We're not sure that radio guy John Granato is being completely honest with us when he says that, in addition to a great product line, there are cocktails and girls in bikinis on hand at Trailer, Wheel & Frame, but we like the idea. Where else can you get your hands on things like ritzy-rails, bug-guards, big wheel juniors, T-trailers and dual tandems? What are they? We don't know, but we like saying the words.

Oral satisfaction all in one location. Inside the industrial-looking building you can chow down on a sandwich or chili dog, and then step across the hallway and get your teeth cleaned or cavities filled. But for the dentist's sake, go easy on the onions.

Buffalo Bayou, the stream that spawned Houston in 1836, is well on its way back from city cesspool to civic asset thanks to a combined public-private $25 million effort. Landscaped hike-and-bike trails now run on both the north and south banks of the bayou from Shepherd on the west under the I-45 freeway interchange to the Wortham Theater Center and the soon-to-be-demolished Fire Station No. 1. The city's federally mandated upgrade in wastewater treatment has not yet brought the bayou up to swimming standards, but catfish and perch routinely are caught (if not eaten) by enterprising urban fisherman. A project is under way to renovate Allen's Landing, the spot at the confluence of Buffalo and White Oak bayous where the first of a storied line of fast-talking land developers set foot on our fair soil. Next in line is a $1 million master plan for the bayou funded by the city, the county and the Buffalo Bayou Partnership to lay the groundwork extending the improvements to the Ship Channel turning basin. In a city renowned for demolishing its heritage, the comeback of the bayou hopefully heralds a new civic mind-set.
You can tell a lot about Houston, past and present, by driving along the in-transition thoroughfare. As in many parts of the city, new upscale condos and town homes are springing forth, even across the street from historic Glenwood Cemetery, where Howard Hughes Jr. and several Texas governors are taking their eternal rest. Several of our favorite eateries also are located amid the used car lots: Good chicken-fried steak can be had at Pig Stand No. 7 -- the last of its breed. Some of the best coffee and tortilla soup can be had up the street at El Rey. George's Diner provides old-fashioned steam-table excellence. You can also hear live music at the Fabulous Satellite Lounge, Mary Jane's or the Rhythm Room. Wet your whistle at any of the numerous watering holes up and down the street.
What exactly is meant by "No hostages beyond this point" is hard to discern. That message, posted on the inside of several doors in such fine establishments as Keagans State Jail in downtown Houston, greets anyone about to exit the jail and enter the lobby where visitors must turn in their IDs and be dressed in proper attire to walk through the doors. In fact, the words grace two doors, one right after another, so which point exactly, are the signs referring to? Perhaps the second sign is there in case you missed the first one. But who could miss such a warning, which implies that "Negotiating beyond this point will not work -- everyone will be shot."

Performance artist Dr. Alkebu Motapa, legal name Carl Austin, is a dreadlocked dervish who paints, chants and talks up a storm at City Council and anywhere else people will listen. His rhetoric, a mixture of Rastafarian theology and civil rights-era jargon, is not always welcome. When Motapa took to calling a staffer at the Cultural Arts Council to complain about not getting an arts grant, CACCH officials called HPD. Although the investigation was quickly closed, it gave Motapa another subject for his speechmaking: police persecution.

Tropical Storm Allison annihilated the county's justice system, crippling the criminal courts building for months and mauling the Family Courts Center as well. In the ensuing mayhem, even judges sometimes didn't know where their temporary courts, salvaged files or trial settings would turn up. But the news media had to know. And that's where public information officer Fred King proved invaluable. King was perhaps the only media relations person to rush to press, publishing a special flood edition of the district clerk's Hearsay newsletter, giving the office's 500-plus employees updates. He aided District Clerk Charles Bacarisse on the contingency plans and fielded blizzards of questions from baffled reporters. Even in the best of times, the clerk's office -- it processes roughly 100,000 cases annually, ranging from civil suits to felony and misdemeanor charges -- looms as a mysterious labyrinth. King is a master translator into understandable terms. Local public entities regularly insulate themselves with PR people, and more and more seem to be the alter egos of the glib Ken-and-Barbie glamour types that first invaded local television. They may ooze with charm and offer ample sound bites, but know nothing about the real information within their own agencies. Credit Bacarisse (himself a former White House communications staffer) for landing a media pro with proven credibility.
Mayor Lee Brown chief of staff Jordy Tollett got his start under mayor Jim McConn and has been accumulating titles and turf ever since. He's head of the city convention center and entertainment facility complex, the president of the convention and visitors bureau, and currently the little drummer boy who sets the pace for Brown's staff. Tollett was once a lightning rod for controversy when he took city clients on the public dime to savor the heady atmosphere of the topless Rick's Cabaret. He survived that episode, and the only misstep he's made recently occurred when he slipped at a pool party and cracked several ribs. Tollett, a nightlife aficionado, can now be found on many evenings schmoozing at Downing Street with buddy Dave Walden, this year's best lobbyist.
This former First Court appellate justice and TV court-show host narrowly lost his post last November, but the defeat did nothing to dim Andell's luster as one of the most promising figures in the local party. He carried Harris County, did well in traditionally Republican precincts, and is primed to be a major party standard-bearer the next go-round. A bit of a gadfly and socialite, Andell is a world-class schmoozer and works a crowd with the best of them. Republican leaders ardently wooed Andell to switch parties and keep his bench, a maneuver executed by fellow appellate jurist Murry Cohen. "I wouldn't have my integrity," explains Andell of his decision to stay a Democrat. With Harris County's changing demographics pointing the way to a political resurgence for the Democrats, Andell's loyalty could pay off handsomely in the not-too-distant future.

This preeminent Houston political power couple is in the middle of a slow-motion divorce proceeding, possibly because their business affairs are impossible to untangle. Between them they represent just about anything that could be considered establishment in Houston. Sue raised money for mayor Bob Lanier, handles incumbent Lee Brown's finances, and lobbies for energy giant Enron. Dave, a former chief of staff for County Judge Jon Lindsay and mayor Lanier, helped martial the stadium and arena forces in recent victorious referenda, and represents the Houston Astros and the new Houston Texans professional football team. His most innovative position: domestic relations adviser to Lanier's adopted daughter, Courtney Lanier, when she was drawn into a nasty divorce proceeding between hubbie-to-be, Chris Sarofim, and his ex-wife, Valerie. Naturally, Courtney came out of it all smelling like a rose and worth multimillions.

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