Fort Worth

Thomas Wolfe said, “You can’t go home again.”

I left Fort Worth in 1952, came back in 1984 but stayed less than a year. Three years ago, when I returned to Texas, I looked for a house in Fort Worth but decided to come to Garland instead, My brother Don and his wife Mary live here.

Today I went to Fort Worth again. I went to meet my friend Emma for lunch at the Kimball Museum. It is 50 miles and a four-part journey.

After breakfast, when I went to the car, I found the windows fogged. I drove north, defrosters going and windshield wipers clanking, through cold drizzle, rather frightening for an old lady, to find the last parking space at the Downtown Garland rail station.

I put two one-dollar bills in a kiosk and out popped a one day pass for “all systems.” One of the greatest bargains in the U.S. I found a seat in a half-empty car on the DART. Read the latest issue of Time as the light rail purred along to Dallas’ Union Station, where I only had to cross the platform to board the TRE (Texas Railway Express) to Fort Worth. A bumpy ride, difficult to read as the magazine kept jiggling.

An hour later I climbed down off the train in Fort Worth and rushed across the platform to board the Camp Bowie bus. It was almost full, but I found a front seat next to middle-aged black man with a lot of wavy black hair and a thin face with a bushy mustache.

As the bus rounded the corner into Fifth Street, I pointed to the red brick building on the corner and said, “I worked in that building 60 years ago when it was the Fort Worth Press.” (The newspaper later went bankrupt.)

As we passed between the skyscrapers of downtown, the Roman temple of First Christian Church came into view, and I said, “I learned to swim in the indoor pool behind that church.” That was 70 years ago. I added, “All these other buildings weren’t here then.”

The man said, “I guess a lot of things have changed.”

Me: “It is a different world.”

I thought a minute.

Me: “Maybe it is better.”

He: “Maybe so”

Me: “Sixty years ago you and I would not be sitting here next to each other talking like this.”

He smiled and nodded his head.

The bus crossed the bridge over the Trinity River. Ahead was the tall white building which used to be the Southwest distribution center for Montgomery Ward. Another company that went bankrupt.

Me: “Are you old enough to remember when it was Montgomery Ward’s?”

He: “Oh yes! Once there was a big flood down here.” (It is bottom land next to the river, supposed to be protected by levees, like New Orleans.)

Me: “That was 1946. I was in college in Denton.”

My roommate rushed into the journalism classroom where I was typing and said, “There is a big flood in Fort Worth. Across the room the wire service machine clicked rapidly rolling scrolls of paper printing details of the disaster.

Me: “My roommate’s home was down here. They lost everything. Her mother felt around in the mud for her teacups.”

For a few seconds I thought about a woman I met in Garland who lost everything in Katrina.

Me: “My friend became a college professor and taught at TCU. She is now retired and lives in a luxury apartment in Trinity Towers.”

He: “I’m glad things turned out good for her.”

Me: “I don’t know. She doesn’t have any children. My children are the best things in my life. Do you have children?”

He: “Yes, I do. They are good kids.”

Me: “That’s what life is about.”

He: “Yes, children make it all worthwhile.”

We smiled at each other.

The bus turned into Camp Bowie Boulevard, and I got off at the next stop. As the bus pulled away, the man waved and smiled to me through the window.

I walked through sunshine to the Kimball, where Emma was waiting in the gift shop.

“I don’t need any more books on art,” she said, picking up as toy. “I think I will buy this for Will." (her three-year-old grandson)

It was a good day.