Alcalde magazine writer Valerie Davis cherished her quiet office near Waller Creek on the University of Texas campus. Then her bosses at the UT Alumni Association told her to make room for the new public relations guy.

“Luckily, we became fast friends,” Davis says of office interloper Kevin Tuerff. “We bonded over ‘Far Side’ cartoons. We both drove gray Hondas and both have three siblings.”

Twenty-five years later, Davis and Tuerff run EnviroMedia, an Austin integrated marketing firm that focuses on health and the environmental issues. They’ve worked in tandem all but three of those years. Lots of marriages don’t last that long.

“We are the same, but different,” Davis explains. “We have a lot of the same big philosophies. We come at them, though, as yin and yang. Kevin is fast-paced and visionary. I’m contemplative with a strong attention to detail. He speeds me up. I slow him down.”

Stylish but informal, Davis, 49, grew up all over the place as an U.S. Air Force officer’s offspring. She was drawn to sports as a kid and admits to being a bit of a conformist.

“I laughed a lot,” she recalled. “I socialized in small groups, did well in school, then was perhaps too social in college.

She came to Austin in 1981 to study journalism and public relations. After the Alcalde, she worked at TxDot on the Don’t Mess with Texas campaign, also on the agency’s Adopt-a-Highway program, traffic safety and speech-writing. She served as a legislative liaison for the travel division.

There, her paths crossed again with Tuerff, who worked for a state commission. They teamed up on the Clean Texas 2000 drive, which concentrated on voluntary green efforts.

More button-down Tuerff, 46, grew up mostly in Houston, a “borderline nerdy” kid who competed on the tennis team and worked as a cashier at Target. He blossomed in college, co-founding the student radio station (now KVRX 91.7FM) while majoring in organizational communications.

“It was the fastest way out of UT at the time,” he jokes of the extinct major. After his time with the alumni group, he worked with in the nonprofit and public sectors.

“We always said we should start an agency one day,” he says of Davis. “Ten years later, we did.”

That was in 1997. At that time, the state was cutting budgets and outsourcing a its public campaigns. Their first project was to take the Texas Recycles Day national.

“These issues are so complicated and we were good at making them easy to understand,” Tuerff says. “After several bottles of wine at Hudson’s on the Bend, we came up with Tuerff-Davis EnviroMedia.”

“My mom wondered who was going to pay for this kind of service,” Tuerff says. “It took 15 years for her agree it was a success.”

Shortened to EnviroMedia and now staffed with 50 employees, the company’s main clients are government agencies. Two of their biggest private clients have been H-E-B and Car2Go North America, which shares space on the floor of Hartland Plaza between West Sixth and West Fifth streets. They also helped Dell with its push to recycle computer hardware.

Four years ago, they opened a second office in Portland, Ore.

“There was so much more going on with sustainability issues on the West Coast,” Tuerff says. “Austin likes to think it’s green, but Portland really has it going. The political leadership in Austin is still trying to play catch-up on clean energy, water and waste. Nobody in Portland is not pro-environment no matter the political party.”

Deborah Morrison, advertising professor at University of Oregon, recently noted that EnviroMedia was the only company of its precise kind in the country.

Single but dating after the end of a long partnership, Tuerff lives downtown and bikes to work. Davis shares a Hays County “EnviroHacienda” with her partner of 18 years, Millie Salinas, who also works on Hispanic marketing at EnviroMedia.

Although green to the core, Tuerff and Davis are not bomb-throwers.

“We believe in working together and finding a middle ground,” Tuerff says. “We tell people: We are not tree huggers but we can introduce you to some.”

For example, they find ways to encourage intentional biking and walking, a strategy that blends their strengths in health and the environment.

“Former Mayor Gus Garcia would say a healthy environment means a healthy community,” Tuerff says. “They go hand in hand.”

To some readers, they are mere dots on old maps.

To others, lost towns such as Duval, Watters, McNeil, Dessau, Fromme, Merrilltown and Abercrombie — long since swallowed up by Austin sprawl — live in family memory.

Reader Ed Bradford of Pflugerville, however, found clear evidence of Duval on a 1921 USGS topographical map of the area. It shows the near relationship of Duval and similarly sized Watters.

The map also reveals the crossing of the county’s northern railroads at McNeil and the presence of a Pilot Knob (North) near Merrilltown. The more famous Pilot Knob, a volcanic outcropping, is near Austin Bergstrom International Airport.

Bicyclist Bob Dailey ran across Waters Park Road — a reminder of Watters — near MoPac Boulevard (Loop 1). “It’s a very short road,” Dailey says. “But combined with Park Bend on the west side on MoPac it offers a way under MoPac.”

Ann Galloway, who lived on a farm in the area during the 1940s, recalls that four or five black families still lived near an old church, which must have been St. Stephens Missionary Baptist Church, cultural center for the area’s African American community. The church is now in the Milwood neighborhood.

Kernan Hornburg shared a thoroughly sourced history of the area by Wayne Butler published online by the Walnut Crossing Neighborhood Association. In 1838, the Republic of Texas granted James Burleson Rogers a league of land that included the headwaters of Walnut Creek. That would have included land that became Duval and Watters.

A few years later, Waters Park (formerly Watters) was planted on the Austin and Northwestern Railroad, built to haul granite from Burnet to build the Texas Capitol. The Statesman announced on June 14, 1882, a “grand excursion and picnic” to the land to interest potential buyers in lots.

“In July of 1882, the railroad opened a resort including a pool,” Butler writes, “created by damming Walnut Creek, picnic grounds, a gazebo, a baseball field and concessions.”

At one point, the town of Waters Park supported a church, post office, school, gin, store and saloon.

“As late as the turn of the century, as many as 50 residents raised horses and mules, produced milk and cheese, and cultivated corn and cotton.” Butler writes. “By 1980, only one family descending from the original residents remained.”

Remnants of the original Waters Park dam can be found in Balcones District Park.

Butler also reveals that the area’s Hancock family descended from slaves owned by the wealthy Hancocks after which Hancock Golf Course and Hancock Road are named. Among the emancipated slaves was Rubin Hancock. His family farmed in the area where Milwood now stands.

Susan Burneson, who gathers oral history for her site, “Voices of the Violet Crown,” wrote of Abercrombie, a town to the south of Duval founded on land acquired by George West Spear in 1838.

The railroad town, which survives on an 1948 map, rose in today’s Crestview near the current MetroRail station at North Lamar Boulevard and Justin Lane. A never-built subdivision called Hollandale was planned for the same area, although a few street names reflect that plan.

Burneson says that the town’s namesake might have been farmer John Abercrombie, whose family arrived in Texas in 1855 and who owned property north of 45th Street. After 1900, his widow, Sarah, lived in Temple, where her son Joe worked for the railroad, a potential clue.

Or the town could have borrowed its name from Leonard Anderson Abercrombie, a lawyer, legislator and Confederate Army officer.

“Organized in the spring of 1862, (his) regiment was composed primarily of middle-aged men, many of whom were heads of families and prominent citizens,” Burneson writes. “Any one of them might have suggested that the new town just north of the capital city be named Abercrombie in his honor. Abercrombie’s daughter Lavinia married Robert Scott Lovett, considered one of the leading railroad lawyers in Texas beginning in the 1880s. Lovett also might have influenced the naming of the town in honor of his wife’s family.”

Burneson leaves the naming a mystery. But perhaps another reader will chime in.

