My tribute to West, TX

Usually when most people get a wild hair it takes them to destinations such as Las Vegas or an exotic cruise into the Caribbean. Often times it can lead to a major purchase like a motorcycle, fishing boat or plastic breasts. The wild hair I caught started out as a thought turned decision, which was relatively easy based on the reasons behind it. Though it still came with inklings of  nervous hesitation from the unknown.

All Texans, all Americans, and possibly most of the world (who have a TV) learned about the fertilizer plant explosion which violently awoke the sleepy Czechoslovakian town of West, Texas a week ago Tuesday. The explosion so incredible, it moved train tracks together while being measured on the Richter scale as equivalent to a low earthquake. I myself was glued to the TV and social media much of the night and briefly distracted from the horrific bombings the day before in Boston. Not because I have media ADD as most Americans do but because as a Texan, I know West. I know West because like the majority of Texans, we find our way to either the Czech Stop conveniently located off Interstate 35 or we meander to another bakery in town to purchase our Kolaches and Klobasneks which reluctantly cater to the clogging of our arteries. Unfortunately many Texans don't know the difference between the two thus ordering "sausage filled Kolaches". Sorry fellow state dwellers but let me take this opportunity to clarify; Kolaches have the fruit filling and Klobasneks have the meat. You're welcome.

Two days after the unnatural disaster I found myself thinking of the weekend ahead of me. Attending a going away party for a friend of a friend that Friday night at the Loon, a crawfish boil at McKinney Avenue Tavern the following Saturday benefitting military personnel, and of course a lazy Sunday afternoon most likely spent by the pool and a Rangers day game to watch on TV. What a great weekend I had planned. It couldn't get any better than that. Good job me. But this bothered me as I thought about my fellow Texans who had lost their lives and those who had no beds to sleep in. They don't get to enjoy their weekend. I was consumed with guilt from my selfish weekend mapped out with hours of thoughtless alcohol-fueled fun. I then realized, life isn't fair. And it definitely wasn't fair to the town of West. It was time to stop being one of those people who "feel sad for the victims, if only there was something I could do." Well there was something I could do.

Having met Trace Arnold at his 3 Stacks Smoke and Tap House in Frisco during opening week, I quickly became a fan of his BBQ and most notably the ribs. I noticed on their Facebook page he had packed up the Ultimate Smoker and Grill and headed down south with a request for volunteers. I knew what the right thing to do would be. With no living quarters in place, I packed enough clothes for the weekend with a grand idea to sleep in my truck bed with my Army issued sleeping bag and when rank enough, take a baby wipe bath. I had once went two gritty weeks in Iraq without a shower except the occasional baby wipe bath so I could deal with a couple of nights without hot water and again...the citizens of West didn't have the luxury of a bed or shower so why complain?

Friday morning my bags were packed and by this time a couple of friends from the Thursday Night Social Run group in Plano, TX I run with had posted on Facebook that they too were heading down to volunteer for the weekend. Communication flowed, plans were made, and his RV was volunteered by me for our living quarters. Little did I know the dog mafia of four would be joining and assisting in the most pure form of entertainment a dog could possibly provide, disobedience. I decided to head down after noon to recon the area as word had spread that volunteers were being turned away. Trace still needed help and that was still my plan. On the way down Interstate 35 I booked a reservation at the near empty campground in West and attempted to call City Hall to get anyone on the phone for an update on the relief efforts. A message was left on the City Secretary's voicemail because surely they would have some information. Upon returning home Sunday night I learned the City Secretary had perished during the disaster. I had unknowingly left a message with the deceased and that itself is haunting.

I arrived at the 3 Stacks massive smoker located on the west side of I-35 mirroring the Czech Stop on the east side. Getting out of my truck I immediately noticed Firemen bunked out, haggard in appearance, and waiting for meals so they can return to Ground Zero and continue their efforts to find any sign of life. I knew I was in the right place and my heart was settled of nerves. Finding Trace wasn't hard to do by the sound of his voice and his signature white straw cowboy hat. "Let me know me what I can do", I asked. After a couple words about the BBQ review I gave him (5 stars) he directed me to Dawn Cruzan, President and founder of Camp Craig Allen, who then mentioned she too had read the review. It was nice to know at least someone reads it. Dawn quickly introduced me to the assembly line of sandwich making. And sandwiches, by the hundreds and hundreds, we did make. Like a fine-tuned and well oiled machine, we churned out enough meals for thousands over the weekend. Volunteers ranged from Dallas Cowboy, Tyron Smith, to citizens of West; from friends of Trace to members of his family and even a stranger or two. During this time, from a few female volunteers, I learned I resembled Jeff Gordon, the Nascar great. I am no Nascar great but I'll take it. That being said, a great turnout to help those in need is an understatement.

