| Jacquielynn Floyd: Fall to No. 3 doesn't vex Empire State 01/06/2001 By Jacquielynn Floyd / The Dallas Morning News New York! That's how it rolls off the Texan tongue, spiced with chagrin and disbelief, as exemplified by that old coot in the hot sauce commercial.
We know about New York: rushed, noisy, Yankeefied and, above all else, crowded. It's bulging at the seams with descendants of pilgrims who got off the boat and stuck close to the shore, too timid to explore the vast continent beyond the edge of the clearing. They evolved into a vast nest of angry hornets, driven by their sheer numbers to a state of constant irritation.
Texas, as we also know, was settled by brave, hardy pioneer stock, stouthearted folk who wanted some breathing space and weren't afraid of a few droughts or tornadoes or spiny cactuses. It was a small price to pay for a home where the buffalo roam.
So it was a little hard to compute the bald fact, announced at year's end, that Texas is now our nation's second most populous state, trailing only the teeming hordes of California. For the first time in history, we're home to a bigger chunk of humanity than – strange but true – New York.
According to the U.S. Census Bureau, our team outmans theirs by 1,875,363 players. By law, we get two new seats in Congress, and New York will have to give up two, the political result of our burgeoning population.
Room to stretch
Well, at least we have a place to put everybody. Densely peopled though we may be, we still, with a little rearranging, can provide a full square mile for every 78 humanoids. The state of New York has a sardine-can density of 348 per square mile.
"Maybe some of our people are heading your way," said Joe, a bar patron in Hoosick Falls, N.Y., who declined to give, or perhaps was unable to recall, his last name.
I caught up with Joe at the Third Base Bar, which I chose at random through the magic of the Internet. My original intent was to discuss this matter with somebody in Gov. George Pataki's office, but, surprisingly, no one ever called me back.
"Listen, you're in luck!" Joe said. "I'm the second most important guy in New York, after Governor Pataki."
He laughed at my silly notions about New York, which even I can admit are pretty exaggerated. After all, I once drove around the western part of the state, taking note of the winding rural highways, snug little villages and pretty dairy cattle. It was a smaller, daintier countryside than Texas' yawning ranges, but it was country nonetheless.
Outdated ideas
It was far too embarrassing to explain that my imaginings of New York were rooted in childhood, dimly linked in my head to a frightening pen-and-ink drawing in the Children's Illustrated Bible. It showed a writhing mass of desperate sinners clawing at one another, trying to scramble up a muddy slope ahead of the rising floodwaters. That must be like New York, I thought with dread, ignorant of the city as a subset of a larger state.
Even when my parents took me to the Big Apple for exposure to such cultural touchstones as live theater and the Rockettes, my mother clung to my sweaty little hand with such ferocity that I assumed unspeakable peril lurked around every corner.
But the Second Most Important Guy in New York has some fairly peculiar notions about Texas, too. Joe was surprised to hear we have hills and lakes down here, and he seemed to be under the impression that settlers are still fighting off Indian raids.
Still, he was remarkably friendly, and so was the bartender, the lyrically named Gemma Divine, who got on the phone after Joe.
She wasn't taking New York's drop in the rankings too hard, either. "So we're Number 3 now?" she said. "Oh, well. I still love it here."
They sold their state so lovingly, so enthusiastically, in fact, that I yearn to visit and go exploring. Even Texas would be hard-pressed to beat New York for such colorful place names as Conewango and Muttontown, Wurtsboro and Butternuts and Cattaraugus.
But, as always, I'll get homesick. As always, I'll be happy and relieved when I'm back in Texas.
With my 20,851,819 neighbors.
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