The sacred and the profane alighted at the Human Rights Campaign dinner on Saturday.

Kevin Smith

Ribald and unscripted, Kevin Smith, creator of “Clerks,” “Chasing Amy” and “Red State,” rambled raucously from the stage at the Four Seasons Hotel.

A frequent Austin visitor, the straight gay ally thumped the hirsute girth under his hockey jersey: “I’m the king of the bears!”

Using language that didn’t amuse all the guests at the fundraiser for the equal rights group, Smith talked at length about his older brother, Donald, who waited a long time to come out to his younger brother.

Realizing that his and his friends’ ugly remarks contributed to this reluctance — and knowing that his brother saw few reflections of his romantic life on the screen — Smith has since always included gay material in his movies.

He won the group’s Equality Award. The Corporate Equality Award went to AT&T, which has received a 100 percent equal workplace rating from the HRC for the past nine years in a row.

Gala chairwomen Kathrin Kersten and Heather Beckel Luecke also introduced HRC’s national president, Chad Griffin, who peppered his speech with references to President Barack Obama’s second inaugural address, to recent electoral wins and to the upcoming U.S. Supreme Court rulings on the Defense of Marriage Act and California’s Proposition 8, which struck down marriage equality in that state.

Dave Steakley

Later, the Visibility Award was conferred on Austin’s own Dave Steakley. Since 1991, the artistic director of Zach Theatre has produced 30 gay-themed plays, including “Angels in America,” “The Laramie Project,” “Love, Valour, Compassion” and “Take Me Out.”

Early on, the theater company suffered some defections from longtime subscribers uncomfortable with the gay material or occasional appearance of stage nudity.

Yet Steakley, his board, staff and collaborators stuck to their guns. On this and on other subjects related to Austin’s evolving ethos, Steakley has been a highly visible and often thoughtful leader.

“I was raised by my grandparents on a Texas ranch,” he said at the HRC dinner. “And my grandmother would stand at the kitchen sink and sing old Baptist church hymns while she was washing dishes. ‘How Great Thou Art’ was her very favorite hymn and she would sing it with the full outpouring of her heart, and as a kid I would ponder endlessly over that phrase in the song ‘…then sings my soul…’ I always wondered what that lyric meant. … How could a soul sing?

Liz and Jamie Baskin

“Well, I now know exactly what that phrase means because I have had the rare privilege to experience it so many times over the years at Zach,” he continued. “This has been an unbelievable year of ‘soul singing’ for me, and creating the Topfer Theatre along with Zach’s board, patrons, staff and artists is the most meaningful experience of my life thus far.”

He concluded with a speech extracted from “Angels in America”: “The world only spins forward. We will be citizens. The time has come. Bye now. You are fabulous creatures, each and every one. And I bless you: More life. The Great Work Begins.”

Of course there was money to raise at the dinner. The Federal Club pledge that night took in more than $200,000 alone, thanks in part to the eloquence of Jamie and Liz Baskin, whose daughter is gay and who demonstrably upped their commitment to this upper bracket club of givers.

A near disaster just a few years ago, the HRC dinner is back to being among the most essential benefits in town.

Early Saturday evening, I mingled with rodeo fans at the immense Palmer Events Center. The hat per-capita ratio remains high at this heady event, which later scooted to the tunes of Dierks Bentley.

Sincerely sorry to miss that performance, but it I expected it be a 3-gala night and so scooted out myself early.

Luis Medina and Leigh Ann Lindsey

Ran into Luis Medina and Leigh Ann Lindsey, whom I met on almost exactly the same spot at a previous gala. Lindsey looks after the charitable work for the Austin-based EZCorp. We planned to chat over coffee about her company’s giving strategies.

Rodeo Austin, by the way, funds millions in college scholarships. I’m glad they do that, but they could qualify for good deeds by simply continuing to preserve Western culture in Austin.

I sorely wish the rodeo was more visible in central Austin — it was an essential cultural event for the city years ago before it moved out to East Travis County — which is why I’ve proposed staging demonstration events at Auditorium Shores during South by Southwest.

After all, what visitor wouldn’t want a bigger slice of Texas culture while in town?

Trey and Kelly Griffin

The rodeo’s core constituency is slowly evolving. It was good to see young couples like Trey and Kelly Griffin at the gala.

The Rodeo Austin brand is priceless. Yet other than the carnival and midway, most Austinites don’t really get the original function — stock show — and the later wildness of the sporting events.

I’d like to see the rodeo thrive in part by returning to those roots. And fixing whatever image issues — and there are some — could undermine its value.

The Nobelity Dinner delivers more celebrity firepower than dozens of other Austin galas put together. The list of musicians, filmmakers and literary figures goes on for days.

Our table was headed by unpretentious musical treasures Bruce Robison and Kelly Willis. Nearby was Ellen Richards, whose mother, late Gov. Ann Richards, an early Nobility backer, lent her name to a new founders award.

That honor went to John McCall, an early and generous backer of Turk and Christy Pipkin’s charity that helps people with basic needs in Kenya, Nepal and Austin — just to start.

With expected saltiness, former gubernatorial candidate Kinky Friedman accepted in McCall’s name.

Brendan Hansen and Maria Groten

The big honor of the night is the Willie Nelson Feed the Peace Award, which was picked up by actor and musician Kris Kristofferson. Later, a priceless array of artists interpreted his songs.

Aside from the company — which included the likes of Luke Wilson, Augie Garrido, Jody Conradt, Brendan Hansen, Brad Leland, Elizabeth Avellan, Mike Judge, Jaston Williams and Ray Benson — among the charms of this annual affair is the rare auction that is cunningly fun and over in a matter of minutes.

Like the Glimmer of Hope Foundation auction, one pays for services — a water well, a bookmobile, a school basketball court — then the buyer also receives a nice bonus like a vacation or a festival package.

It’s so much more direct than the usual falderol and it raises tens of thousands of dollars in mere minutes.

The Pipkins know how to do it right.

At the edge of Circle C, three steep hills surface above a creek. Around them winds a five-mile trail. Obeying signs and avoiding collisions, hikers go one way, bikers the other.

The Slaughter Creek Preserve Trail, with its rough-hewn 1860s Trautwein Homestead, popped up during 12 months exploring Central Texas for the American-Statesman’s monthly Real magazine. Feb. 22, a twelfth issue will mark its first full year in existence.

Next come hours poring over maps, histories and material from the Austin History Center. The reporting usually wraps with a tour led by a local leader and interviews with residents, business owners and just plain characters.

Though I’ve lived in Central Texas for almost 30 years, surprises wait around every corner lot.

For instance, Mueller, though half complete, already has generated an amazingly tight-knit social scene, in part because its New Urbanist design encourages personal interplay across front porches, shallow yards, back alleys and parks.

Carefully documented and fiercely preserved, Hyde Park contains a thousand treasures from its Victorian past and more recent eras. Yet the out-of-time Avenue B Grocery is the one gem I won’t forget. Lunch there should be required of every new Austin citizen.

Hippies did much to preserve the eccentric buildings in neighborhoods like Hyde Park, but in Buda? That’s right. The former railroad stop and current freeway suburb can thank counterculturalists for fixing up much of the old town that now forms a natural hub for Budan life.

In Sun City, I was taken aback by the endless, energetic activities embraced by the seniors who live in modest houses, play on multiple golf courses and gather enthusiastically in group centers. They also cultivate what might be the most extensive and productive community garden in Central Texas.

