T.P. AND ME

The TP McNamara of the Democratic Party in the 1980’s was “THE MAN”.

It was a hot night in September of 1984 and Vic was the DA.

Vic had pulled off a surprise win in the Democratic Party Primary two years before, and the Kingmakers of the party still weren’t exactly happy about it. Felipe had been the anointed one and hard feelings still were there and some never went away.

Vic had settled a big case against CITIZENS NATIONAL BANK, and Pat Beard was still pissed. He chewed on a cigar and hopped around animated when he saw us. LaNelle McNamara had been the attorney for the bank and once a good friend of Vic. Hell, no, no more, however, LaNelle took that one hard and never, ever was Vic’s friend again.

It was so bad that once in the produce section of the old Safeway on 25th. Lanelle had flown over to Vic upset and waving her arms, rehashing the entire case while Vic stood there and took it with a big grin on his face, making it worse. He was still Old Testamet Vic back then.

Rappaport was Beard’s bestie so the disdain leaked over in that direction also but Felipe was so mad over it that the very night of the Primary, after it was clear he had suffered a surprising loss, Felipe announced on KWTX and the newspaper that he was going to be a Republican from then on, and the Democrats bristled back and said, “Well, okay then”.

So as mad as they were at Vic for winning they were also incensed at Felipe and called him a “sore loser” for years after that.

Beard, Rappaport, Segrest and the rest had to walk a fine line with the rest of the Dems as distasteful as Vic was, Felipe was worse. They could get used to Vic but becoming a Republican was the worst thing you could do back then and to hawk it on out there with the WACO TRIB and KWTX was poison.

Somewhere around here I still have a T shirt that says, “Phil can fill the bill”, with a big tucan bird on it.

Vic’s win against Citizen’s Bank gave him the money to buy the hell out of KWTX ads, newspaper, and freed Vic up to campaign day and night which he did. To Beard, having Vic beat Felipe with Citizens Bank money I figure haunted him till the day he died.

However, that’s what happened.

We arrived at a Democratic Fundraiser at the old Cameron Park Clubhouse, a lovely place nestled in the tall trees and green grass of the beautiful park. When we drove up, TP’s big Cadillac was already in the parking lot and let us know that everyone who was ‘ANYONE was there.

Vic, of course, was a hot property that night and upon entering was surrounded by his fans and the eternal fights and accolades began.

I was still, “Mrs. Vic Feazell”, and back then I even signed checks that way. If you remember what a bank check even is.

TP and the venerated Mrs. McNamara were in the center of the room and everyone there was in awe of him and her.

TP McNamara was “the shit”, “The MAN”, the top shelf of what was Good v Evil and he was and still is a Legend. A real Legend, not a paper tiger bullshitter like Par.

Par, to all of us was just “mini me” to TP. Mike was Parnell’s “also ran” and sidekick and that’s how it was.

TP was bigger than life. To see him, with his hat and always hair that was “a little too long” for the rest of the menfolk but okay for TP. He was huge. I am sure he wasn’t but even to my six feet in stature, TP was a mountain of a man.

TP never wore his hat inside either, he was a gentleman.

He also had “that hair”, and you could tell he just told Mrs. McNamara, to “just trim it”, and he looked like he was too busy to get a haircut or he just knew he looked cool as hell with that auburn-ish mane but it was never unkept and from the back it settled right above his collar in loose curls.

What a man.

Everyone was in love with him and his wife, there was something about them both and I feel sure he and she had their own climate zone.

I was too in awe and shy to talk to him and her ever. He was like a unicorn in a odd place and stories swirled about his adventures and anything he did became flat ass “folklore”.

The evening wore on and I had had enough, knowing I had a package of cigarettes in my purse, I walked out of the Clubhouse, down a pathway into the trees looking for a safe place far away to light up.

It was dark and hot and I love the woods. I walked far enough in the mostly dark to where it was silent except for the singing of the bugs and an occasional night bird. The hot air swirled and cooled in the dark and trees as I walked down and down that path.

There was a bench further down and I was aiming for it to enjoy the nothingness and the nicotine when I heard a soft noise I couldn’t identify.

Was that sobbing?

I suddenly found myself about ten feet from a figure slumped on that bench, the figure straightened up when it saw me and I recognized the stranger as TP McNamara.

He saw me, a virtual stranger, quite shy and with his left hand he made a motion to “come over” and sit, so I did.

I don’t remember what gibberish I said, probably not much as I sat down next to the Big Man.

I’ve been “an extra” in other people’s “Movie of Life”, and this small incident was what I call this.

TP, still with tears streaming down his face began to tell me about his daughter, the beloved, “Betti Rose”.

Betti Rose had died in May of 1984 and TP was devastated, he had gone off by himself to grieve and bury his face in his hands in exasperation and feelings I never knew before until years later when I joined “The Club”. The one you are an automatic member of when your child dies.

