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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.

So, while the occasional female companion came and went, Chocolate was at my side almost every night. I miss you still, sweet girl.

We are the ones we’ve been waiting for

Fifty-seven years ago, I traveled from Tennessee to Washington, D.C. to join a protest against the war in Vietnam. My housing had been prearranged; the group I was traveling with would be staying with a family of Quakers. The weather that weekend in November tested our resolve: bone-chilling temperatures and a strong wind out of the north. Nonetheless, we marched, we sang, half a million strong we came together confidently in common cause.

Late on the final day of that weekend, my brother-in-law, Johnny, and I found ourselves with a group of militant activists at the Justice Department. I was caught up in the excitement of the moment—that is until the D.C. police started discharging tear gas canisters into the crowd. We beat a hasty retreat, doing our best, but failing, to avoid the asphyxiating gases around us. Later, as I sat excitedly recounting the tale of the confrontation, I noticed a troubled glance from the elderly man whose hospitality we were enjoying, not disapproving, but gravely concerned. Years later I would remember that expression as I read the words of Marianne Williamson:

I am of a generation which thought that we could bring peace to the world, and we didn’t think it mattered if we ourselves were angry. What we learned is that an angry generation cannot bring peace.

Sometimes I’m certain that the apocalypse is upon us. Our narcissistic president lurks behind a façade of hyper-masculinity, tweeting threats and blatant falsehoods to further the advance toward oligarchy. The airwaves are awash with professional politicians who claim they care about you and me, yet primarily serve the interests of the economic elite who fund their re-election campaigns. Our so-called leaders refuse to come to grips with inequality, lack of a living wage, a two-tiered justice system, institutional racism, encroaching authoritarianism, and spending more two billion dollars a day on our military while almost fourteen percent of children in the U.S. live in poverty. Perhaps most frightening, our planet is rapidly approaching its physical limits to growth, yet many in power seem to ignore the signals–record-breaking heat waves, extreme weather events like wildfires and floods, melting glaciers and ice sheets, and rising sea levels.

In the midst of all this madness, it would be easy to turn away, to withdraw into our own little cocoon, to claim there is nothing one person can do, to hope that someone else will deal with our current challenges. Denial, obliviousness, cynicism, somnolence and resentment can each be an easy way out. But once we’ve awakened to the menace we’re confronting, are any of these really an option?

It is essential, now more than ever, to pay attention to what’s going on in our communities, in our nation, and in the world. Do not try to hide from or close yourself off to the horrors taking place. Let yourself feel the hurt, feel the sadness, feel the anguish. Then use those feelings as a springboard to action.

We do make a difference—individually and as a group. In fact, every loving thought, every prayer, every compassionate action has a significant effect on the world in which we live and the fabric of our existence. We might be moved to listen to and hold a friend who is hurting. We might be moved to serve a meal at the local homeless shelter or help build a house with Habitat for Humanity. We might be moved to put our freedom on the line by participating in civil disobedience. We might be moved to stand together in thousands, millions to proclaim, “No more!”

We were made for these times. And it’s up to each of us to do our part. Right here! Right now!

We are the ones we’ve been waiting for!

The Oligarchs Have Decided: It’s Time for Trump to Go!

My latest conspiracy theory, with some wishful thinking thrown in.

The fix is in, folks. A cabal of oligarchs, including Elon Musk, Rupert Murdoch, and Peter Thiel, has decided that Trump, with his diminished physical and mental capacity (plus poll numbers in the toilet), has outlived his usefulness, and the team is organizing a coup to replace him with Vice President J.D. Vance.