Travis Heights, which lies across South Congress Avenue from our home base in Bouldin Creek, is in our backyard. Yet it was neat to confirm that the flat grid of its Swisher Addition is older than its grander Fairview Park. What exactly was the relationship to the rest of the addition on the west side of Congress, which included the blacks-only Brackenridge, alternately called Southside? We’ll keep asking.

For previous stories, I’d thoroughly explored the East Austin splendors of Guadalupe, named after the Catholic Church that moved to the area in the 1920s. Yet who knew that, by 2010, this former hub for African Americans and Latinos was already half Anglo? And it continues to evolve.

Mostly flat Crestview actually comes with a crest and a view — a modest look at the western hills — but what’s incredible is the midcentury subdivision’s Welcome Wall. It encapsulates the area’s history, complemented by “Voices of the Violet Crown,” a website that collects area oral history.

Finding out that Lakeway had virtually no sidewalks wasn’t earth shattering. But to follow its crisp, well-tended nature trails, thick with wildlife, and to learn about its years as a resort spot with a statewide following was a delight.

I had spent time in the solid ranch houses along the wide, arcing streets of Windsor Park, but didn’t absorb before how quickly it, too, is changing. With the addition of a giant H-E-B market center to next-door Mueller, the once sleepy, midcentury Windsor Park is surely going to alter rapidly.

Aside from the Nature Preserve, Circle C is also home to extensive regional parks as well as the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center. For a development once on the front lines of Austin’s environmental wars, the mellow, maturing hood ended up with a big, green slice of nature.

Old West Austin and Clarksville are so packed with eye-openers — alley gardens, back streets, hidden arroyos — one could say the whole district is a series of surprises. One that stayed with me, however, is the divisive debate about which streets constitute Clarksville and which Old West Austin. (They overlap happily in the minds of most Austinites.)

The folks in Block House Creek carefully tend the past and the future of their tidy Cedar Park subdivision. Yet the area’s miracle is its namesake stream that is deep, sparkling and full of bass and perch even during a bad drought.

On to the next 12 Real neighborhoods!

Last spring, Alan Dukor had just dropped off 75 letters and two care packages for U.S. troops at the post office, when he stopped in his tracks.

“I felt an unbelievable feeling of doing what I could do,” Dukor, 19, says. “A lot of people want to help the troops but don’t know how. So why don’t I organize them?”

As luck would have it, Dukor was blessed with friends and a logistical frame of mind.

They planned to launch package-prep charity, Caring for Camo, in January 2013.

“My goal was 300 Facebook ‘likes’ by the end of the spring semester,” Dukor says. “It’s unreal. We reached almost 600 in the first three weeks.”

The UT outfit has already spawned student groups at the University of Wisconsin-Madison and Florida International University. Chapters are in the works at the University of Miami, University of Florida and University of Illinois.

Yet their biggest “get” was recruiting an older UT student, Nate Boyer, 32, a staff sergeant in the U.S. Army Special Forces — now with the Texas National Guard — who plays the long snapper position with the Longhorns football team.

Dukor, an equipment manager for the team, approached Boyer on Jan. 14 during practice for the Alamo Bowl.

“I didn’t know Alan that well,” Boyer admits. “And I didn’t know he was such a strong supporter of military and had such a heart for service members.”

Boyer could tell Dukor was serious.

“I remember getting care packages from total strangers when I was Iraq,” says Boyer, who has been profiled in this newspaper’s Sports section. “Even old magazines that people already read. It was great, for instance, to catch up on sports. Little things like beef jerky that you don’t get out there and you take for granted. A lot of people supported me in that way. The right thing to do is reciprocate.”

Reasons for caring

Different circumstances motivated the Caring for Camo foursome.

Wisconsin-born, Florida-raised Smith’s grandfather, who passed away last year, served in Vietnam and several other family members were attached to the military.

“Everybody wants to support the troops,” wide-eyed, open-grinned Smith says. “I knew from Alan’s personality that he’d see this through.”

Guss, the son of Southern California dentists, had wanted to help since 9/11.

“It was the most memorable thing in my childhood,” says soft-spoken Guss. “Mom was crying at the TV. But I was proud of the way America responded. It reminded me why we love America.

Dukor, his pal in the Alpha Epsilon Pi fraternity, seemed to offer an answer.

“I handn’t heard anyone else do anything like this,” he says of Caring for Camo. Guss worked on the website, PayPal account and graphics. “At first we had a Longhorn image, but we can’t use that, so we came up with something new,” he says.

“I was told that the chances of approval of using the UT logo were about the same as UT football winning the 2012 football championship,” Dukor jokes.

Chicago-and-Palm-Beach-bred Dukor’s parents were Russian Jews who came over during a wave of emigration in 1980.

“From Day 1, my parents instilled in me that freedom wasn’t free,” Dukor, wiry and intense. “We should cherish that freedom and ask who pays the price.”

For his part, Tennessee-born Boyer, who carries himself with a brawny, but benign gruffness that could serve him well in any field, worked with 12-member Special Forces teams after joining the Army in 2004. He served in Iraq, Israel, Bulgaria and at various American bases.

Boyer could have attended college anywhere, but he says the G.I. Bill benefits are best in Texas. Playing on Mack Brown’s Horns, albeit in a small role, was just a bonus.

He liked the Caring for Camo slogan: “Be a Hero, Help a Hero.”

Boyer and his younger friends encourage their new followers to write letters to the troops (“We can never have enough letters. It is the No. 1 most requested item.”), donate financially so they can buy and ship goods and to donate magazines, snacks, videos, CDs. Check on what’s needed at the Caring for Camo Facebook page or by emailing CaringForCamo@gmail.com.

Why have these guys been so successful, so quickly when students back in my day would be lucky to organize a bake sale?

“If we didn’t have Facebook, about 15 people would know about us,” Smith laughs. “Social media is the multiplier.”

This tale weaves together traffic, theater, food, wine and, oddly enough, kava.

The odyssey begins, aptly, on Interstate 35.

I don’t do traffic. I walk. Or I take mass transit.

When I take the car, I avoid Interstate 35 or MoPac Boulevard, especially during rush hour. I steer around intersections like West Sixth Street and North Lamar Boulevard.

I take back ways. There are few back ways, however, to San Marcos.

My date, Carter Wilsford, and I had intended to see epic actor Eugene Lee in Shakespeare’s “Richard III” at Texas State University. (I’m fairly certain without the recently discovered corpse.)

We left Central Austin an hour before curtain. We reached Ben White Boulevard within 30 minutes. Then William Cannon Drive by 7:30 p.m., when the play was scheduled to begin in San Marcos.

And there appeared to be no break in the traffic. So we exited, turned right on William Cannon, then right again on South Congress Avenue.

Both hungry, we hunted for a fresh spot to try. We whizzed past a sleek condo complex with a sign that read “Kava Bar.”

We turned around and pulled up to a beautifully built-out lounge with a stage and outdoor seating. The lighted sign read: “Open.” No one was there.

As we entered, the barista raised her head from the counter. “May I help you?”

I looked around for a posted menu or a row of offered items. “What do you have?”

“Kava.”

“Just kava.”

“Mainly kava.”

I look at my date. “We’ll try a cup.”

She pulls out what looks like two half coconut shells from under the counter and explains that they hold 12 ounces each. But it would take three of each for us to “feel the kava.” We’d be relaxed but not intoxicated.

That seemed like a big investment of time and liquid. “We’re actually really hungry. We’ll come back another time.”

