THE CHARACTER (AND THE CHARACTERS) OF THE
TERLINGUA PORCH
“Some people call sitting on the porch ‘goofing off.’
I like to think of it as research.”
– Blair Pittman, from his book More Tales from the Terlingua Porch
By Phyllis Dunham
P
orches are important, or at least
they used to be. After a hundred
years, the Terlingua Porch still is.
This seductive place is a Cannery Row,
a salon, an oasis, a human tide pool, a
mirador, a legend and a prayer of
appreciation for the days when humans
genuinely understood their need for the
company of others like or unlike them-
selves. People, both locals and tourists,
still gather here daily to linger and learn.
They just can’t seem to stay away.
Among the porch’s seductive qualities
are its stunning setting, readily available
cold beer from inside the Terlingua
Trading Company, the almost daily
impromptu concerts by the likes of Uh
Clem and Pablo Menudo and a chance
to catch up on the local news and gossip
and chat with some of the more interest-
ing characters you’ll ever meet.
Sit for a while on the Porch, and your
companions may include a famous pho-
tographer, a janitor, a retired racecar
driver, a construction worker, a cook, a
former heroin addict and a Ph.D. You
won’t be able to guess from appearances
alone just which is which. You may
encounter these varied backgrounds in
as few as three people. But no matter
what your own background is, your
company and contributions to the ver-
bal communal stew are appreciated.
These folks may have come here to drop
out, but they sure don’t mind you drop-
ping in.
Of course, not everyone succumbs to
the charms of the porch. Now and then
you see a couple of accidental tourists
who just don’t get it striding the length of
the porch in a purposeful manner look-
ing for no more than a bathroom and a
way out. These folks aren’t smiling, and
they probably aren’t staying. When Big
4
Dave sees this type on the porch, he
hollers out in a warm, friendly voice,
“Hey! Get your smile on!” Some of
them do, suddenly remembering where
they are and that life is good. Dave in a
delighted whispered aside says, “Now
they’ll be here a while.”
Only the most curmudgeonly could
fail to be awed by the backwards sunsets
on the changing façade of the Chisos
Mountains. The locals, most of whom
don’t own televisions, call this daily
transformation “the Terlingua Channel”
as they watch the folds and juts of the
mountains morph from pale coral and
lavender to incandescent watermelon
pink and violet to glowing orange and
navy. Enthralling. Watching the sunset
from the Terlingua Porch, oddly enough,
means looking to the east – to the reflec-
tion on the mountainsides and not to the
western horizon. Some bother to walk
around the old adobe building that is the
excuse for the existence of the porch to
look west at sunset. Most don’t.
Most stay put for conversation or
stray in and out of the store or check out
the bulletin board on the north end of
the porch where you can find garage
sale notices mixed with posters for such
events as the Cookie Chill-Off, the
upcoming Chihuahua races, the Stupid
Race (use your imagination) or any
number of other home-brewed fund-
raisers, the ideas for which were likely
conceived right here on the porch. The
events take care of everyone and every-
thing from the Family Crisis Center a
few steps away, to the local guy who
recently had a motorcycle accident or
the family whose home burned to the
ground. Whatever tragedy may occur,
Terlinguans have a way of meeting the
challenge with wit and humor and an
Cenizo
Second Quarter 2010
Photo by Mike Wrob
By late afternoon and into the evening, the Terlingua Porch is filled with people,
conversation, dogs, music and cold beer.
uncharacteristic, for this community,
swiftness.
According to Gregg, a Terlinguan
who has lived outdoors for 16 years, “We
believe in a mañana attitude. Only to us
mañana doesn’t necessarily mean
tomorrow. It just means not today.”
Gregg recently had electricity installed
at his place, but he hasn’t used it yet.
Maybe next week? What’s the hurry
when you’ve already lived without it for
a decade and a half ?
Dr. Doug, one of the more famous
denizens of the porch, does his best to
encourage everyone to slow down and
not take themselves so seriously. He tells
me, “Meeting people is my hobby.”
Regarding tourists Doug says, “We like
’em. They’re good for the economy. We
tell ’em stories.” So what if he’s not a real
doctor? There’s no doubt that his special
brand of therapy does some folks a lot of
good. Doug refers to Terlingua as the
largest open air asylum in the world and
to the porch itself as “group therapy.”
He’s happy to sit down with you on the
porch with a bottle or can of what he
calls “ice cold medicine” and discuss it
continued on page 24