson Library, our church and the drugstore are within easy walking distance. Young couples have begun moving back into the area, bringing with them a new vigor.

There's something magical about Austin — the way it grabs hold of your heart before you even realize it. Without a lot of fuss and bother, people demonstrate genuine mutual respect and a spirit of sharing and caring. It's not perfect, but it's darned close, and even after 40 years the place never ceases to surprise and delight me.

Glenda Goehrs lives in Tarrytown.

Long live Mrs. Hopewell

My name is Starr Rivers. I'm just a kid, 10 years old. My sisters and I were born triplets at Seton hospital in July 1997, one minute apart.

We lived on a street called Sagebrush Trail. Right in front of our house was this tree that I fell in love with. My sisters, Simone and Sherl, and I named her Mrs. Hopewell.

We loved Mrs. Hopewell. She was 139 years old — well, that's what we said. My sisters and I have great imaginations, and we felt like we were not imagining her existence. When we rode around in the car, we would see trees and say that they were her brothers and sisters and husband, etc.

My parents were always taking us somewhere, especially my mother, and on summer nights we would go to Central Market and listen to music. That was my favorite place, and I really got inspired to sing and dance. I loved it when people would stop and look amazed because we're triplets. I felt like a celebrity when that happened. And I felt one day that I would be up there on the stage, singing for those people at Central Market.

We moved from Austin a couple of years ago. I still visit Austin and talk to my kindergarten friends. I still have that soul for music and dancing. I miss going to Central Market. And I miss seeing Miss Hopewell, climbing on her and imagining her reading to us just like a real grandma would.

Starr Rivers is a fifth-grader at Fuentes Elementary School in Kyle.