Spooked, we headed downtown, passing lots of long-established places, when my date said: “Winflo! It has opened on West Sixth.”

I had tried to attend the new osteria the previous week, but now it was open for business. Lots of business. The parking lot — valet only — was full. We found a spot on the street a block away, but suspected we were going to join a long line of hungry customers.

The patio, located over a depression that was once a private lake or pond, was full. So, too, the cozy interior. I spied Jerry and Becky Conn, who had just finished what appeared to be a merry meal.

“Order the Manhattans! Excellent! You can have our table …”

Not so fast. Restaurants have rules. And the hostess winced when she said the wait was one hour and 15 minutes.

No. We climbed back into the car and headed to my neighborhood. One can easily stroll to two dozen good cafes from our front door.

“What about Botticelli’s?” Carter said.

“Perfect. Haven’t been there in years.”

In fact, my previous experiences had been underwhelming. Not so this night. After an Old-Fashioned on the rocks that nicely did the job of six kavas, we were seated at a narrow table near what we guessed were pre-Valentine’s couples.

Carter ordered the wine, a Sardinian red varietal called Cannonau that he said prefigured the Grenache grapes of France. Light but firm. Even firmer as we slowly emptied the bottle.

The evening was finally underway. I had a sausage soup thick with healing black pepper. I’d recently eschewed black pepper while cooking at home in favor of red pepper flakes, thanks to the influence of rocking TV chef Anne Burrell. So this soup was like a warm black-pepper blast on a cold night.

My entree was a meatball tagliatelle dish so rich and inviting that I almost swooned. I had to take some home to Kip. Carter had a duck dish with ravioli. He claimed the duck was done perfectly. How often do you hear that in Austin?

Service was attentive and the bill totaled half of what we’d have paid at one of our hood’s signature restaurants.

So no Shakespearean tragedy. And no new nightspots. We found redemption at an Italian joint a few steps from our house that we had unjustly dismissed for years.

Note for future stories: This town offers better Italian food than most experts admit. Think of Vespaio, La Traviata, Siena. Sure, they aren’t on every corner, but there’s enough to keep me saying: “Grazie!”

The Philanthropy Day Awards Luncheon is a triple gift.

The crispy managed meal at the Hyatt Regency Austin allows one to visit with the askers and givers of the city’s nonprofit community.

It also slows down social time in order to lionize those who ask and give especially well through videos, speeches and awards.

For your social columnist, however, the third gift is invaluable: The ceremony practically writes the first drafts of future newspapere profiles.

Even before the glass awards were accepted, the notion entered my head that we should know more about the event chairwoman and Ballet Austin asker Christi Cuellar Lotz. A mega-profile should be researched, reported and written on the witty master of ceremonies, banker and benefactor Eddie Safady.

We’ve already written up Darryl Wittle, who heads up Fleming’s Prime Steakhouse and Wine Bar at the Domain. His eatery earned the honor for outstanding small/medium philanthropic corporation after giving food, drink and venue space to more than 200 charities a year.

How would we tackle H-E-B, which won the counterpart award for large company? I’d trade away a lot of social points to interview billionaire grocery titan Charles Butt, but I imagine I’d have to take a number in a long line of reporters for that one.

I know next to nothing about the Carl C. Anderson, Sr. and Marie Jo Anderson Charitable Foundation, which scored for outstanding charitable group, so that would be an adventure into the great unknown.

Now Brett Barnes (no relation) I’ve known since he was a promising opera student, long before he became an ace fundraiser for groups such as LifeWorks, for whom he created signature benefits such was the White Party. Probably time to catch up with Brett in print.

Brody Roush’s story is almost too good: He’s a St. Michael’s Academy senior who started his own charity while still a teen. You hear that kind of tale more often these days than in my time, but it’s still powerful and he picked up the Kelly Davidson Memorial Outstanding Philanthropic Youth glass sculpture.

Bonnie Mills and Jim Sauer are apparently a winning pair of volunteer askers, certainly worth a column.

What a magnificent Sunday feature I could make out of 93-year-old Sr. Gertrude Levy of Seton. She’s a veritable saint. And she’s seen it all.

Super-philanthropists Jeanne and Mickey Klein have been profiled expertly in our pages before, but any time they want to sit down and talk about their vision for the city, I’m game, even if it doesn’t turn into a published article.

You see what I mean? Priceless material for the price of 90 minutes out of a day.

I didn’t expect to choke up.

Eric Draper and Alison Beck at the LBJ Presidential Library

After all, “News to History,” a photo show arranged by the Briscoe Center for American History at the LBJ Presidential Library, records mostly familiar American episodes. Organized by presidential tenures, it also includes rare, candid shots of our leaders behind the scenes.

What moved me, however, were the iconic images from our recent past: Vietnam, antiwar protests, civil rights marches, moon shots, assassinations, 9/11. The Briscoe Center houses hundreds of thousands of these priceless pictures, but what a jolt to see this selection all at once.

The show is located in the U-shaped temporary exhibit space on the first floor of the Presidential Library. It bleeds into the new permanent exhibit, which itself will take months and many visits to fully absorb. Plan to go now.

Priscilla and John-Michael Cortez at the Long Center

As if to escape the True, I ran to Beauty.

Ballet Austin presented three gorgeous pieces at the Long Center under the rubric “The Rite of Spring.”

I was privileged to sit near Cookie Ruiz and Brent Hasty again. They make a three-part concert feel like a pajama party among old friends.

During the first intermission, I joined donors in the Kodosky Lounge, which has turned out to be a handy place retreat from the center’s sometimes crowded lobbies — especially on a cold night when few patrons promenaded on the ringed terrace. (Still needs a name, some lucky donor!)

Fellow ramblers Linda Ball and Forrest Preece discussed walking, eateries and the death of arts hostess Tam Rogers Cartwright. I met her dozens of times at the Paramount Theatre and elsewhere, but never really got to know her.

Priscilla and John Michael Cortez talked parenting and networking, but also about mass transit, which will keep John-Michael busy during SXSW. He’s Cap Metro’s community involvement manager. The Cortez pair are among the most effective and enterprising among Austinites on the charity circuit.

Everything — and everyone — is beautiful at the ballet.

That little ol’ college art museum is all grown up. The Blanton Museum of Art threw a 50th anniversary gala on Saturday while unveiling “Through the Eyes of Texas: Masterworks from Alumni Collections.”

Designer Mehgan McKinney and model Morgan Davis at the Blanton Gala

Not only did the building look great, but it was filled with dressy folks from Austin, Dallas, Houston and beyond. They gaped at the range of art from ancient to avant-garde spread out over two floors. Later, they trooped over to the Bob Bullock Texas State History Museum for a grand dinner.

We spent time discussing past Austin mayors with State Sen. Kirk Watson, career courses with Texas Monthly publisher Elynn J. Russell, the state of the collection with Blanton director Simone Wicha, shifts in retail trends with Neiman Marcus’ Nancy Nichols, collecting strategy with Jeanne Klein, up-and-coming nonprofit talent with Eugene Sepulveda and Steven Tomlinson, profile possibilities with banker/benefactor Eddie Safady, and so forth.

From there, it was a quick stroll to the Sheraton Austin Hotel at the Capitol for the Town Lake Links Mardis Gras.

