Hoot. A character study. — Duke Carlisle

Soon after I moved to Dallas in the early seventies I was introduced to Bill Hooton at a party. After the person who introduced us walked away, Bill said, “I hear you played for Texas in the early sixties.”

“Yeah.”

“Funny, I was at SMU at the time but don’t remember the name. Were you a starter?”

“Yes.”

“Were your teams any good?”

“One year we won the National Championship.”

“Well, I’ll be,” he said.

Later I said to someone I knew, “What’s with this guy Hooton?”

He said, “Oh, he’s a character. Always joking and clowning around.”

When I ran into Bill later that evening he started again, “It’s weird, I usually remember the top teams and players, but you just don’t ring a bell.”

I said, “Probably the reason you don’t remember is because when I was in school we never played SMU because they forfeited every year.”

He looked at me, puzzled for a second, then let out a big laugh and said, “You’re my kinda guy.”

I lived in Dallas for two years and we saw each other two or three times a week. We enjoyed each other’s company because we had similar senses of humor and interests.

After I moved away from Dallas, we stayed in close touch and traveled together with our wives. One of our favorite destinations was New Orleans. On our first trip there Bill’s wife Margaret said, “I know that he is extremely popular and it might be difficult to get in, but I would love to see Pete Fountain.”

We went to the club where Fountain was playing that night and since I knew how important it was to Margaret I told the guy at the door that it was not just necessary that we get in but that we get one of the best tables. Because the club was small, I knew that I needed to be aggressive so I showed the guy the large tip he was about to receive. (Hooton also saw the amount.) He then led us into the small room where we saw Pete and his audience of one couple. We were seated almost on the little stage with Fountain who appeared puzzled as to why my three companions were laughing as if he were performing a comedy act rather than playing the clarinet.

Hooton couldn’t resist. He leaned over and whispered, “Hey, moneybags, if you had given the guy at the door a little more, he would have probably kicked this other couple out and we could have had it totally to ourselves.”

I said, “I did that for your wife so you should reimburse me for part of it.”

He said, “You’re nuts. It was a boneheaded play. All you had to do was look around the corner, see that there was no crowd and put the tip back in your pocket.”

Later, as we were walking back to the hotel Bill suddenly stopped and said, “All right, here’s how you can recover some of that money you just pissed away. You see those boys ahead of us? They’re betting each other as to who can jump up and touch that sign.”

“So?”

“I can do it, but they won’t believe it. So bet each one two dollars and you can pick up a quick eight bucks.”

I said, “You’re quite a bit heavier than when you were the high jump champ.”

“I can’t jump six feet anymore, but I can still get up there,” he replied.

The boys looked at him and quickly said, “You’ve got a bet.”

Hoot backed off, trotted toward the sign and did no more than raise his arm as he ran under it.

I said, “That was pitiful you never even got off the ground.”

“I don’t know what happened. I must have tried to go off on the wrong foot,” he explained.

“Yeah, well you owe your hysterical audience eight bucks.”

On another trip to New Orleans, the two of us stumbled into a club late one night where the entertainment was a one man band. It was fascinating to watch as he had about four or five instruments going at the same time. We both thought he sounded great and not only bought his record but Bill decided to invite him to come to Dallas and perform at an upcoming event he was in charge of.

A few days after we had returned home, Bill called sounding flustered.

He said, “You’re not going to believe this but my copy of that guy’s record is warped.”

I had just finished listening to it, so I had to tell him, “No, it’s not. Unfortunately, that’s the way he sounds.”

Bill said, “How could we have been so wrong?”

I said, “Well it was late and we had been ….”

“Well, I damn sure can’t bring him here. I’d be laughed out of town.”

“Just don’t follow up with him.” I suggested.

“But, I think I may have given him my name and phone number,” he said.

A couple of weeks later I asked Hoot if he had heard from the guy.

“Yeah.”

“Was he disappointed?”

“Of course.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That my company was transferring me to Europe.”

