So, it’s 1977, and I’m finally living in Austin. It might not be a small town, but it’s still Texas (sort of), and I’m still Catholic — sigh.

Back then, 6th Street was dangerous and gritty before it became cool and avant-garde, and then it reverted back to dangerous and gritty. MoPac’s massive road construction had only reached Northwest Boulevard. Whole Foods Market was merely a gleam in the eyes of a group of health-minded business people. Armadillo Headquarters still rocked, and there were hippies everywhere. Pardon the cliché, but I thought I’d died and gone to Heaven.

It was my first year at the University of Texas, and I was soaking up everything the campus and the city had to offer. Across from the “new” library, I found Tom’s Tabouli, a café/coffee shop where I went every day with fellow students from my Spanish class. I’d buy coffee but brought in my own lunch, and nobody gave me any trouble. The Garden Café, located a block off the Drag (Guadalupe St.), boasted the healthiest food in town. The place was stocked with so many plants, it looked like a jungle and smelled of spoiled milk, which somewhere in the recesses of my brain told me the smell was a sign of something healthy brewing in the kitchen. The Garden served tofu, yogurt/granola parfait, shrimp tandoori, brown rice salad, carob brownies, and spinach smoothies. Cool.

The Hole in the Wall bar, also on the Drag, lived up to its name and booked some of the best musicians in the city. This is where I saw Jesse Sublett’s The Skunks. (Jesse went on to become a well-known writer and artist. Most of his books are mysteries, and the subject of his paintings is birds.) A few blocks from campus, I discovered that the Holiday House served the best-fried chicken and chocolate shakes ever. There was also the Broken Spoke, Fran’s Burgers, Scholz Beir Garten, El Patio, Dirty Martin Kumbak’s restaurant, Threadgill’s, Flap Jack Canyon, and Liberty Lunch. I went to Waterloo Ice House at least once a week. A giant plate of nachos went for $3, and the 16-ounce top-shelf margaritas were $2 during happy hour.

For shopping, there was Scarborough’s, Frost Brothers, Yarings, and Highland Mall, where Joske’s, my go-to shoe store, was located. Every Saturday, arts and crafts folks (hippies) sold their creations on the sidewalks along the Drag.

Ester’s Follies, Pecan Street Cafe, Marvin Gardens, and Wiley’s Bar had recently opened. You could feel the city’s vibration and hear its subtle message — there’s no place like Austin. Soon, cool people from all over flooded in, wearing granny dresses, beaded homemade jewelry, and dreadlocks; many of these newcomers were comfortable going barefooted. It became the liberal capital of the South, where a guy selling flowers on a street corner would later serve two terms on the Austin City Council.

Back then, motoring around Austin was a breeze. I could drive around the city in my red VW Beetle without people riding my bumper and honking their horns because I wasn’t going fast enough. One afternoon, when my Bug threw a piston on MLK Boulevard, three folks stopped and helped me push my car into a parking lot. One woman stayed with me until I stopped crying and then gave me a ride to a Volkswagen repair shop she highly recommended. While waiting for the mechanic to give me an estimate, this good Samaritan and I walked across the street to a Mexican restaurant, and I bought her a margarita.

The LBJ library always had a lot to offer, even when it was closed. You could rent a pair of roller skates at night, skate around the LBJ library, and never worry about being arrested. Even the Catholic churches had a liberal feel to them. I found the little diocese chapel near the capitol where the priest usually brought the noontime Mass in under twenty minutes, often forgoing the homily for a few seconds of silent contemplation.

I guess you could say I grew up in Austin, too. I changed from a young girl who didn’t know jack shit into an adult with a husband, career, and house. The thought of ever leaving Austin never entered my mind. Twenty-five years later, something happened. Overnight, my laid-back Austin of 300,000 grew into a metropolis of more than 1 million movers and shakers. IT companies like IBM, Tracor, and Texas Instruments popped up on the outskirts of town. Half the license plates announced the arrival of people from other states, mainly California. Finding a parking place in Barton Springs park was no longer easy. The capitol building stopped staying open 24/7. Highway 360 was built. A developer razed the Alamo Hotel downtown on 6th Street, where Sam Houston Johnson (LBJ’s brother) lived, and built an Extended Stay Hotel. Since then, the Extended Stay was torn down and replaced by a high rise.

Now, when I’m in Austin, I get lost. It takes me an hour to go from East to West Austin, and I have to go through security to enter the capitol building. Surrounding the city are toll roads, mix masters, and loops I don’t recognize. But when I do manage to reach the inner city, a feeling of nostalgia overwhelms me, and I entertain thoughts of moving back. It is possible to go home, but home has grown up too.

Photo by Denys Nevozhai on Unsplash

Do any of you Austinites around in the 70s have memories to share?