I'm doing some blog posts at a Fort Worth arts and culture blog I'm working on with D.  This is the first of my Boy Scout campout thread, and since it seems pretty much in the general vein of my usual posts, I thought I'd co-post it here. The rest of the story will be posted sequentially on www.fwrenaissance.com this week. 

Last night, as I was driving home from dropping one of the kids off for one of their multitudinous activities, I came to the intersection of Bel Aire and Overton Park and the stoplight was flashing. Rain was pouring down, visibility was low. Wipers were going, and above us a blurry flashing red light. This was where the street crosses Tanglewood Bike Trail. I waited for the line of cars to go through, then entered the intersection and just as I was leaving I was shocked to hear something hit my car, hard. I was terrified. What was wrong? I must have hit something, and from the sound of it,  not something small. I stopped instantly and saw a white flash rush across the front of the car. Had I hit a jogger? I backed up and followed the guy. He seemed to be running well, wasn't limping or anything. I called out, "are you okay?" but he ignored me.

Disoriented and then becoming angry, because I realized he'd hit my hood with his fist as some kind of agressive tactic, I followed him and finally confronted him on the other side of the park. "Did you just hit my car?"

"Yes I did, because you ran the stop sign."

"I did not."

"Yes you did, you rolled through right after the car in front of you."

I protested that he had hit my car for no reason, and frightened me, and he told me I was a bad driver and ran off. I parked the car and called my husband, who was moderately sympathetic. After coming home, I told V about it. "I wished you were in the car with me," I announced. "Maybe he wouldn't have berated me if I had another person in the car."

I told the jogger that I couldn't drive safely when joggers run up and hit my car for a lark in the middle of a rain storm. Perhaps this information will have some eventual effect. I wondered if his claim, which was that he had a right to hit the car because I had (as he saw it) rolled through the stop sign, was legit.

Vince put the defniitive word on this. "Is he the police? Why doesn't he write you a ticket then?" 

I still don't think I rolled through the stop sign, but I don't have a video to prove it. Even if I did, it doesn't give a jerky jogger the right to run up and hit my car, a premeditated act of agreession which was only possible because of the quite non-dangerous trolling speed I was driving, moving only about 3 miles per hour. This is clear from the fact I was able to stop so quickly. The jerky jogger actually had time to run across the street in front of me.

Exegesis: I, the motorist will careful to continue to completely stop at stop signs, but also will be on lookout for jerky jogger and if I see him again, I will honk, loud, before he has time to get too close. 

The noble person is one devoted to service and integrity. This person reaches excellence by a full flowering of their gifts, made possible by a forgetfulness of self and a vision of themselves instead in relation to the community, the world, the universe. They see themselves as useful. If their role seems to be a small one, they may be a small glass, metaphorically speaking, but they can be completely full with virtue and productivity within the role given them. These noble souls realize that even small tasks are important, remembering that “for want of a nail a shoe was lost,” and understanding that “we can’t all be captains, sometimes we have to be crew.” A noble person sets their hand to the plow and doesn’t look back. Any good they can do, they smile, and any harm they find they have done, they apologize to the universe, promise themselves not to do it again and go forward. Nobility, then, is not an accident of birth, but a construct of character. It is partially bequeathed by parents and society, partly actively chosen by the individual.

I’m in search of the human side of Fort Worth, so I stop at The Coffeee Urn (TCU). This local coffee counter is just a few doors down from Starbucks, but their approach and clientele are completely different.

The Coffee Urn used to be on Bluebonnet Circle; then they lost their lease. This is one place that seeks to fill the void of locally owned and operated places you can get something to eat or drink in Southwest Fort Worth. As I come in to the sounds of an overhead blower, hear the slamming door on the dishwasher, and then the sound of water washing around and plates being scraped, I feel an instant relaxation of tension. The people inside are in no hurry. 

A mural on the back of the restaurant shows a scene of Fort Worth before the roads were paved. It’s impressionistic, simple, but effective, seeming to make the assertion that “we are in the West here,” instead of the usual coffee bar claim which is more like “walk through these doors, and you are in Europe.” The coffee is more or less comparable to Starbucks, and it’s cheaper, too a Grande is $2 there, here, you get the equivalent for $1.62. Three flavors today: Cowboy Blend, Cinnamon Hazelnut, and French Roast.

Two guys are playing chess. Two other guys are reading the newspaper. It’s very quiet. Someone sneezes. “I’m not worried about your knight,” says a bald guy at the chess table, who’s got one of those super size earings like the cannibals wear in movies. The guy he’s playing has a tattoo on his arm. They sound like rough characters, but they’re not. I can’t explain how I know this.

A new guy comes in. “How are you doing,” he says to the counter man. “Can you do something for me?” He sits at the bar. I can’t hear all of the request, but it has something to do with scrambling eggs with jalapenos. 

Talk at the newspaper reading table turns to a guy who says he found a full grown box turtle in a parking lot. The animal had a number 6 painted on it. The guy took it home, but it got out and wandered away in a week or two. He assumes it knew what it was doing. 

“Check,” says a chess player. 

Talk lingers over an ’89 something or other one of them has parked outside. This is not the car I noticed. That would be the 60’s Impala. Now the chess game is over. The chess players share a high five. The winner laughs, the loser says “you always way pull that … Geez!”

The entrance bell jingles and a guy comes in, stops at a table, says hello. The effect of all this local color can only be felt, not seen, and is probably lowering my blood pressure and respiration. I feel like these guys, if someone fell over in convulsions, they wouldn’t just help them, they would be concerned. In Starbucks, you feel like there would be at least one person who would say, “Can you take of this? I’ve got a meeting.”

Summary: If you’re in the neighborhood, you might want to check this place out. This is not something you come across every day. 

The Coffee Urn, 5018 Trail Lake Drive, Fort Worth 76133, (817) 926-7660. Coffee, Burritos, Omlettes and Combos, 7 to 2 Monday Through Saturday.