Coi Burress, Revlynn Lawson and Simone Burress at the Links Town Lake Mardis Gras

Here I was immediately adopted by consultant Revlynn Lawson and celebrity chef Coi Burress who introduced me to her sister, Simone Burress, now stationed at Larry McGuire’s Josephine House (next door to Jeffrey’s).

We reveled in the incredible bargains snatched by guests during the live auction, charmingly managed by Austin Police Chief Art Acevedo and pro auctioneer Victoria Gutierrez. We also chatted about longtime Links member Mary Louise Adams, whom I’m interviewing this week. Hope to find out ever more about this social group originally founded by African American businesswomen.

My tux must have looked a bit out of place as I worked my way down Red River Street, over East Sixth Street and down to the Four Seasons Hotel (I try to own whatever look ends up on me).

Victoria Corcoran Neal and Lyda Creus Molanphy at Hollywood and Casino Night

My guide for the Capital Area Dental Foundation’s sprawling Hollywood and Casino Night Gala was nonprofit consultant Victoria Corcoran Neal, who introduced me to party instigators Lyda Creus Molanphy and Dr. Alan Moore. Both gave me insights into the social world of dentists.

They certainly like to gamble. Or at least, faux gamble at the charitable tables that spilled out of a banquet room and into lobbies.This group is clearly doing good work with education and donated dental services. And they know how to have a little fun on a February weekend.

Even before the Lady Bird Wildflower Center opened in 1995, Paul Reinartz Jr. was there.

Tall, creased, working without wasted motion, the retired nuclear weapons officer and master gardener moved thousands of rocks and prepared the ground for the botanical wonders that were to come.

“I love growing things,” he says. “To me it’s amazing to plant a little seed, watch it sprout and grow up to be a viable plant. I’m fascinated by the whole thing.”

For 20 years, he helped out in the Governor’s Mansion vegetable garden after Gov. Mark White decided to plant one, growing plants he transplanted from his garden.

Besides his own gardening — he lives a quick five miles from the center in Southwest Austin — Reinartz contributes time to an Alzheimers ministry at Westlake Hills Presbyterian Church and to the Bill Glass Champions for Life evangelical prison ministry.

In short, the New Jersey-born Reinartz seems the embodiment of Rick Warren’s “A Purpose-Driven Life” and its philosophy — which Reinartz embraces explicitly — that “we should not just be on the earth taking up space, but giving back as much as we can.”

The descendant of German immigrants grew up in Bloomfield, N.J., then moved around, mostly in the South, with two siblings during World War II. The adventuresome kid rarely retreated indoors.

“I loved the swamps of Georgia and Florida, looking for alligators and water moccasins,” he recalls. “We vacationed on the eastern shore of Virginia, five miles outside of Exmore, and picked tomatoes and potatoes, right along with sharecroppers just for the fun of it, five cents a basket. We got paid on Saturday. That kept my brother and me in jawbreakers, ice cream and firecrackers.”

In those perhaps simpler times, Reinartz’s mother rarely knew where her sons spent the day. Mechanically inclined, he did well in physics and applied math.

“I loved intricate mechanical things,” he says. “I wanted to take things apart and put them back together again. Still do. I’m kind of a frustrated non-engineer.”

Reinartz was afforded the opportunity to apply that mechanical curiosity serving with the U.S. Army Ordnance Corps in Germany, South Korea and Vietnam.

“During the days of the Cold War, army nuclear weapons had to be assembled,” he says. “They came in pieces and were stored disassembled. As the threat level changed, you put different weapons together and maintained them. It was very intricate work. You could not fail. We were tested constantly. If you ever failed, you looked for another job. We were always shooting for the 99.9 percent possibility that it would work.”

After 20 years in the service, the lieutenant colonel retired with his wife, Janice Ormond Reinartz, to Austin, in part because two of his three daughters attended the University of Texas and his brother lived not far away in Hondo.

“Austin seemed like a neat, upbeat town,” he says. “And I like the out of doors, to hunt and fish, sail and garden.”

He had learned gardening from his father.

“During World War II, you couldn’t buy certain food,” he says. “You grew it or raised it.”

Later, Reinartz nurtured champion-sized vegetables, including a 12-pound cauliflower fertilized with circus elephant dung that landed his picture — hidden behind the giant plant — in the American-Statesman.

One year, his vegetable garden was featured once a month on John Dromgoole’s “The Natural Gardener.”

“It kept me on my toes — and knees — for a year,” he says.

At the center, the staff has nicknamed towering Reinartz “Tall Paul.” He tends the vine bowers without a ladder and tinkers with a high water faucet that keeps him from bending over.

Reinartz was given a small, square garden in the center’s courtyard to design and cultivate. His collection of cactus and stones minutely reflects the shapes, colors and conditions of West Texas.

If something is broke, he fixes it. He once spent two years organizing the center’s pole bar with all its nuts, bolts, screws and saws. During an ice storm, he was the only one to show up other than the guards, so he washed the shade cloth to keep the ice off.

“I’m the on-call guy,” he says, almost smiling. “I do things that others don’t want to do or don’t have time to do. I make things, put up signs, repair machinery, put shelves in closets, propagate cactus by the thousands to get them ready for sale. Not many people want to do cactus. It’s pretty sticky business.”

The daughter of a single working mom, diligent student Elizabeth S. Gonzales dropped out of a Corpus Christi high school when she became pregnant.

“A lot of my passion about education comes from that experience,” says Gonzales, now 63, who put a young husband through pharmacy school, then raised three children on her own while working full-time.

Gonzales was raised with three other siblings by a mother, Maria Casso Hiten, 83, who waited tables. The current New York Life insurance agent first arrived in Austin in January 1967. She worked as a cashier at Walgreen’s for $49 a week.

She landed a better job at the Sears cosmetics and wigs counter. “People remember that it was right by the escalator,” she says.

When IBM opened shop on what is now Burnet Road, they needed a bilingual receptionist. She was the last applicant they interviewed.

“God always presented me with better opportunities to learn and to grow,” she says. “And I had a family to feed.”

Among her more memorable jobs after that was working for what she calls the “Holly Street Gang” — three lawyers with an office at Holly Street and Interstate 35 who also dabbled in politics: Gabe Gutierrez, Alberto Garcia and Juan Duran.

“We had fun,” she says. “I was there almost eight years managing that office.”

Another three years were spent trading commodity futures. An agent she met at a madrigal dinner tried to convinced her that New York Life was where she should be.

“I knew enough people in Austin and everybody needs it,” she says of life insurance. “One of the best moves I ever made in my life, besides moving back to Austin, was joining New York Life. I didn’t want a job. I wanted a career. That’s what they offered.”

She started working on commission April Fool’s Day 1986.

“I had just three months salary in the bank to live on and three children, one at every school level,” she recalls.

Split long ago from her husband, Gonzales, who lives off South First Street near Slaughter Lane, now coddles four grandsons. Yet she has no intention of retiring any time soon.

“I do love what I do in my business,” she says. “People are usually better off when I leave the room than before I got there. I’ve never been high pressure. That’s not the way I buy or the way I sell.”

Her supervisors tell the hyper-organized Gonzales — always carefully coiffed and appointed — she could be even more successful if she transferred the energy she devotes to the volunteer work to selling more insurance.

“To me, it’s more important to be involved in the community,” she says. “You spend what you make, so if my obligations are met, I don’t really need more money.”

She joined the Greater Austin Hispanic Chamber of Commerce 31 years ago because “it had the loudest Latino voice in the city.”

