Last Tango in Dallas...

 (Photos Courtesy of Lorimar Television Productions)

Who can forget The Ewing Family?

Recently, I returned from Dallas, Texas where I travelled to pay my respects to the widow of a good friend of mine who died of a stroke in October. My friend was the president of a non-profit organization where I served as Chairman of Public Relations and a board member for five years. Unfortunately, his "Celebration of Life" was scheduled on a day when I had a television studio and a production crew of about ten people booked to film a DVD project, and I simply could not attend.

My visit was poignant, as I caught up with my friend's widow in person and we recalled many memories over the years I lived in Texas--most of my life actually was spent there. I moved away in 2003. But I have some incredible friends whom I was also able to surprise--three of whom work in the restaurant industry--and it was great fun to walk into their work sites unannounced and be greeted with handshakes and hugs with great excitement. This was a great Joy!

The Campus of Southern Methodist University

I had breakfast with my former professor at Southern Methodist University who oversaw my Independent Study that ultimately led to my senior thesis as a Psychology major. He is now retired and living in a high rise condo with a view of North Dallas and the SMU campus, where I strolled during my the final morning of my visit. In many ways, I felt like the Jeff Bridges character in "Texasville", the 1990 follow up film to director Peter Bogdonovich's epic, "The Last Picture Show" from 1971; I felt alienated. There were many new buildings, and I must admit to some embarrassment at getting lost in my rental car after exiting Dallas Love Field, which is home to Southwest Airlines. But in my defense I had little sleep. Nevertheless, I found my way "back  on track". Here are a few Dallas memories are worth sharing. 

1990

2012

On my main website Bio Page, I discuss how I began working in the broadcasting industry with more than a modicum of humor. The year was 1990 and I was an overnight radio news anchor and copy editor. The sun sets late in the summertime in Dallas, and I was at the Vickery Feed Store (a restaurant that burned down in the late 1990's) enjoying a salad and a cup of coffee when a very attractive girl walked in and sat two bar stools away from me. She had short blond hair, wore a white T-shirt, jeans and cowboy boots. There were only four of us in the entire restaurant that night and we struck up a great conversation. I asked her what she did and with some shyness, she told me that she was a musician. I asked her what instrument she played and learned that she was a fiddle player in a five-member bluegrass band. She quickly asked about my career. I answered her briefly, but returned to my question about her career and learned she was in a band. She said, "You probably wouldn't know us. We're called The Dixie Chicks". I admitted that she was right. I wasn't familiar with the band. Now, before anyone finds this story too far fetched, it would be helpful for me to mention a few facts.  

Martie (Center) was pleasant to meet.

The band's musicianship was terrific. (Photo Courtesy of Monument Records)

The Dixie Chicks were established in 1989 and were not yet a huge success in 1990. The young woman speaking with me was my age and looked like the proverbial "girl next door". She was unfamiliar with the FM station I had begun working at and so we promised to catch up on each other's careers. I would catch a performance of her bluegrass band at Poor David's Pub, which was a small bar just down the street on Greenville Avenue (since relocated), and she promised to tune in to hear my newscasts on radio. In what is truly a "small world", I later anchored news for The Bill Mack Show. Bill  was a broadcasting legend who wrote the hit song "Blue" for singer Leann Rimes late in his life. Leann lived about four blocks from my apartment in The Village Country Club. The Village was for many years the largest singles apartment community in the United States, and for all  I know it still is. 

As more than an hour wore on, the pretty young lady I was talking with and I were sharing laughter about many things we found humorous in life and ultimately, I bought her a couple of drinks and dinner. At some point, I told her that we really ought to meet up at the restaurant for lunch or dinner sometime and I asked for her phone number. I noticed immediately that she became embarrassed, as she told me she could not afford a telephone. 

