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Houston Breakthrough, January 1980
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Houston Breakthrough, January 1980 - Page 28. January 1980. Special Collections, University of Houston Libraries. University of Houston Digital Library. Web. December 12, 2019. https://digital.lib.uh.edu/collection/feminist/item/2148/show/2143.

Disclaimer: This is a general citation for reference purposes. Please consult the most recent edition of your style manual for the proper formatting of the type of source you are citing. If the date given in the citation does not match the date on the digital item, use the more accurate date below the digital item.

(January 1980). Houston Breakthrough, January 1980 - Page 28. Houston and Texas Feminist and Lesbian Newsletters. Special Collections, University of Houston Libraries. Retrieved from https://digital.lib.uh.edu/collection/feminist/item/2148/show/2143

Disclaimer: This is a general citation for reference purposes. Please consult the most recent edition of your style manual for the proper formatting of the type of source you are citing. If the date given in the citation does not match the date on the digital item, use the more accurate date below the digital item.

Houston Breakthrough, January 1980 - Page 28, January 1980, Houston and Texas Feminist and Lesbian Newsletters, Special Collections, University of Houston Libraries, accessed December 12, 2019, https://digital.lib.uh.edu/collection/feminist/item/2148/show/2143.

Disclaimer: This is a general citation for reference purposes. Please consult the most recent edition of your style manual for the proper formatting of the type of source you are citing. If the date given in the citation does not match the date on the digital item, use the more accurate date below the digital item.

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Title Houston Breakthrough, January 1980
Publisher Breakthrough Publishing Co.
Date January 1980
Subject.Topical (LCSH)
  • Women
  • Periodicals
  • Feminism--United States--Periodicals
  • Newsletters
Subject.Geographic (TGN)
  • Houston, Texas
Genre (AAT)
  • periodicals
Language English
Type (DCMI)
  • Text
  • Image
Original Item Location HQ1101 .B74
Original Item URL http://library.uh.edu/record=b2332724~S11
Digital Collection Houston and Texas Feminist and Lesbian Newsletters
Digital Collection URL http://digital.lib.uh.edu/collection/feminist
Repository Special Collections, University of Houston Libraries
Repository URL http://info.lib.uh.edu/about/campus-libraries-collections/special-collections
Use and Reproduction Educational use only, no other permissions given. Copyright to this resource is held by the content creator, author, artist or other entity, and is provided here for educational purposes only. It may not be reproduced or distributed in any format without written permission of the copyright owner. For more information please see UH Digital Library Fair Use policy on the UH Digital Library About page.
File Name index.cpd
Item Description
Title Page 28
Format (IMT)
  • image/jpeg
File Name femin_201109_556ba.jpg
Transcript A shipment of San Antonio doo-wah The author, center, having fun. THE The British are a nation of magpies, and they're storing our music. Right now I'm listening to a radio interview with Lee Clayton, a country singer and songwriter from Alabama, and every so often he and the DJ/interviewer break off to play one of his numbers. He's very good, but I've never heard of him before, though I've recognized most of the soncjs they've been playing, the last three being sung by Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings and Jerry Jeff Walker. On Sunday on this same station I got an hour and a half of 1950s San Antonio Chicano doo-wah music, and the week before there was an hour of Cousin Joe from New Orleans. (I don't read radio schedules; these are just programs that happen to be there when I switch on.) Not much to write home about, you may think—except that writing home about it is exactly what I'm doing. I live on the other side of the ocean, and the station that broadcasts this arcane music is BBC Radio London. BY DAVID HELTON A/though author David He/ton fives in London, his heart will always be in Texas. As the Cockney San Antonio doo-wah freak put it, "We know more about these geezers than what the Americans do." Well, how much do you know about Juanito and Pete, Slim Mickey or Johnny Spain? Certainly any mental files I ever had on them are long lost, and I spent part of the fifties in San Antonio, and was in my teens then and used to listen to that kind of music. Yet here is a Londoner who could write an encyclopedia entry on the genre (or subspecies) and, what's more, gets an hour and a half of scarce BBC air time to entertain the city's other aficionados of Juanito and Pete and company. A Johnny Spain record, he said, changes hands these days at 20 British pounds. In fact Britain's full of curators of odd bits of Americana. When I arrived here several years ago, one of the first people I met, a man who lived in the flat above me, was a Wild West fanatic. He had a room stacked halfway up the window with True West-type magazines and obscure historical journals, most of them published in Texas and Arizona, and since it's not that enormous a subject it's conceivable that he knew everything there was to know about it. For instance, he could name from memory all the men who died in the Alamo. He could give you a run-down of Billy the Kid's psychopathology, or tell you the economic imperatives leading to the establishment of Round Rock. At first he was excited to learn that I was from Texas, but he cooled as time passed and he saw that I was just another dumb cowboy who'd been to too many movies and didn't know the Ringo Kid from John Wayne. And it was of course only a hobby with him, except for whatever political thrill he got from being president of the local Wild West Society (though in British tradition politics can be a hobby too). After he'd got up off his blanket in the morning and taken off his boots and bandana, he'd put on a brown business suit and go to his office, where he worked as an accountant. The other night I met some friends at a pub, and we went into the back room where a world famous—or so I was told— New York cocktail pianist was giving what looked like a chamber recital. I was the only one there who'd never heard of the man—so please don't ask me his name—but I think I was also the only one who managed to feel sorry for him. I'm not a great frequenter of places with cocktail pianists, but I've seen one or two, and a hundred in films, and while the piano player plays, the people go on with their chatting and drinking, in a sort of cocktailly way, lots of tinkles to go with the tinkling music. But this poor bastard was up on a little stage, and the audience, about two dozen gents and ladies dressed in cocktail gear, sat in straight chairs in a semi-circle just beneath him, silently staring at him and holding their token martinis (and a British martini is just that, no gin) erect in their laps. At one point between tunes he said very shyly that it was all right with him if we talked, but I was the only one to try and I immediately got shushed. After a while I couldn't stand either the social constraint or the man's obvious agony (you don't take your piano-playing to a cocktail bar in the first place if you're overendowed with chutzpah) and went back to the main part of the pub, where I could drink beer and hear the juke box. This is the same pub, by the way, where every Sunday afternoon all the Dixieland purists gather (with much the same attitude, although there are more of them and they do make a little noise between numbers) to hear precise imitations of King Oliver, Louis Armstrong and the rest of the jazz-goes-up- the-river crowd. Occasionally, the MC will drag up some poor nonagenarian Creole, tottering from jet lag, and make him blow his old lungs out, while the audience sits in a hush so unnatural considering the kind of place that the fellow must have started his career in, that he probably imagines he's performing at the Judgement. I could go on and on with examples of this, including a bluegrass crowd that I fell in with once and, of course, the massive annual Country Music Festival at Wembley Stadium, where a large part of the audience of hundreds of thousands dress up in cowboy suits, complete with spurs and toy guns, and the main attractions are Nashville musicians who have recently, or not so recently, peaked in the States. (In the last couple of years, a country rock night has been added, but only hippies go to that one. Hippies, as any decent Tammy Wynette connoisseur will tell you, don't got no sense of history.) There are Civil War fanatics who stage battles, fast-draw experts, THE BOOKSTORE 1728 Bissonnet • Houston 77005 • 773 527-8522 Fine feminist books and magazines including Heresies, Chrysalis, Woman Spirit and Women Artists News yiuuy^ tiers ^v^ru— *, to HOUSTON BREAKTHROUGH 28 'bHCBMBER/JANUAftY T980