“It was there to represent Latinos outside of politics,” Gonzales says. She now serves on the board for the chamber’s foundation, which deals with education, leadership, health and wellness.

“I really like the way the chamber looks these days,” she says. “Lots of young professionals earning six figures, leaders, lots of new blood revitalizing the organization, which is to the good.”

For 20 years, Gonzales has held an appointed position with the City of Austin Retirement System, which manage almost $2 billion for 10,000 city employees and retirees.

“We’re underfunded like everybody else, but the city is pitching in more these days,” she says. “We had a good last year. But three good years can get wiped out by one bad year.”

One of her favorite charities is the Southwest Key program, which includes a charter school, East Austin College Prep Academy.

”Juan Sanchez has an incredible vision and heart for kids and education,” she says. “And also for those who have not had the same opportunities and exposure. We expect excellence from our students and get it.”

Never remarried, Gonzales found the “God of my understanding” in the Course of Miracles and has attended its weekly meetings for 20 years. A regular traveler, she’s taking salsa dancing lessons and wants to learn country and western style.

“I love to dance,” she says. ”Tejano dancing is what I learned first. My Daddy taught me. It reminds me of home and him.”

To Mando Rayo, the ideal taco begins with the right tortilla.

“It’s a tool for eating,” he says over breakfast tacos at Joe’s Bakery, which has been doing the them deftly for decades on East Seventh Street. “You don’t eat it separately. You tear it up, scoop up food, wipe plates with it. Whether corn or flour. I prefer corn, though I grew up eating flour. At five in the morning you’d smell the tortillas.”

“It depends on how you cook it,” Rayo says. “It’s gotta be warm. And beans. Good beans and good salsas are the two ingredients for testing a restaurant. If they have those covered, they are golden. I use beans like Mexican mayo, putting a thin layer in with everything.”

The cheery, freckle-faced Rayo, who will speak at South by Southwest Interactive and is writing a book on breakfast tacos, has sampled thousands at worksite trailers to forgotten strip shopping centers.

“You develop a palette,” he says. “You’d be surprised how many places they are cooked just right. I also like mine spicy. I always put on green salsa or jalepeños.”

Learning in Ysleta

Rayo’s mother, Maria Isabel Rayo Ibarra, raised five children in the Ysleta projects while housekeeping at Howard Johnson. A curious kid who loved breakdancing, video games, wrestling and gymnastics, Rayo helped out at home when he wasn’t playing in the park or hanging out at the library.

“We made our own food,” he says himself and of his siblings. “We’d fry corn tortillas with eggs, tomatoes, onions, jalapeños and cheese. We’d call it ‘juevos con tortillas.’ When I got to Austin, I found it that people called it ‘migas.’”

His mom and her family were from a tiny town in Chihuahua, Mexico.

“We’d hang out around the kitchen,” he says. “Grandmothers and aunts were always cooking. We’d watch them do it: Enchiladas and chiles rellenos.”

On Sundays, the extended family got together for a Mexican version of barbecue.

“Every now and then, my uncle would kill a goat or a pig,” he says. “I remember being very young and being part of that process. From the time they send the pig’s soul to heaven to pulling out the hairs, slicing it up, getting the big barrels and making the chicharones.”

For breakfast and lunch, a metal piece of farm equipment is welded into a “disco,” a wok-like cooking surface for a “disqueada.” In a fire pit, his family cooks red meat, pork, bacon, jalapeños, onions.

“Then we warm up tortillas on the side and make tacos,” he says. “These are my fondest memories. The feelings, the smells, the comforts about being around your family and sharing stories and food. As a kid, you just enjoy it. But now I look back and say: ‘Those are some good times!’”

On the taco trail

Arriving in Austin at age 22, Rayo attended Austin Community College and continues his education today at St. Edward’s University.

“I was a late bloomer,” he laughs. “Most of what I do now is based on hands-on experience. I worked a few restaurant jobs, retail, office jobs.”

He volunteered at United Way before charity work and community outreach became his career.

“I didn’t know you could do this,” he says. “Help people on a full-time basis.”

What about his second job in reporting?

“At work, I was the taco guy,” he says. “Always getting tacos for my staff. At heart, every Latino’s dream is to have their own restaurant. One day, (food writer) Sam Armstrong and I were talking tacos. He said: ‘Why don’t you write up your Top 5 and post it on the Austinist?’”

Rayo’s reports — rendered in a lively mix of English, Spanish and Spanglish — were made for the digital age. In 2006, he joined founders Jarod Neece and Justin Bankston at TacoJournalism. The threesome soon added a social element through happy-hour meet-ups and tours of taco spots.

“And not always the easy ones to get to,” Rayo says. “The ones that have character. The real tacos. Old restaurants, new trailers, modern cafes. We ask what’s the background and history? What’s the story of the taco makers? To me, it’s about culture and the people behind it. At the core is the love of the taco.”

Among his favorite spots right now are Rosita’s, El Papalote, Taqueria Chapala and TacoDeli.

“I like how they are taking tacos to another level,” he says of innovators at TacoDeli. “They have perfected the Doña sauce.”

Early on, the taco-chomping online trio jumped into social media, won awards and were interviewed by The New York Times.

Rayo was asked to speak at SXSW again, this time on a panel titled “Revenge of the Taco Blogger.”

“There are all kinds of food bloggers out there trying to cover latest and hottest and foods, the trends,” he says. “I call myself a “grassroots cocinero.” It’s really focused on this niche platform engaging people in a very specific food. People say: ‘Why don’t you try our egg rolls? The Asian tacos?’ For us it’s being true to what we love.”

Rayo, who sits on several boards, is married to teacher and aspiring landscape architect Ixchel Granada de Rayo. They have two kids and one chicken.

He encourages all Austin food lovers to take a chance on eateries outside the expensive urban core.

“All you have to do is drive five more minutes outside the downtown area and you get some really good authentic food,” he says. “We do the hard work for you.”

At age 10, Larry McGuire made bagels, cakes and intricate pastries at home.

At age 16, he prepped food for innovative Austin chef Lou Lambert, becoming his pizza maker.

At age 21, he helped open and operate a restaurant for chefs Lambert and Grady Spears inside a Sugar Land corporate hotel.

At age 23, he opened his first restaurant, Lamberts Downtown Barbecue, in partnership with his mentor, transforming a former general store into one of the Second Street District’s signature venues.

Soon, he will affix the jewel to the crown: A re-imagined Jeffrey’s, the Clarksville landmark and once one of the toniest restaurants in town.

He respectfully — and astutely — retained the original name cultivated by founders Jeffrey Weinberger and Ron and Peggy Weiss since the 1970s.

The plan to revive Jeffrey’s, formerly a West Austin power spot, is as ambitious as anything attempted by his natural competitors in the high-end Austin food game: David Bull, Paul Qui, Tyson Cole, Shawn Cirkiel, Josh Watkins, Jesse Herman or Delfo Trombetta.

Lambert thinks McGuire has few rivals among those who create unique standalone restaurant concepts.

“Larry has the ability to totally understand restaurants,” he says. “It’s not something that can be taught. Like great singers or surgeons, you either have it or you don’t. And Larry has it — the innate ability and talent to conceive, design and operate restaurants.”

Steve Wertheimer, owner of the legendary Continental Club and a McGuire Moorman Hospitality company partner, says that McGuire pays attention to all the essential details.

“In practical terms, that means that setting an excellent plate of food in front of the patrons is his minimum standard,” Wertheimer says. “The places all feel like they are part of the fabric of this community and have been here for decades as opposed to feeling brand new. They all have legs.”

