Dick Dowling

Richard William (Dick) Dowling was born in Knockballyvisteal, Milltown, near Tuam (pronounced Too-am), Country Galway, Ireland in 1838, the second of eight children, born to Patrick and Bridget Qualter Dowling. He emigrated with his parents and six siblings to New Orleanss in the United States in 1846.In 1853, a yellow fever outbreak in New Orleans took the lives of his parents and four of his siblings. Orphaned, Dowling settled in Houston where he established a successful chain of saloons starting in 1857. Dowling was described as a likable red-headed Irishman and wore a large mustache.

By 1860, Dowling owned three saloons. His most successful saloon was named the Bank of Bacchus, located on Courthouse Square in downtown Houston. "The Bank" as it was known locally became Houston's most popular social gathering place in the 1860s and was renowned for its hospitality. Dowling had previous experience as a barkeeper in the Continental Coffeehouse in New Orleans and in Houston opened a saloon known as "The Shades". Quickly establishing himself, Dowling courted publicity from local newspapers and also made a number of property investments. He was also involved in setting up Houston's first gaslight company, and was first to have it installed in his home and "The Bank". Dowling was a founding member of Houston's Hook and Ladder Company Number One fire department and was also involved in running the city's first streetcar compan^y.

At the outbreak of the Civil War Dowling enlisted in a Texas unit composed primarily of Irish dockworkers and known as the Jefferson Davis Guards. He participated in the Battle of Galveston and in 1863 now-Lieutenant Dowling along with a company of 44 men, almost all Irish, known as the Davis guards, was assigned to an earthen artillery post on the Sabine River named Fort Griffin. Known for his skilled artillery work, Dowling spent his time at the remote outpost instructing his men in artillery targeting drills across the Sabine River's two channels, which the fort guarded. He implemented an innovative idea, placing colored poles in the river marking the distance and elevation for his artillery crews.

On September 8, 1863 a Union navy flotilla of 5,000 men attempted to enter the channel. Dowling's artillery drills paid off as the Confederates scored several direct hits on the flotilla, forcing its retreat and leading to the capture of 350 prisoners and a large quantity of supplies, thwarting a Union invasion of Texas.

The 1992 Campaign

As we rush headlong into the summer of 2012 and find ourselves deep into the mud and mire that it will undeniably bring along with it, I am reminded of the 1992 campaign between William Jefferson Clinton and George Herbert Walker Bush. As hard as it is to comprehend, that was twenty tears ago so I realize there may be some who do not remember it well.

My son worked in helping carry off the Republican Convention in Houston. It preceded the Democratic Convention and that would play right into their (the Democrats') hands.

As the convention unfolded, Leftists of every special interest flocked to Houston to to protest and become part of the pageant, and the media was more than happy to accommodate them. Instead of focusing on what was actually happening among united Republicans in the convention, the media highlighted the intentionally created disruptive circus outside and commented that this convention was in turmoil and disarray (which it was not).

I didn't worry too much about it. The media had tried this tactic before with minimal success. But this time I should have worried.

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On the other hand, the convention that was truly in disarray was about to be steered by the capable albeit threatening hands of people like James Carville and Dick Morris. They took the bitter losing Democratic candidates into back rooms and warned them that, because of the huge surprising success of Ross Perot's third party campaign, Clinton had a better than even chance of winning. Because of that, the losing candidates had better hush and present a unified front on the campaign floor or they could kiss good-bye to any future they might hope for in the Democratic Party.

Now the DNC coordinated and orchestrated media presented a picture of unified sweetness and light. There were no protests. Bill and Hillary were so totally in love and this was going to be Camelot all over again, just like it was with JFK and Jackie.

As I think about that now, I have to smile. This time, in many ways, they were right. It was exactly like the Camelot JFK and Jackie had, and just as fictional.

But this time the media's spaghetti stuck to the wall, and Bill Clinton was elected with a plurality of the votes.

The Gods of the Copybook Headings

In a recent program Glenn Beck made me aware of a poem I had forgotten since I studied it in high school. That is probably because when I was in high school I was blissfully unaware of the world at large. I had too many trivial things in mind.

I really became aware of the genius of Rudyard Kipling due to another poem, "Recessional" that subsequently put into a hymn, "God of our Fathers, Whose Almighty Hand".

Recessional was one of those poems written for Queen Victoria's jubilee. It was a stunner, because after all that was written celebrating her reign and the grandeur of the British Empire at that moment, Kipling reminds the people that their seemingly unconquerable realm was "one with Nineveh and Tyre".

Now, on re-examining Rudyard's other poem it strikes me that it could be retitled "The Spin Doctors" and people would understand better what it is saying.

Check it out, and see if I actually know what I am talking about.

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The Gods of the Copybook Headings

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AS I PASS through my incarnations in every age and race,
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.

We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.

We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place,
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.

With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch,
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch;
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings;
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.

When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "Stick to the Devil you know."

On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "The Wages of Sin is Death."

In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "If you don't work you die."

Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.

As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began.
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;

And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!