During that Friday and over the following Saturday, my eyes will never forget the images provided by reality. Weary but relentless citizens of West were fed, civil servants such as Police, Firemen, and DPS officers were fed, Chaplains who were overwhelmed in their Godly duties to console the victims were fed, any and every volunteer were fed, and food deliveries were made to Hillcrest hospital in Waco and Scott and White hospital in Temple for staff who were tirelessly working overtime to aid those hospitalized. Our goal was to not turn away one person and by all means, we ensured that did not happen. Even when the brisket and ribs were gone, sausages provided by Slovacek located in Snook, TX were served in buns along with chips and cookies.

My friends who had arrived late Friday night with RV and four-legged dog brigade in tow had found their way Saturday morning to the fair grounds to assist in the donation collection for victims while I was on the other side of town prepping food, monitoring meat in the smoker, grilling and cutting brisket, sausage and ribs. When the occasional breaks were taken, talk with the locals and anyone else who cared to talk ensued. Reports of the missing or found lingered in almost every conversation had. By the end of that Saturday exhausted was a word felt but not easily used. By sundown my companions had joined me at the smoker for dinner as the fair ground closed at 7 pm due to the curfew in place. This didn't mean the work was over as families and others still trickled in with hunger. The hotel next door was congested with those helping and those misplaced from their homes. They too may need food.

With every experience or situation we come in contact with, no matter how major or minor, there is always one or two moments that shake you to the bone. One of these moments came in the form of a woman and her children who drove into our parking lot late that evening. She was in the most solemn mood I had seen from any other person that day. As she gave her order of food to one of the helpers, she then tried to pay with a handful of cash. I watched subtly as she tried her best to negotiate payment for the food as the volunteer continued to deter this. And then it happened. The woman begin crying as she had lost a family member and was gracious for the meals provided. Since she was alone with her children only an assumption of who had passed could be made.

The following Sunday we awoke and my camping/volunteer pals minus the dog posse were heading back to the Fair Grounds and I decided to join them to see the overall operations. We were then turned away and given directions to the downtown bank as an annex was being converted to a makeshift food and clothes distribution center. We ended up staying longer than planned as the job was not done and help was needed. One of the local men in charge of the operation at the fair ground lent me his truck (he clearly didn't know me and most likely wouldn't had if he was familiar with my driving habits) and several trips were made bringing pallets of water, cleaning supplies, and dog food to the annex, which was already full of toiletries and clothes. Oh and toilet paper. Lots and lots of toilet paper. I never want to see another roll again. Ever. During the distribution center's setup another "come to Jesus" moment was presented as we found ourselves working next to a West volunteer FD member. This man who surely had lost friends only 5 days before was working to continue in support of his community. He appeared to be just your average citizen and only God knows the internal battle he is facing and will continue to do so as not months but years over years it will take in the healing process of this town with a population of slightly over 2,000.

With the makeshift distribution center complete, it was time to move on and head back north to Collin County. With gratitude and appreciation being given from the locals who were there, I personally did not need it. Nothing that I could do in a matter of three days could even scrape the surface of the rebuilding this town will need. I didn't go for a "thank you" from them. I didn't even feel like a "you're welcome" would be an appropriate response from me. It wasn't a favor but a desire in which no praise was needed. It was a duty and love is not self-seeking. Admittedly at times I get depressed by my fellow Americans because of this "selfish age of convenience" we now live in, me being just as guilty, but the desire for good will is not dead or ill. If anything learned from the tragedy in Boston or West, that desire is alive and well. If you have forgotten the strength of the human spirit, or genuine kindness and complete humility, or if you think faith and religion have all but faded, go ahead and take a peak yourself. It's only a short drive from where you are in a town all Texans know as West.