Deep in the Heart of Texas
Early one morning in May of 1992, I awoke with the realization that I was no longer tethered to any geographic location. My daughter was about to graduate from college, and my commitment to pay her college expenses had been fulfilled (for the most part). My divorce had just become final. And my consulting contract with the Fort Worth insurance company was almost complete. Where did I now want to live? What was the ideal location to create the life I envisioned for myself?
I thought of Portland, Oregon, and Boulder, Colorado, but I wasn’t bold enough to strike out for a city where I knew no one. I considered Asheville, a small city in the mountains of North Carolina, and though I felt drawn to the southern Appalachians, I didn’t know how I’d make a living there. Finally, I thought of Austin and decided to drive three hours down I-35 to visit my friends Tom and Sharon Parish, whom I knew from the More To Life program, and get a feel for the city.
The Parishes welcomed me as if I were a member of their family. On Saturday evening, in what was to become our weekly ritual, we shared a meal, watched a movie, then tuned in for the weekly telecast of Star Trek.
Over the weekend, I ran on the trails around Town Lake (now Lady Bird Lake) near downtown Austin, where there were a multitude of other runners, as well as countless walkers and bikers. Then I got a snack at the original Whole Foods Market, a modest neighborhood grocery store on North Lamar Boulevard. Afterward, I drove a few blocks south and spent an hour or two browsing the aisles of Book People, a huge and well-stocked bookstore with many progressive and personal growth titles. Then I ambled across the street to Waterloo Records, a store that featured CDs of Austin musicians and music from around the world. While I drove, I listened to an eclectic mix of music on Elektikos, the morning music program on KUT-FM radio, where I would first hear the music of Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Lucie Blue Tremblay, Ali Farka Touré, and Philip Glass.
After my weekend had run its course, the choice was clear: my cat Chocolate and I were moving to Austin.
Lily, Sharon & me
I quickly became a surrogate member of the Parish household, which included Tom and Sharon, who were, of course, married, and their daughter Lily, who was not yet two years old. Living under the same roof were Sharon’s former husband, Stanley, and their son, Justin, who was eleven-years-old. It was a unique arrangement, and it seemed to work quite well for everyone involved. I was deeply grateful to be included in their weekly family gatherings on Saturday nights to share food, films, and “Star Trek,” gatherings that helped forge a strong bond between us.
With the assistance of Tom, I began gathering a list of local companies that might use my services and started making phone calls, since connecting with potential clients via email was not yet a reality. I landed a number of personal interviews, including several with Austin ad agencies, but their typical response was “We’ll call you if something turns up.” Then I remembered that Holt, Rinehart & Winston had a high school textbook publishing division in Austin.
I called Holt’s main number and briefly explained my situation to the receptionist: “I’m a writer, and I’m new in town. Do you know who I might talk with about doing some work for y’all?” The receptionist was very receptive to my query: “Let me transfer you to Alice Jones, the managing editor of our English Department. She may have something that would be a fit for you.” When Alice picked up, I again explained why I’d called. Alice said, “I don’t have anything right now, Bruce, but send me your resume, and I’ll keep you in mind when another project comes up. In the meantime, let me transfer you to Frank Johnson so you can check in with him. ”I talked to two other editors and got a similar response from each.
Then I was transferred one more time: “Hello, this is Bob Todd,” the voice said. “Bob, this is Bruce Mulkey. You sound a lot like the Bob Todd I used to play handball with in Orlando.” There was a laugh of recognition on the other end of the line. “Yep, I’m the guy,” he chortled. “I think you kicked my ass the last time we played.” Then it was my turn to laugh. I explained to Bob that I’d recently moved to Austin and was looking for some work. Bob said he didn’t have anything, but he knew that Susan Feldkamp, an editor in the science department, did and that he’d set up a meeting. Then we talked about getting together for some handball on the University of Texas outdoor courts.
During my meeting with Susan the next day, she described a project creating teacher’s ancillary materials to accompany a new high school science textbook that was in the works. As was their custom, Susan asked me to do a sample—the ancillary materials for one chapter of the text—work for which I’d be paid. I worked my butt off for several days on an anemic little laptop I’d borrowed from Tom to create an impeccable sample. Susan liked my work and assigned the entire project to me, to be delivered on a stringent schedule. From that point on, I had a steady flow of work from the Science and English departments at Holt, Rinehart & Winston and, thus, a steady flow of cash. While the work didn’t require a great deal of creativity, I was stringing words together, and I was getting paid for it.
A few months after my arrival in Austin, I rented a rustic, two-room cottage on the side of Mount Bonnell. It was an idyllic location, surrounded by cedar and hardwood forest with a small creek running through the ravine below. On the other side of the road, not visible from my mountainside perch, the Colorado River meandered through the hills west of Austin. My deck extended over the mountainside with a one-hundred-foot drop below.
Living in a somewhat isolated setting, my cat Chocolate and I were constant companions. Our evening ritual included Chocolate climbing into bed with me, lying on my chest for a while, purring resonantly, head butting my hand or arm to bring my attention to her rather than the book I was reading, then retiring to sleep by my side throughout the night.
Since I’d begun earning my living as a writer and was communicating with clients via email (using a very sluggish dial-up modem) or phone most of the time, Chocolate and I would go days without seeing another living animal, except maybe an occasional bird or lizard. This was the first extended period in decades that I’d been without full-time human female companionship. This, coupled with the challenging transition from who I thought I was to who I really am, might have been overwhelmingly lonely but for my sweet, fuzzy Chocolate.
Chocolate and I watched Twin Peaks and Seinfeld on my tiny TV and read books, including Waking Up by Charles Tart, The Aquarian Conspiracy by Marilyn Ferguson, and The Art of Intimacy by the father-and-son team of Malone and Malone. When I did have the rare overnight female guest, Chocolate refused to relinquish her usual place in the bed and insisted on being there even when things got a little rambunctious.
