The Ragged Edge: The inflammatory incident at Bob's

I wasn't going to talk about this. Really. I thought the incident had been contained, the damage controlled leaving me to endure a bit of rowdy but good-natured ribbing.

But, since my wife was dragged into this mess, I suppose I'd better set the record straight. Full disclosure and all that.

First of all, despite what you might have inferred from the radio, Tia Rae had nothing to do with it. She was an innocent bystander, possibly guilty by association but certainly not by commission.

(By the way, that blabber mouth on the radio - and you know who you are- should take this as fair warning that I don't get mad, I get even ... and what I write stays in print for a loooong time.)

I'd like to blame it on exhaustion or Shiner or distraction but the simple fact is: I tried to burn down Bob's Steakhouse.

Fortunately, I'm as inept at pyromania as I am at fighting fires.

Here's the whole, sordid story.

It was Friday evening about two weeks ago. Tia Rae and I were tired ... exhausted from eight long weeks of rehearsals at the community theater combined with a brutal work schedule. Since all the kids were away, we didn't have to go home and cook (not that we've done much of that this summer - but vegetables are something you don't eat unless you take time to actually prepare a meal instead of heating up sausage or opening a can of tuna).

Anyway, on this Friday evening, all I really wanted was a good steak and a cold beer - not necessarily in that order. So, we went to Bob's where they know to keep the Shiner cold and how to cook a rib eye that J. Frank Dobie would have appreciated. We barely even have to place the order, which is mighty handy when you are so tired you can hardly speak.

Before we had a chance to find a table, James Brogger sidled out from behind the register. The youngster used to work in our mailroom and spent Friday nights busing tables. It was thrilling to discover that James had not only graduated from C.H. Yoe High School in good standing but from washing dishes at Bob's: James was our waiter that night.

James came back with my Shiner and a basket of bread. While we waited patiently for our steaks, we spent a little time catching up with him.

I flipped over the paper napkin that had wrapped the bread and buttered a piece while we visited. You know, James is a tall fellow; I remember craning my neck to keep up with our conversation.

Suddenly, a brilliant flare of light danced between us.

"Uh, that's on fire," Tia Rae said, pointing to the breadbasket, her voice tinged with the tenor of mild hysteria.

I glanced down at the breadbasket and saw that, sure enough, I had carefully draped the paper napkin across the sugar dish and over the candle in the middle of the table. As I watched, flames spread from the candle, kissed the sugar packets and engulfed the breadbasket. The scoop of butter, which was nearby, developed a shiny glaze.

James, bless him, tried to smother the fire with his tray, his eyes growing larger by the moment.

Mary Beth, one of the waitresses, raced over and whisked the flaming sugar packets away. A brief flurry of activity by the rest of the staff saw all flames extinguished before I could think to do something really brilliant like grab a handy bottle of whisky and pour it over the flaming bread.

I remained rather calm throughout the incident; my sole effort at fire control was blowing on the flaming sugar packets, a monumentally unhelpful and ineffective action as it merely fanned the fire and spread bits of charred paper onto the melted butter and across to an adjacent table.

A few minutes later, James returned with a fresh basket of bread, this one helpfully labeled, "Caution, contents is combustible." One of his cohorts kindly placed an industrial grade fire extinguisher on the corner of our table.

We've been back to Bob's since. They actually let us in, though they thoughtfully blew out all the candles in the vicinity.

This column was published August 14, 2003 in the Cameron Herald.

The Ragged Edge: The enduring human spirit

Since the inception of our space program, there has been an argument about humanity's presence in space.

Very early in the program, while the various initial boosters were still on the drawing board, Werner Von Braun, the father of our space program, worried that the mandate to put a human in orbit would turn the effort into a circus. He believed that automated probes would be cheaper and deliver more in terms of scientific discovery, that manned space flight would waste resources and lives.

The launch pad fire in 1967 that took the lives of Ed White, Gus Grissom and Roger Chaffee re-ignited that debate, as did near-disaster of Apollo 13. Predictably, with the loss of the Challenger in 1986, and the lives of its crew, opponents of manned space flight once again marshaled its arguments.

In the wake of Saturday's tragic disintegration of STS Columbia on re-entry, we can be sure that this argument will re-emerge as part of the national debate surrounding our space program.

For 40 years, manned space flight has taken place at the very edge of our technological capabilities. Never mind that the space shuttle is an over-grown, glorified grocery truck, it represents the leading edge of our technical abilities ... plus, it is a very flexible and useful grocery truck.

But, every mission is fraught with peril. Every time we light that can of hydrogen on the belly of a space shuttle, every time the shuttle drops like a winged brick into the atmosphere, the lives of the crew are put on the line because the process is not and can never be 100 percent safe and risk free.

Seventeen astronauts have been killed in the last 40 years. If we continue the effort of putting humans in space, we will lose more.

Is it worth the risk? After all, our space probes are becoming more and more sophisticated. The Mars and Jupiter missions of the last decade seemed to vindicate Von Braun's assertion that automated probes are cheaper and can return a huge value for the investment. What's more, the last Mars mission cost about 25 percent of the cost of one shuttle launch and no lives were placed at risk.

But unmanned space missions just aren't the same. They engender no pride; they don't celebrate the human -- the American -- spirit of adventure, of discovery, of pushing back the dark of night the way a manned space mission can.

Apollo 13 was a terrifying moment in the history of our space program but it made heroes of James Lovell, Fred Haise and John Swigert. Few of us remember -- or even care about -- the highly successful Mars Viking project.

We need robotic space missions to help pave the way but the final frontier's grand adventure isn't real until we go there and touch it ourselves.

There is a painting of a pretty little girl wearing a red hat by Pierre-Agusta Renior hanging in the Chicago Museum of Art. You've probably seen pictures of that girl in her red hat in art books or prints of the painting hanging in someone's home. But, until you see the actual painting with your own, unaided eyes, you've never really experienced the depth and vibrancy of the color red. You can't even know that a particular color can have that kind of depth and vibrancy. When you think of it, is awe-inspiring.

Manned space flight is similar. Until we experience the adventure for ourselves, we can't know the awesome potential of human presence in space.

Our manned space program illuminates and even defines our national character and sense of adventure. Those 17 astronauts knew the risks involved and gave their lives in pursuit of that adventure in discovery.

The coming debate over our space program is welcome but, as we discuss its merits, we should never lose sight of the sense of wonder and our aching desire to experience what lies beyond that horizon with our own eyes and heart and mind.

In memoriam ...

• Apollo I (AS-204)-- Jan. 27, 1967 -- Ed White, Gus Grissom, Roger Chaffee

• Challenger (STS-51-L)-- Jan. 28, 1986 -- Rick Scobee, Michael J. Smith, Judith Resnik, Ronald McNair, Ellison Onizuka, Gregory Jarvis, Christa McAliffe

• Columbia (STS-107)-- Feb. 1, 2003 -- Rick Husband, William McCool, Michael Anderson, Kalpana Chawla, David Brown, Laurel Clark, Ilan Ramon

This column was published February, 2003 in the Cameron Herald.