Early in the pandemic, Debbie Hartman noticed that her husband, Richard Murray, was blue. On the subject of politics — in particular, Texas and Houston politics — Richard, 79, is usually irrepressible, one of the best talkers anywhere. Generations of state political figures have passed through his legendary polic-sci classes at the University of Houston, and he’s a fixture in the local media.
But at precisely the moment when the world seemed to be breaking wide open — when a presidential election year collided with a pandemic, economic collapse and the worst racial tension since the Rodney King video — Richard was stuck at home, with nowhere to discuss the issues.
Sure, from home, he was continuing his research: painstaking analysis of Harris County voting, precinct by precinct. But after 53 years of teaching at UH, Zoom struck him as a pale substitute for a lecture hall with live students. He missed, too, his frequent lectures at the Women’s Institute of Houston. He hated being a shut-in.
He’d light up, though on Saturday mornings. His son Keir also lives in Braes Heights, and each week, Keir would walk over with his kids, 6 and 9, and stand in the front yard, at a safe distance from Debbie and his dad.
And there, the Murray men did what they’ve done for decades: They talked politics.
How fathers and sons talk
Debbie, now retired from a career in public relations, married Richard late in life, which, she figures, was a sweet deal. She got Richard’s three interesting adult sons — Robbie, Keir, and Dylan — and all his grandkids, without having to endure his boys’ teenage years.
Keir and Dylan, Richard’s sons from his second marriage, grew up mainly with him, marinating in their single dad’s world of politics, hanging out with him at his UH office, listening as he talked politics with friends. Keir, the older of the two, was the troublemaker. When the fire alarm at Richard’s office went off, he didn’t have to ask who pulled it.
But starting in high school, Keir began talking politics too. Some fathers and sons dissect sports in Talmudic detail, their heated discussions of baseball stats or recruiting prospects being a way to declare their deep and undying love for each other. The Murray men talked about turnout, campaign spending and demographic trends.
Robbie went to work for Louisiana State University. Dylan became a chef, a partner in Local Foods, Benjy’s and The Classic. Keir majored in government and politics at UT and worked on a congressman’s campaign, but he spent most of his twenties as an opera singer, then worked in San Francisco and Boston doing communications for a human-relations firm.
Finally, as he was about to turn 30, Houston and politics sucked Keir back in. In 2002, he and his wife Alison (also an opera singer) moved here, and he began consulting on campaigns. The hours were long, the work was intense and passionate. It was the kind of nitty-gritty, down-on-the-ground work that his dad studied from an academic distance.
Campaigns are a young man’s game, says Keir, who’s nearing 50. These days, his consulting is mainly in public policy. But when hashing out the world with his dad, his view still comes from the trenches. Debbie, listening to the two talk in the front yard, felt as though she were at a high-powered seminar. “The Murray Men on Politics,” she thought: People would love to watch that. And it might cheer up Richard.
So, 10 weeks ago, they launched it.
Zoomcasting
Richard is a self-professed Luddite, so Keir hosts the weekly Zoomcast from his house. Debbie sets up Richard’s laptop, then stands by, out of the camera’s sight, waiting to troubleshoot tech problems.
They email Zoom invitations to the hundreds of addresses on Richard’s mailing list, mainly students from his Women’s Institute classes. Sometimes someone from that audience submits a question, but mainly the questions come from Keir.
Keir posts the resulting video to YouTube when he gets around to it, almost as an afterthought; they’re not really looking for subscribers. The videos are bare-bones records of the Zoomcasts — no bells and whistles, no music and graphics. Sometimes there are glitches, as when Keir’s homescreen photo of kids on vacation unaccountably appears for all the world to see. But mainly, the video is just a conversation between two men who look a good bit alike, discussing an election season bound to reshape their city, state and country.
One week recently, speaking from a patio table in his back yard, Richard told Keir and the audience that over the years, he’s seen major political change come faster than anyone expected. He saw Texas flip from Democrat to Republican. He watched California in the ’90s. And now, he thinks, given demographic trends and the world in upheaval, that kind of rapid change is in Texas’ air again.
The Murray men have much to discuss. But for the next few weeks, it will have to wait.
On Monday they recorded their last installment before summer vacation. Keir is taking his kids on a long road trip, and Richard and Debbie are heading to California. They figure they’ll start Zoomcasting again in August, sooner if events warrant.
Maybe that’ll be when Joe Biden names a running mate. Or maybe just when the Murray men miss each other, and it’s time to talk.
lisa.gray@chron.com, @LisaGray_HouTX
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Zoomcasting through the pandemic: A father-son story - Houston Chronicle
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