Just follow the trail:

June 5: Musk announces on X (formerly Twitter): “Time to drop the really big bomb: @realDonaldTrump is in the Epstein files.”
July 10: Vice President JD Vance makes a brief trip to Montana, where he meets with media mogul Rupert Murdoch, his son Lachlan Murdoch, the head of Fox News and News Corp., and a group of other Fox News executives.
July 17: the White House announced that Trump has a medical condition in his veins called chronic venous insufficiency, and though this ailment is not uncommon among people over 70, it could pave the way for a Trump resignation for health reasons.
July 17: Murdoch’s Wall Street Journal publishes an article detailing a lewd letter purportedly sent by Donald Trump to Jeffrey Epstein.
July 23: the Wall Street Journal reports that U.S. Attorney General Pam Bondi told Trump in May that his name appeared in investigative files related to convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein.
Ongoing: Vance fails to come to Trump’s defense on the Epstein files matter.

My guess is that these oligarchs, and perhaps others, will continue to gradually disclose incriminating evidence implicating in Trump the Epstein matter. Drip, drip, drip—until it’s unquestionably clear that Trump is a pedophile and there’s an overwhelming outcry for his resignation. Furthermore, since Musk likely has the Epstein files as a result of his efforts as head of DOGE, they could be leaked as the final nail in Trump’s political coffin.

Sure, Vance is younger, smarter, more perceptive, and therefore even more dangerous than Trump. But what the oligarchs fail to acknowledge is that Vance lacks the charisma to capture the allegiance of the MAGA base as Trump has. And once Trump is gone, I suspect the cult will splinter and fall into the dustbin of history.

Soundtrack of My Life

I’ve had fun putting this playlist together—43 songs starting with my childhood favorite—Roy Rogers’ “Happy Trails” and concluding with David LaMotte’s wonderful rendition of “We Are Each Other’s Angels.” While I consider many of these songs to be favorites, the intent was choosing music that expressed what was happening in my life at that time—from the late 1940s to the mid-2020s.

The Soundtrack of My Life—2025

Click here to listen with Amazon Music

Happy Trails, Roy Rogers & Dale Evans

In the Mood, Glen Miller

Deep in the Heart of Texas, June Hershey & Don Swander (Gene Autry version)

Peggy Sue, Buddy Holly

It’s Now or Never, Elvis Pressley

Rocky Top, University of Tennessee Pride of the Southland Band

Drown in My Own Tears, Ray Charles

Take Five, Dave Brubeck Quartet

I Second That Emotion, Smokey Robinson & The Miralces

I Am a Rock, Simon & Garfunkel

Ohio, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young

Sympathy for the Devil, Rolling Stones

I’ve Always Been Crazy, Waylon Jennings

We Shall Overcome, Guy Carawan

Teach Your Children, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young

The Times They Are A’ changing, Bob Dylan

I Feel Like I’m Fixing to Die Rag, Country Joe & The Fish

Good Hearted Woman, Willie Nelson & Waylon Jennings

Purple Haze, Jimi Hendrix

Sunday Morning Comin’ Down, Kris Kristofferson

A Pirate Looks at 40. Jimmy Buffet

Let It Be, Beatles

I Put a Spell on You, Nina Simone

LA Freeway, Guy Clark

Shaman’s Call, R. Carlos Nakai

It’s In Every One of Us, David Pomeranz

If I Were the Man You Wanted, Willie Nelson

Miles and Miles of Texas, Asleep at the Wheel

I’m Gonna Love You, Jimmy Dale Gilmore

Hallelujah, Leonard Cohen

Fast Car, Tracy Chapman

Anam Cara, Howard Hanger & Earl Hefley

Holy Now, Peter Mayer

When I Fall in Love, Victor Young & Edward Heyman (performed by Bruce Lang Band when Shonnie & I were married)

Battle Cry, Shontelle

Amazing Grace, Judy Collins

Skidamarink, Sharon, Lois & Bram

Sanctuary, Billy Jonas

The Room Where It Happens, Leslie Odom Jr., Lin-Manuel Miranda, Daveed Diggs, Okieriete Onaodowan, and the cast of Hamilton

Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien, Edith Piaf

Let The Mystery Be, Iris DeMent

The Great Storm is Over, John McCutcheon

No Hard Feelings, Avett Brothers

We Are Each Other’s Angels, Chuck Brodsky (David LaMotte version)

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