While pleasing customers and building seven distinct brands, McGuire has become as adept at retaining employees and investors in a famously demanding business.

“I was going to be one of those tough kitchen dudes and work 70 hours a week,” McGuire admits. “Now I’m older and a CEO with 400 employees. My job is to create a culture within our company that is sustainable. I can’t push my people to work 80 hours a week. We’re trying to develop into a smart company.”

Austin born, Austin bred

Darkly muscular, Austin native McGuire offers a handshake almost as rough and firm as his mentor Lambert’s. Growing up in Zilker and Travis Heights, he was an athlete ensconced in an artistic family.

“We grew up in a quiet house,” he says. “Everyone read a whole lot except for me. The emphasis was on arts and books. I was really into sports.”

Though not innately artistic, McGuire took up cooking while his mother was in school. (Or he cooked because she had adopted a macrobiotic diet, he told the American-Stateman, perhaps jokingly, in 2009.)

“I always wanted my meals to look like those in magazines,” he says. “Mom would bring home cookbooks, Bon Appetit, The New York Times.”

Opening eatery after eatery, he’s now as much a designer as a chef, paying meticulous attention to uniforms, decor and seating arrangements.

“The bigger the challenge, the more it interested him,” his mother Joan McGuire says. “From baking, he expanded into cooking elaborate meals and would cook for himself and his brothers and the entire family on holidays.”

Loyal to a core group of old friends, he was — and is — an anxious host.

“I always had more fun throwing a party than going to a party,” he says. “I like the creative part of it. I like people to really enjoy themselves. But I still get butterflies before a party. I always wanted it to be almost designed and curated. I wish I could relax and just enjoy a party.”

McGuire picked up a European relish for pleasure alongside work while studying abroad in Spain. At the University of Texas, he majored in economics and signed up with a serious fraternity.

“I thought I’d move to New York and become a jerk stockbroker,” he says.

Instead, he worked for a series of culinary endeavors cooked up by siblings Lou and Liz Lambert, who helped transform South Congress Avenue into SoCo, and their biz partner James Smith.

Helping former rancher Lou Lambert open a corporate hotel in Sugar Land turned into intense culture shock.

“All my friends were seniors at UT,” he says. “Lou and I were hired for our creativity, but after a while, we asked: ‘Why are we even here?”

So McGuire opted out of another Lambert hotel project in San Antonio. Instead, he pitched the idea of a new eatery in downtown Austin.

“Lou said: ‘Write a business plan,” McGuire recalls. “’Name it Lamberts, raise the money, and if it looks like it is happening, I’ll come back.’”

An empire is born

Onlookers swear McGuire willed Lamberts into being.

As he scraped together the money for what would become Lamberts, McGuire found a new mentor in Michael Terrazas of the white-hot Starlite, which he helped move from 34th Street to downtown. They became good friends.

McGuire needed all the friends he could muster when he opened Lamberts, located in the spared brick structure, redesigned by Emily Little, who also contributed designs to the Jeffrey’s and Josephine House projects.

“The opening of that restaurant was super rough,” McGuire says. “We had no idea what we were doing. We knew how to cook. I can’t believe people gave us any money.”

Yet the menu and concept landed in the right place at the right time.

“Just catching the charcuterie and naturally smoked meats (trend)” McGuire says. “Also the interior decor was just right. My biggest strength now is interpreting trends in Austin in advance. The art of making money is a separate thing.”

That’s what McGuire learned the hard way as the restaurant’s namesake left town for a project in Fort Worth.

“I some ways, making money contradicts the idea of hospitality,” McGuire says. “As a host, you want to go over the top for your guests. As a restaurant owner, you are trying to find ways to make a nickel or dime.”

With then-sous chef Tom Moorman, Jr., he created a management company that would include Wertheimer and Carla Work, the group’s accountant turned its chief financial officer.

Together, the agreed that the former Mars on South Congress would make an ideal location for the next concept.

“We kicked around ideas about something light — maybe healthier seafood,” he says. “We are the ideal customer. We eat out all the time. Where do we want to be on a Friday? And South Congress has blown up so much.”

Their timing was perfect. They took the dark, uninviting Mars into a bright, colorful waterside cafe — without the water — that lures customers onto the deck and inside the lively interiors. The vibe for the array of oysters and other ultra-fresh seafood was casual and fresh. The price point was not cheap by any means, but not crippling.

At age 26, McGuire had learned how to make his ever-growing legion of investors, often drawn from the neighborhoods where the eateries sprouted, safe money.

Two years later came Elizabeth Street Cafe, Moorman’s baby. They took the funky former Bouldin Creek Coffehouse space, kept the casual feel and outdoor seating, but borrowed a bit of French style. They carefully constructed a bakery and cafe open for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

“We wanted to reflect the neighborhood and how it has changed,” McGuire says. “When you walk in, you know it’s one of our places — calm, friendly, with attention to line cooking and timing.”

From Day 1, the Elizabeth Street staff guided guests expertly through a rather eccentric menu. How does his team ensure that kind of service?

“Hiring people who care,” McGuire says. “You can train anyone, but you want to hire people who enjoy it and get hospitality.”

Margaret Vera, associated with Stubb’s BBQ and Azul, came up with Fresa’s, the chicken place on North Lamar Boulevard.

“It’s an obvious take-off on El Pollo Rico,” McGuire says. “But with all natural, handmade food.”

“I just never get that feeling that we are in the honeymoon phase of these places after they open,” Wertheimer says. “I feel like I have walked into some newly discovered place that has been here forever.”

Among the McGuire Moorman spots, smart phones and close proximity mean that menu and staff changes can be monitored with ease.

“The company has gotten big enough that it’s not hard to open a new restaurant,” McGuire says. “Clark’s went very smoothly. We are still loosely organized. The restaurants operate pretty much on their own.”

The holy of holies

“Jeffrey’s was the place where my grandma would take my mother for a really special occasion,” McGuire says. “Just hearing ‘Jeffrey’s’ — you imagined what it was in your head. I want to bring back that allure.”

Starting with the traditional appetizer-entree-side-dessert program, Jeffrey’s will not employ trendy techniques or small plates. And McGuire insists they will not compromise on ingredients for California French cuisine.

“Zero cutting corners,” he states. “And having the right service that allows us to charge enough to pay for it. You should assume you are only going to be paying for the best.”

Already open next door is rustic Josephine House, which serves as a special-event room but also a lunch and happy- hour gathering place. McGuire calls it “hippie Martha Stewart.”

McGuire is already cooking up new ideas based on travels especially to favored cities such as San Francisco. No matter the next concept, it will likely fit into what chef Joshua Hines calls McGuire’s “seamless blend of style, taste and substance.”

The single McGuire, whose favorite drop-in spot is the bar at Vespaio on South Congress, is dating one woman now. He temporarily lives next door to his two new eateries in Clarskville and has carved out his first real office above Jeffrey’s.

“I’ve made more time for myself lately,” he says. “And I have the ability to build my own team. It’s like my friends are coming over in the morning to open a restaurant. This small town is getting smaller for me.”

The social lion of March is South by Southwest (March 8-17, various locations). Music, movies and technology are only three of the cultural activities exalted by this festival of unquestioned global magnitude. B

esides showcases, premieres and industry confabs, you can’t cross the street in Central Austin without stumbling on a side party, day party or after party.