Of the five women in the original lineup of The Dixie Chicks, only one member was making a comfortable living and she was a stock broker. The young lady I was sharing laughs and swapping stories with was barely getting by at the time. However, she quickly leaned over me to grab a pen and a paper napkin and quickly sat next to me looking me squarely in the eye. "But I'll tell you what", she said. "Write down your name, your home and work phone numbers so I can call you". I smiled, shrugged my shoulders and said "Okay". As I started to write, she added. "And I have small favor to ask you. I need to find the Ladies Room. If you'll watch my purse, I'll  be right back". I agreed and pointed out where the facilities were and watched this pretty lady with a slim build walk off. The bartender was a friend of mine who just married the love of his life several weeks earlier and he walked over to talk with me. I asked the usual questions. "Do you know this lady? Have you seen her before?" My friend told me that he had never seen the lady, but he was under the impression from how well our conversation was going that we were about ready to leave the restaurant and go out for a drink elsewhere. I told him about my new work schedule and explained that this wasn't possible. Five minutes passed by. No worries.

Mr barender buddy and I caught up on some local chat, and then I looked over my shoulder to see if my new friend was walking toward us. She was nowhere in sight. Ten more minutes passed, then then another twenty. The restaurant was all but empty on this night and I became genuinely concerned. I looked down at this woman's purse on the bar stool next to me and asked my friend if he could quietly ask a waitress to walk into the Ladies Room for "a safety check". We recruited a waitress who completed her mission and reported to us that my new friend was legitimately still "in the house". I looked at my watch and told my bartender buddy that I always liked to get to the station an hour early to prepare my newscast and air shift. I also told him that I was responsible for the lady's purse. He volunteered to take the purse and stow it under the bar along with the paper napkin containing my contact information. Knowing how trustworthy he was, I agreed to this.

Forty minutes had passed and I needed to be off to work. With the purse safely stowed, I  settled our tab and tip and asked him to have her call me. With that I left the restaurant. As it turned out, about five minutes after I left the restaurant, my new friend emerged from the Ladies Room and approached my bartender buddy.

According to the story he told me the following afternoon, she stated, "Where's that cute guy I was just talking to?" My friend spoke for me: "Well, you know something. He waited here patiently for 40 minutes, but he finally had to leave for work". Interestingly, her next question had nothing to do with the purse she had placed me in charge of watching. "Oh, no. Um, did he leave his name and phone number?" (I still get a kick out of that part of this story, as I seemed to take precedence over her purse--quite a compliment!). My friend: (handing over her purse): "Yeah, he sure did and here's your purse". According to my bartender buddy, she grabbed her purse, then placed my paper napkin inside. As she started to take out her pocketbook, she said "I'm sorry now that I took so long. Uh, what do I owe you for my tab?" My friend advised her that I had covered it. "Oh, that was nice of him! I'll catch up with him later".

With that, Martie MaGuire turned and walked out of The Vickery Feed Store and both of our lives forever. And no, I never heard from her. That evening has been a puzzle to all of my friends who have heard this tale over the years (given that I was placed in charge of Martie's purse). While amused, I've never really given the evening serious thought beyond this post and can laugh it off to human nature (if that). Who knows? Most perplexed of all are my lady friends who quickly point out to me like detectives that it was intertesting that I was placed in charge of the purse. Otherwise, I'm advised a case could be made that I was being summarily blown off. Again, I still have to laugh. My male buddies are apt to say, "Close but no cigar". I'm not sure about that, but life can be strange sometimes.

The radio station studio where I worked had a flashing strobe light whenever the telephone rang. That night, the strobe light never went off once. The station had an old fashioned phone answering machine in the lobby, and after I completed my production work in the recording studio down the hall between long pieces of music, I would check that machine--no calls. 

