Stewart Beach, Galveston

Oil has arrived in Galveston, but they said it was only tar washing off skimmer vessels. Come on, Guys, don’t play dumb; haven’t you noticed a pattern? We have. First, tar balls wash in, then a sheen, but that hasn’t been the end of it anywhere. The next thing we’ve seen from here to Florida is huge gobs of sticky orange oil, and we’ve sort of been expecting it in Texas anyway. Ten days ago a friend of mine spotted it off Cheniere Au Tigre, and that’s just a long spitting distance from Galveston.
Talking heads keep saying they’re going to clean it all up, like that’s even REMOTELY possible. Don’t they know that stuff is damned near permanent? I’ve said it before, but it’s worth repeating. Go up to the Valdez spill site and kick over a rock. You’ll see just how easy it is to clean up. Oil floats, but it also descends below the surface, even down to the ocean floor…and it’s thrown every which way by wind and currents. I don’t have the same happy glasses they seem to be wearing. Before it’s done, I think we’re going to find oil EVERYWHERE in the gulf…in the water, on beaches, under rocks, and in costal marshes all the way to Mexico.
Gulf water will stink, and birds will no longer dot the sky looking for bugs or a bread handout from tourists. Nights on shore will be silent, and you’ll choke if you stand in the evening breeze. EXACTLY how much oil did you think the gulf could absorb before it was destoryed? But don’t worry; it’ll be back to normal in a couple of hundred thousand years. Geologically speaking, it’s not all that long, but from our three score and ten perspective, it’s forever.
And a part of me will probably be sad from now on. Galveston! My God, I’ve been going there since I was a little kid! I remember catching an angel fish from a pier one day. Everybody over there was fascinated; they had never seen one caught on a line before. Of course, we let it go…not that good to eat, dad said, but I wanted it to live for another reason. It had fought the good fight, and as a boy, I respected that. It was beautiful…and scrappy, and I loved it…just as much as I’ve always loved Galveston itself.
The water isn’t clear in Galveston, like it is off Florida’s beaches; scores of rivers and the great Mississippi see to that. It’s mostly murky but not so much that you can’t see fish trapped inside incoming waves…and dolphins folicking a few yards behind them where they gave up the chase. I was swimming in Galveston not so long ago when two dolphins rolled up out of the water right next to me. I thought one of them looked pregnant. Some idiot woman screamed SHARKS, and people started scrambling out of the water, but I stayed and savored the majesty of it all.
They seemed to be having fun, chirping and clicking as they swam around me only a few feet away in a playful circle. They knew I wasn’t a threat; they thought I was a friend…and I am. I always will be, but I wish I could click and chirp too…and warn them. They’ve got to find a way to shepherd their child away from the malevolence growing in the gulf…even farther when oil reaches the Caribbean…and it will.
Galveston brings funny memories back into my head. I remember one day my dad decided to ride the roller-coaster across Seawall Boulevard from the beach. He told us to watch carefully because he was going to wave to us from the highest point on the ride, but when he came into view, all we saw was a blanched face and bloodless hands hanging onto the coaster bar for dear life. We teased him for weeks afterward.
Galveston…what else do I think about when I hear that name? The 1900 hurricane for sure, and those nuns roped to children when they were dug out of the sand. They loved those children and proved it…with their lives…and those ropes. My lady’s mother actually grew up in that orphanage twenty-five years after the storm. She always told us how much she loved gulf seafood, but she was lying. She only liked shrimp. You could chase her all the way to Oklahoma with an oyster.
Galveston, wonderful Galveston…we’ve been there so many times, my lady and me…my dog Angel, too. We always stayed in the same apartment, just off the beach with a clear view of the surf and a constant, salty breeze. The ocean’s roar lulled us to sleep at night while the smell of the sea blew in through open windows. It was wonderful. Even Angel seemed to think so, but she’s not very picky. She’s happy when we’re happy.
Soon, it might only be a memory…like New Orleans, but Galveston’s tough. While it’s weathered many a storm before, I’m afraid it could lose this particular battle, and I wouldn’t want to go back only to smell oil on that wind sweeping in off the water. I prefer memories, but even they are getting dim. Since this began, I’ve had to learn to compartmentalize some of my memories…hide them down deep where they’re not likely to jump out and remind me what’s been lost, but I find myself having to bury more and more of my past every day.
It’s incredibly sad…upheaval, geologic change on this scale, the death of an ocean that has afforded me and my family so much joy. I guess that’s what monumental really means, what irretrievable loss really feels like. My father’s roller-coaster disappeared long ago, and my life seems intent on following it lately. I know he’d have some wisdom to share, find some way to make sense out of it, but he’s gone, too. Dad, I hope you can’t see this up there wherever you are. I know it would hurt you almost as much as it’s hurting me right now.

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