On our second trip to San Francisco Bill said to the three of us, “We’re getting a limo. No cable cars and taxis this time.”

After we had been with our driver Remo, for an hour, he and Hoot had become such good friends that he said he had a surprise for us. He drove us to his house where he switched us from the limo to his 1968 Cadillac convertible.

He said, “This is what I drive ‘The Duke’ around in when he’s in town. That’s John Wayne you know.”

Bill said, “Yeah I know.” Pointing to me he said, “This is also Duke.”

“Well, I’ll be damn, then he’ll have to be ‘Little Duke’.”

I told Bill I didn’t want to be called “Little Duke!”

He said, “It’s cute. You’ll get used to it.”

The second night we were there a friend of Bill’s invited us to join him for dinner at what he said was his favorite restaurant for dinner. When we arrived at the restaurant, to our shock, Bill invited Remo to accompany us. Remo strongly declined and the three of us nodded in agreement, but Hoot would have it no other way.

After Hoot’s friend and his wife warmly greeted the four of us, he gave a confused look at the driver.

Bill quickly explained that this was our driver and good friend, Remo, who was doing a marvelous job of showing us around. His friend looked pale as Hooton insisted “we can always squeeze in one more.” After dinner, while the women went to the powder room and Remo went for the car, Bill’s friend, I suppose wondering if Bill had ever used a limo, explained that the drivers were not normally included in the meal, nor did they expect to be. He added rather forcefully, “It’s his job.”

Bill’s friend’s tutorial had no effect on his relationship with Remo. He continued to join us for every meal. The bro-mance only ended when, on our trip to the Napa Valley, Remo got lost and the car broke down and he didn’t have a solution for either.

Hoot and I had always done some business together over the years, but in 2000 we began to do a lot. One of the things we did early on was invest in Boone Pickens’ commodity hedge fund. We had both known Boone for a number of years and when we heard of the success he was having with his fund, we hastened to renew the relationship.

Even though we were short the typical minimum investment in the fund we persisted until finally one day Boone called his right-hand man, Ron, in and said, “These two guys wish they had a couple of million to invest in the fund but they actually have only a fraction of that. Would it screw everything up to let them in?”

Ron took a look at our sad, pleading faces and said, “I think we can figure something out.”

It was the most profitable whining we ever did and would also lead to a lot of fun times. We stopped by his office regularly, often to just hang out. Finally one day Boone asked, “What is it exactly that you guys do?”

Without hesitating, Hoot said, “We’re a very small ‘think tank’.”

After he was able to stop laughing, Boone said, “I don’t know about ‘think’ but small would seem to fit.”

We eventually began spending time with Boone outside of the office, accompanying him to his two favorite destinations – his ranch and games at Oklahoma State. One year we were invited to a surprise birthday party for him in California. Bill said, “We need to get him a gift.” I said, “Rather than get him something he won’t use, why don’t we just go congratulate him and pat him on the back?”

He said, “No, no, let me think about it.” He came back later and said, “I’ve got it. We’ll tell him we’re taking him out to eat at the restaurant of his choice every month for a year.”

I said, “Hoot, the present shouldn’t be something he will dread.”

Pouting some, he shot back, “Okay, since you don’t think he likes our company as much as I do, we’ll go the other way: we’ll promise to visit the office no more than twice a month.”

I said, “Hooton I think you’re finally on to something he’ll truly appreciate.”

One of our last get-togethers prior to Bill’s untimely death was at the golf course. Bill was an excellent golfer and we had played golf together a number of times but they were always social gatherings with friends with very little attention to golf.

While we were having lunch at his club one day, he looked out at the golf course and said, “With a little work there’s no reason in the world why you couldn’t be a decent golfer. Let’s go hit some balls.”

We went to the practice range where I hit balls for about thirty minutes until he told me to stop. Then he shook his head and said, “I was wrong, there are many reasons why this won’t work.”

Life’s a lot duller these days.