The Lovely Martie MaGuire

(Photo Courtesy of CMT)

Fast forward to 2004. I had returned briefly to the Mid-West where I worked as a helicopter news reporter for an NBC Television affiliate--WLW TV 5. One day, my pilot and I were grounded from flight due to heavy rain and windy weather. A colleague of mine telephoned me at our base of operations in Cincinnati at Lunken Airport--a general aviation airport (visible in the recent film "The Ides of March" co-starring former Cincinnatian George Clooney). A colleague of mine who was a news anchor for a 100,000 watt FM Country music station telephoned me to ask if I would substitute for him. As it tuned out, he had the flu and so I agreed to help him out. I submit the following with my hand to God: The fourth news item that afternoon on our Associated Press newswire was that Martie MaGuire became the mother of twins with her husband in Austin, Texas. The irony was not lost on me and I had to report this on three newscasts. Off the air, I spoke with the station production manager and the story about The Vickery Feed Store encounter came up. He was absolutely incredulous and asked me if I would come back on the air and share my story. I remember thinking that people throughout Ohio and Kentucky were listening in large numbers and that my story had some merit, so I repeated my story on the air. The PD was laughing almost out of control and asked me "Michael, are you sure there wasn't a window in that john?" Realizing how funny this must have sounded to listeners, I had to be honest and told the PD that there couldn't be any windows because the rest rooms were located along an inside corridor. Later after what became my last radio broadcast ever, I remember driving home that night in my black Ford Mustang GT and saying aloud: "You know something, Lord. You have a strange sense of humor sometimes". 

Dallas Campbell Center with The Twin Gold Towers used
in the opening shots of the TV Series "Dallas" on I-75.
 I lived in an apartment complex called "The Village"
situated one block to the right 

(All Photos Below: Michael Manning Collection)

While in Dallas, I experienced several strange emotions. Many buildings that had become familiar to me had been torn down and replaced with new ones. Highway 635 LBJ Freeway (so named after the former U.S. President) was still undergoing pockets of construction. My old apartment no longer overlooked a swimming pool (that too was removed). While I did catch up with three great friends, it occurred to me that from 2003 to the present, I lost three other friends of mine in Dallas--my friend who served as our board president was preceded by my friend Nancy, who died of cancer. Two other buddies--Bob and Bill each died of injuries years apart--both sustained from automobile accidents. 

Hyer Hall where I took classes and studied late, late at night!

In many ways, my long walk last Sunday morning on the campus of SMU was quiet and seemed hollow. I had returned to a Dallas I was no longer familiar with, despite having appeared on radio and television (with commercials on every local television station). My old Pastor was in an assisted living facility and no longer as young and robust as I remembered him. And The Dixie Chicks went on to enjoy fame and fortune (and yes, some controversy) sufficient enough for Martie to get a telephone probably within months after our encounter.  

The Greer Garson Theatre is named in honor of the late actress and philanthropist, a resident of Dallas. I escorted her into the ballroom of the Marriott Hotel where Hollywood movie critic Rex Reed and I co-hosted a Gala for the Dallas Parkinson Society in honor of Greer's late husband, Buddy Fogelson. Greer was truly a "Class Act".

As I sat in the spacious living room of my late friend's home in Lake Highlands--a suburb of Dallas--listening to an audio CD of his "Celebration of Life" that had taken place at the end of last October, I looked across the room at his empty chair. Life is short. And time can really be something of an illusion. In my mind, friends remained etched in my mind just as they were 9-years ago. But of course, nothing remains the same.

Here's the Addison, Texas Marriott Quorum where we

honored Greer Garson.

(Photo: Above and Below Courtesy of Marriott)

The Ballroom where I walked in with Greer Garson

on my left arm.

My old home in Dallas at The Village

How often I walked this path!

The Swimming Pool Where I Spent My Summers in Dallas

I returned for a second and final visit to my late friend's widow with some picture frames I had promised to pick up for her to display some photos in her living room. She had survived a lot through her years in Texas. As my Southwest Airlines flight thundered down runway 31 Left at Dallas Love Field that night, the thought occurred to me that I had survived a lot myself. It was time to fly home to Phoenix--which is "home"---for now. 

Michael