By Chris Lane
By Jeff Balke
By Aaron Reiss
By Angelica Leicht
By Dianna Wray
By Aaron Reiss
By Camilo Smith
By Craig Malisow
Instead, the on-the-ballot politicians mostly served as handmaidens to a series of business giants who set the municipal agenda behind closed doors and then gave the pols their public marching orders. Minorities didn't have a place in those back rooms except as servants, and the input of women into the political process, with some notable exceptions, came via pillow talk.
Jesse Jones, who served as a cabinet member under President Franklin Roosevelt, was the greatest of these movers and shakers, carving out a role by which all future Bayou City-turned-Space City kingmakers would be measured. Jones lured the 1928 Democratic National Convention to Houston and planted the government-funded starter seeds of the Ship Channel petrochemical complex. According to some irresponsible purveyors of urban myth, Jones, who married late and fathered no children, legit or illegit, may have also been way ahead of the times as the town's leading closet gay power broker. Perhaps Annise Parker, the first openly gay elected city official, could be considered his goddaughter.
For a good chunk of the 20th century Jones and his surrogates pretty much ran the place, for better or worse. If you were the people that Jones's mouthpiece, the Houston Chronicle, wrote about, it was better. If you were black or brown, on the other hand, you were expected to keep your mouth shut and show up for work on time. By Deep South standards, that was a racially enlightened attitude on the part of the establishment.
The political barriers finally began to fall in the 1950s, with the first stirrings of the civil rights movement and of black voting power and, eventually, a massive influx of Hispanic immigrants. The process led to the diverse Technicolor political scene that is Houston today and culminated in the election of the city's first black mayor, Lee Patrick Brown, in 1997.
Along the way there have been any number of elective officials who have left their marks, and scars, on the face of the city. Here's a quick take on some of our faves, with a touch of whimsy in the choice of categories.
Best Town Father
General Sam Houston: Who else but the man the Indians affectionately labeled "The Big Drunk"? He led the Texas forces to victory (or massacre, depending on your point of view and ethnic background) over Santa Anna's siesta-groggy Mexican army in the Battle of San Jacinto. He generously lent his name in 1836 to what started out as a developer land scam on gullible Yankees by the Allen brothers. (We're still looking for those cool, healthful highlands advertised in the New York papers.)
During the first of two terms as Republic of Texas president, Houston officed in his namesake city, making him and George Bush the only two heads of state to reside here while in office.
Oscar Holcombe: He fought the KKK's influence in the '20s and held office a record 11 terms, although not consecutively. In a political career spanning 1921 to 1957, Holcombe laid the groundwork for the city freeway system and backed the acquisition of East Texas water rights that guaranteed Houston the liquid resources to support a megalopolis into the next millennium.
Best Father-and-Son Act
Roy Hofheinz, the mastermind of the Astrodome as a private citizen, was at age 24 the youngest Harris County judge in history -- and a two-term mayor of the city to boot. His son Fred, nicknamed The Boy Mayor, rode to power in the first decisive exercise of African-American votes in a municipal election in 1973. With that election, police chief Herman Short resigned, and the halting reform of the notoriously racist Houston Police Department began.
After failing in a comeback bid against Kathy Whitmire in 1989, attorney Hofheinz stepped in something sticky in Louisiana and is now fighting a federal bribery indictment.
Best Voice-of-God Imitation
Barbara Jordan: This stentorian-voiced orator and debate whiz at Texas Southern University became the first black state senator and then congresswoman from the city. She sealed her place in history with a stirring speech on the House Watergate Committee calling for President Richard Nixon's impeachment. The current holder of Jordan's seat, Sheila Jackson Lee, is blessed with similar vocal cords, but not, alas, similar brains to operate them.
Councilman Jim Westmoreland's penchant for wisecracks cost him his office when he made the mistake of trying out a racially tinged joke on a Houston Post reporter. When the Post wouldn't print the story, the Chronicle did, and joking Jim wound up getting beat by political unknown Beverley Clark.
Out of office with his sense of humor intact, Westmoreland got a good laugh when the downtown powers that be decided Clark was too wacky and engineered her replacement in the next election.
Best Martyr to the Cause
Mickey Leland: Jordan's flamboyant successor, a protégé of Jean and Dominique de Menil's, was the brightest of a crop of young minority state representatives who emerged in the mid-'70s, including Ben Reyes, Anthony Hall and Craig Washington. As a congressman he developed an agenda as an internationalist and humanitarian, an image immortalized by his death in a plane crash during an inspection of Ethiopian famine relief operations in 1989.