Atascosa Voice 3: Carl Strange

Do You Need Anything?

It was 7 a.m. on a cool Wednesday morning. The temperature was a crisp 95 degrees.

I pulled into Cancun’s Mexican restaurant in Jourdanton, Texas. The parking lot was already filling with regulars. I worried that the background chatter would make it hard for the recorder to pick up the interview with Carl.

Cancun’s recently laid fresh concrete in the upper portion of their parking lot, and the sun reflected from the white surface, blinding me. The black metal doors, covered with mesh screens, held a flashing open sign. I had worried the night before that the restaurant would be closed at 7:00 a.m. The sign filled me with joy.

I drove Carl’s little green Chevy S-10 to the interview that morning. It looked good sitting perfectly between the freshly painted yellow lines. Carl pulled up in his Silver Ford F-250, pool vacuum hitched to the back, wheels still spinning from the wind.

I met Carl on Facebook after he messaged me about a job. This was great news because I was in desperate need of money at the time. Carl later told me he messaged me because he had seen an ad I posted looking for work organizing people’s homes. The job was cleaning pools, and I took him up on his offer.

When we first met, he told me that the pool industry was made up of mostly old skater guys and he felt like they were laid-back folks. At the time, my Facebook profile picture was of me jumping my BMX bike, which made him think I would be laid back too. 

He taught me how to clean pools, paid me while I trained, and bought me lunch every day. I got to experience some of the best restaurants in the county.

I once asked him why he always bought me lunch.

Carl said that if you want good employees, you have to treat them well.

During that time, he kept raving about a taco place in Charlotte, Texas, his absolute favorite. Jalisco Taco is off of Highway 97 as it winds through town. When we drove by on the way to a pool, the parking lot was crowded out to the highway. 

On Thursdays, they have a fajita special, he would say. 

A few weeks later, still in training, Carl finally got to show me his favorite place. We went on a Thursday and ordered the fajita special! They arrived sizzling. Those tender fajitas melted in my mouth, and the restaurant earned a top spot in my memory. 

When I asked Carl if he wanted to be interviewed, he suggested we meet at Cancun’s for breakfast.

As we walked inside, the smell of tortillas instantly hit me, fresh and steamy. He waved at the cashier and said hello to the greeter.

We found a quiet table towards the back and sat down. 

Carl took off his hat and put his hand on the table as the waitress came to take our order. 

He greeted her and asked if she was enjoying her day. She smiled as she returned to the kitchen to put our drink order in.

I took out my pen and paper, placed the recorder on the table, and looked up at Carl.

“Alright, I’m recording. Are you ready?” I asked, “Can you tell me about where you grew up?”

Carl grew up on the Southeast Side of  San Antonio, off the Pecan Valley exit from Interstate 37. Back then, it was considered the outskirts of San Antonio. On warm Texas days, he used to ride his bicycle to his grandma’s house, just down the block. Once there, she had snacks and homemade tortillas waiting.

Carl has lived in the area his entire life, the place where a cool summer evening is 90 degrees. One day during our route, he told me that he played hockey. I looked up at the blistering sun and back at Carl. 

It all started when he attended a game of the San Antonio Iguanas. He was excited when the players started fighting each other. 

After that game, he was hooked.

During the second season of the Iguanas, he noticed that some kids his age were going down to the rink and assisting with gear and other tasks. 

Carl paused, sipped his water, and smiled.

At one of the games, his sister walked down to the equipment manager and asked if she could be a stick girl. 

The equipment manager agreed, and she became one. Carl also became a stick boy, eventually working his way up to an assistant equipment manager for the Iguanas.

Around that time, he also started playing hockey in a San Antonio House Youth League, leading to him making a traveling hockey team. 

I had no idea Carl was so involved in hockey. His story intrigued me, so I had to ask if he ever considered it as a career option.

“I had the heart. I just wasn’t that fast.”

The opportunity of equipment manager arose, but Carl refused because it would have required him to move away from San Antonio.

Carl’s phone rang, and he answered quietly, leaning away from the table. I paused the recorder and stretched my arms. 

The taco on my plate teased me with another bite. I took the break as an opportunity.

I wiped the carne guisada from my fingers as the soft flour tortilla nearly melted in my mouth. 

The mystery of how a South Texas boy became a hockey player had been solved. Now my curiosity shifted to his life in Jourdanton. 

Carl hung up the phone and apologized.

“So, how did you end up in Jourdanton?”

When he lived in Somerset, his wife worked in Jourdanton and put their kids in a local daycare.

The daycare was invited to a Pep Rally at the High School.

During the pep rally, one of the local dads flew the football players over the bleachers and onto the field, doing skilled maneuvers in a helicopter.

After the helicopter brought the players in, a prayer was read.

That was the moment Carl looked at his wife and said, “This is small-town USA. This is where we are going to build. This is where we are going to raise our family.”

I laughed. Helicopters dropping football players onto a football field sounded exciting to me. 

“They really did that?” I asked. 

Carl laughed and said that Jourdanton used to be more rural. So a local pilot helping pep up the school wasn’t an odd sight. Jourdanton has changed, but it still has its charm.

That charm is what keeps him here. 

Carl smiled when I asked him about being a father. Raising his kids was clearly something he had spent a lot of time thinking about.