TP wove a story about Betti Rose that night, what a beautiful little girl she was, how she loved animals, and how she suffered for a long time with her illness and when he saw my cigarettes he lectured me in how Betti Rose loved to smoke too and what it did to her. I am sure he extracted a promise from me to throw the Marlboros away but after talking to him and the eloquent story he shared with me, “if not now, when”, set in later.

TP spewed his grief to the air, to the cosmos, to the trees, to God, and to me.

I was speechless and back in those days “man emotion” didn’t much exist much less tears and wailing but TP wasn’t encumbered by earthly rules on conduct and surely, sorely no rules on true heartbreak and grief.

Sleepless nights, helplessness, god and cosmic anxiety, questioning himself, medicine, doctors, and the eternal “WHY”, and why Betti Rose, the precious girl/woman he adored brought to life in his story and back to the greatest loss of his being with her death and the aftermath. He didn’t want Mrs. McNamara to see him fall apart and here we were.

He finally mustered up a smile and a teary eyed look and told me he would be “okay” and that was my cue to return to the festivities. He apologized for some reason and I left him there in the dark.

I never saw him again except to see him in his big car driving down Valley Mills and when he died in I think 1990, I, along with everyone else, was crushed.

I never met Parnell, if he tells you I have, he’s a liar. I never met Mike either, he did open a door for me once, however, and nodded.

When I first moved to Waco, around 1972 I had seen them in full force somewhere and they had seen me. I was in my twenties and they looked at women a lot differently than TP did.

They scared me, I knew what “brothers” did, hell I had cousins. I never wanted to know them for some primal self preservation reason. Later, of course, I heard the stories about them and the womanizing.

They seemed to me to be the “degenerate offspring of an illustrious sire”, and I figured I had had my own Hallmark Moment with the Motheship, TP, and didn’t care to go any further.

I won’t and can’t compare TP McNamara to my own stepfather, Alphonse, it’s impossible and it didn’t have anything to do with me. I was just an extra in that moment in time I’ll never forget.

TP was never a liar, never a man you had to watch out for, he didn’t and wouldn’t ever embarrass Mrs. McNamara and when they were together, you could tell their love and respect for one another and true devotion.

When she and TP looked at one another and smiled you could tell their relationship had its own long time language with just a glance, a hand on an arm, a gesture.

In the past couple of weeks watching Mandy, who I have given a lot of hell to for not paying her taxes, has humbled me. I put the story up and then took it down. Mandy out there giving them hell, standing by herself against the wicked stepmother and her “daddy” who has obviously given his testicles to Charlotte was amazing to watch.

Had TP been alive, he’dve been with Mandy steadfast protecting the home place and hauling kittens out of the broken boards.

The closest we have to TP by blood is Mandy.

Mandy knows she has my apologizes and in typical woman fashion, I joined in the fight to save the house.

Women can fight like cats, hate one another, ridicule one another, but when the rubber meets the road women can ban TOGETHER on an issue and the result is a fight and somewhere in there maybe a win and the womenfolk getting together stitching a quilt by the time its over.

My apologies once again to Mandy and it’s a damn shame that Par with all his loans, contributions, and spending money on bullshit like an antique car and other just plain SHIT when Mandy needs help is sickening.

To see Parnell throw his McNamara name and homeplace out to replace them with a barndominium garage for his RV and other crap instead of spending the unending cash flow to the home place because of Charlotte’s obvious jealousy of the McNamara family and especially the beautiful sad Linda is a litany of public bullshit.

Mandy needs help, she has two McNamara offspring, and Paw Paw Par has to hide anything he does for his daughters which is beyond the pale.

What would TP do?

Definitely not hide behind an insecure jealous woman against a daughter for sure.

Now, a look at Mandy’s page is a look at the proud past of a Legacy family in its glory days.

The sad pile of bricks and wood remaining is a tribute to a man that’s too old, driven by a woman hell bent on destroying what was for herself and her own jealousy of historical figures that aren’t even here anymore.

The ghosts of the McNamara homeplace still linger in my mind, Mandy’s heart, and Charlotte’s fearful hatred and perhaps will go down in flames in a future rubbish burn.

Time marches on but that night with TP and his love for Betti Rose live in the memory of a nobody from Taylor, Texas with a blog.

I rarely tell the story, but I’m sappy these days and this morning I am walking down that dark path to sit with an old man in pain as I look for my own torn heart over the demise of my darling Milton Wilson.

Some of you have asked me about my story with TP and I hope you like it, I hope I brought him back to life for just a moment for those of you who loved him, admired him, or just, like me watched him and his life and even now in awe.

Thanks for reading me, thanks for being interested in a nobody with a few good stories and a blog from hell.

Thanks for reading someone who can truly say, I don’t know.

xoxo

H