When he moved to Jourdanton, the schools required the students to follow a dress code. The code required students to wear belts, tuck in their shirts, and have no long hair for boys. 

For Carl, the standards prepared them for work in the real world, where they would have to follow similar rules. 

He didn’t have his kids until he was in his thirties, which he claims has given him the patience and the financial stability to raise his kids the way he wanted to. 

I asked him what he hoped his kids took from him.

He hoped that they learned that hard work won’t guarantee anything, but without it they don’t stand a chance. 

The other day, Carl mentioned that he was driving when a country song came on. His kid knew the words, so he asked how he knew it. His son replied, “Dad, you used to listen to this song when I was younger.”

“You don’t realize how much your kids are paying attention.”

I asked Carl how he became a pool guy. During training, he told me about his time as a healthcare administrator, so I was curious about that transition.

COVID-19 changed life for almost everyone. Carl included.

He started his career as a financial advisor at USAA in San Antonio. Eventually, he took a position in healthcare. Carl worked at the same healthcare company for ten years before burnout hit him during COVID.

“Calls after 7 p.m. meant that an urgent response was needed.”

After calling it quits, Carl began searching for the next chapter of his life. 

His sister’s boyfriend was cleaning pools and told Carl how much he enjoyed the job. He decided to ride along through one of the routes. The man told Carl of an opportunity. A pool servicer wanted to retire and was selling his pool route. Carl bought it and is now growing his business.

The waitress returned to ask if we needed anything else, and Carl ordered a coffee.

“They got the best coffee here,” he said.

When I discuss the future with Carl, he always returns to the idea of peace. The pools reflect that calm he seeks.

“The pool might turn green after a day or two, but that’s about it,” he said.

I felt the heaviness shrink as he dropped his shoulders

I asked him if it was hard to learn pool chemistry. 

It wasn’t as hard for him because his father’s cabin in Boerne had a pool. He was managing the pool himself by age 15.

Carl has often mentioned to me his search for a calmer life.

“In the pool industry, I get calls from people saying, ‘Hey, we’re out here enjoying the pool. I just wanted to let you know you’re doing a great job.’”

Quite the difference in how urgent his business calls are these days.

On Wednesday nights, Carl has dinner with his dad. I was curious about how this tradition started.

There was a little Mexican restaurant named El Tipico in his neighborhood that ran Wednesday specials when he was a kid. His father would cut out the coupon and sometimes even collect extra newspapers for more. That’s when it became a tradition.

Now, Carl still has those Wednesday dinners with his father. 

 “Just last night he reminded me, ‘Tomorrow’s Wednesday’.” 

Carl dreams of owning a ranch with a body of water on it. As a kid, he spent a lot of time on the water and enjoyed it.

I asked him what he hoped to build on the property.

His pool business is growing, and he hopes to use it to elevate others. On the ranch, Carl pictures housing for his employees, a place for them to get on their feet. A place that could be a stepping stone to homeownership, financial stability, and long-term growth for the people in his life. 

He told me that he has to find another truck soon because he is giving his Ford F-250 to his son. A promise made years ago.

I asked how it felt to pass something like that on.

“As a parent, you always want your child to do better than you.”

Giving his son the truck is his way of setting a higher standard for him, stating, “Your dad is the only man who truly wants to see you do better than him.”

I finished my second taco and paused to sip water.

“So, Carl, what are you working toward right now?”

Carl hopes to slow down someday and enjoy a cup of coffee outside. Maybe he’d finally have time to catch up on a few documentaries. Hulk Hogan was first on the list.

Carl laughed.

“What advice would you give to your younger self?” I asked.

His response was a story.

His brother-in-law once told him this story, and it has stuck with him over the years. I think it will stick with me as well.

A man is fishing on a beach, and another man approaches him. 

The other man asks the fisherman, “What are you doing? 

The fisherman responds, “I’m catching a fish for my supper.” 

The other man said, “Why not catch several fish?”

“Why would I do that?” The fisherman asked.

The other man says, “If you sold several fish and made some money, you could save the money and buy a boat.”

“Why would I do that?” The fisherman asked again.

“Well, if you bought a boat, you could go out further and get bigger fish and make more money when you sell it.”

And the fisherman says, “Why would I do that?”

“Well, if you made more money, you could buy a bigger boat and have a crew. And if you have a crew, they’ll go out and catch fish for you and you don’t have to work.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Well, if you had a crew working for you, you could sit on the beach all day and fish.”

And the fisherman says, “Why would I do that? I already do that.”

I smiled when he finished his story, and I asked him one last question.

“What do you want people to remember most about Carl Strange?”

He responded that he wants to be remembered as a good, honest, hard-working man who loved his community and that people knew he gave more than he took.

I put my pen down, and the waitress appeared with the check.

Carl took it before I could even register its presence.

I said, “I should really be paying for this.”

His response was what it always was: “Don’t worry about it.”

We walked through Cancun’s lobby. Carl said I should interview them next. Their family has been here for decades. Noted. The blistering Texas heat beat down on our faces as soon as we opened that screen door. He walked to his silver F-250, which he would be passing down to his son. It was parked beside the little Chevy S-10 he trusted me to drive every day.

Before pulling away, Carl rolled down his window and asked, “Do you need anything?”