The region’s rural heritage gets a lift from Rodeo Austin (March 8-23, Travis County Exposition Center), which includes a carnival, stock show, musical acts and pro rodeo contests. Socializing also pops up at various spots on the rodeo grounds.

Flashy, fun and a bit campy is Viva Las Vegas for AIDS Services of Austin (March 2, Shoal Cross Events Center), and the CASAblanca Gala for CASA of Travis County (March 2, Hyatt Regency Austin) is dressy, classy and a bit nostalgic.

The Helping Hand Home for Children’s Crystal Ball (March 2, Palmer Events Center) is among the city’s few debutante affairs and includes a nice fashion show.

At the Texas Heritage Songwriters’ Association Awards Show (March 3, ACL Live), performers Toby Keith, Jack Ingram and Larry Gatlin will join honorees Ronnie Dunn and Sonny Curtis on-stage.

Among those receiving the Texas Medal of the Arts (March 4-5, Long Center), which honors high achievers in music, film, arts, philanthropy and other fields, are Austin theatrical superstars Joe Sears and Jaston Williams.

The First Tee of Greater Austin’s 9 Core Values Awards salutes outstanding local citizens over lunch (March 6, AT&T Executive Education and Conference Center).

Also packed with A-List celebrities is the Texas Film Hall of Fame (March 7, Austin Studios), which serves as an unofficial social kick-off for South by Southwest.

A Western theme and a bucolic setting separate the Bandana Ball for Ronald McDonald House Charities (March 23, Wild Onion Ranch) from other such events.

The Heart to Heart Gala for Sacred Heart Community Clinic (March 23, Westin Austin at the Domain) is among the only major galas for a Round Rock charity. It proved an instant hit last season.

The Austin Recovery Speaker Series Luncheon features football legend and meat purveyor Earl Campbell (March 26, ACL Live). Just try keeping a dry eye during this inspirational event.

This neighborhood profile ran in the March issue of REAL magazine.

It’s crystal clear why people have flocked to the Block House Creek area for hundreds of years: the deep, sparkling, undying stream at its geographic center.

Here, Tonkawas and Comanches camped. Republic of Texas rangers under Capt. John J. Tumlinson built a fort at the springs before being called into the final battles of the Texas Revolution. T

he fort’s block house was destroyed after the soldiers abandoned it. After the Civil War, Williamson County Judge A.S. Walker established a ranch under the same cottonwoods, pecans and oaks. His renovated family house now serves as a light-filled community center.

Even now, suburban residents — who started arriving in the 1980s — march up and down the creek’s emerald greenbelt. At one point, the undercover melts away because one man has cleared the brush, in part to prevent wildfires.

“I’m trying to make it like the Garden of Eden,” says James Kirk, whose house backs up to the greenbelt. “It is godsent.”

A three-mile sidewalk loop, not the greenbelt, serves as the main pedestrian link for the carefully planned residential district. The Block House Creek subdivision lies between Cedar Park and Leander. Because it falls within Cedar Park’s extraterritorial jurisdiction, it will likely join that energetic city some day.

A big chunk of that granite, presumably ejected from the train, now sits in one of the subdivision’s well-tended parks.

To the south is a brushy ranching holdout, bordered by a New Urbanist experiment on the other side of New Hope Drive. To the east is the looming Cedar Park Center alongside the newer, tolled U.S. 183-A. To the north is Horizon Park, a similar if more informal subdivision.

Although built in roughly two stages in tandem with a municipal utility district and an owner’s association — the two groups now seem closely allied — Block House Creek feels made from whole cloth. The older part hosts 960 houses, the newer 1,228.

“In November 1983, my family was the sixth family to move here,” says Cecilia Roberts. “All the future planned amenities and the Leander schools were a big draw for our family. We loved the fact that the lots were so large … and the house we purchased was on a treed corner lot across the street from the planned 20-acre park.”

Most of the gently arcing streets are named for apt historical or geographical features. One subsection is called the Vineyards. Resident Ursula Logan is tickled to tell folks she lives at the corner of Chardonnay and Zinfandel. Indeed, ancient indigenous vines are preserved in Tumlinson Park.

“I don’t think we need to do that,” she says.

During a Saturday morning tour, Logan and current neighborhood group President Corin Silva explained how the area’s culture developed organically. A softball league, for instance, grew out of one person’s passion for the sport.

Silva says many of the residents are from California and that Block House Creek reminds them of the safe, affordable suburbs outside that state’s big cities before some of them deteriorated. Hence, the zeal to keep this area up.

“I always dreamed of having a piece of land with room to grow,” says Byron Koenig, who moved here with wife Diane from Round Rock in 1999. “We are limited to space living in the neighborhood. But, as of now, we could never leave the neighborhood because this is our new family.”

Small improvements are often credited to Scout troops.

“We have very active Girl Scouts, Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts,” Diane Koenig says. “My husband was the Cub Scout master and is now the Boy Scout master. I am a co-leader for my daughter’s Girl Scout troop.”

Neighbors put on an Easter Extravaganza for 500 kids and stage New Year’s Eve, Fourth of July and Christmas affairs, along with a popular car show.

“We had regular block parties on our street,” says Ann Ardis, who lived here in the 1980s and whose husband, Bill, built many of the early homes. “Long days eating grilled burgers, roasted corn, everyone bought their favorite side, homemade desserts and sangria. We would spend the entire day visiting with neighbors in our own special ‘oak tree island.’”

Students here often walk or ride their bikes to Block House Creek Elementary before graduating to Wiley Middle School and Rouse High School.

“It’s like a mini Zilker Park to me,” Roberts says. “For the price point of home, there are more amenities in comparison to any other subdivision in the area. There are so many families that have connected for a lifetime, and it is a place to call home and you want to go home. … I see it being like Travis Heights or Brentwood one day in the near future!”

Typically for the local culture, when some kids were getting into trouble on their BMX bikes, they were recruited to design and build their own bike park. “We repurposed the kids,” Logan jokes.

Some big box stores have landed along old 183 to the north of Crystal Falls Parkway in bustling Leander. Silva says neighbors welcomed their proximity and convenience. Hundreds of subdivisions surround Austin. Yet few of them seem so carefully tuned to the historical past and the sustainable future, or at least this sliver of suburban Eden.

One subject is not broached easily with outsiders: the commute. It takes Silva 45 minutes to reach downtown Austin early in the morning, while Logan’s drive is closer to an hour a bit later. It means fewer trips into the city.

“When we arrived, we felt near to the coolness of Austin,” Silva says. “Now we are hiring bands and bringing Austin cool out here.”

Block House Creek

Est. population: 8,700

Founded: 1983

Look: Carefully tended family homes strung along looping streets shaded by new and heritage trees. Virtually no retail, but close proximity to parks, greenbelt and a three-mile pedestrian loop.

Sources: Block House Creek Owners Association

It’s about the people, not the parties.

Zoltan and Patti David

Alert readers have learned that less than 20 percent of my articles follow the patterns of traditional social reporting. Even then, traditions fly out the window.

Austin gins up very little old money and virtually no high society. People of different ages, incomes and backgrounds mash it up.

Whenever somebody refers to me as the “society columnist,” I hear the gears of class resentment — or personal resentment — grinding.

Pay attention instead to the variety of profiles, local histories, scene reports and trend stories usefully mined from these party chronicles.

Darlene Byrne and Shanna Igo

During CASA of Travis County’s gala at the Hyatt Regency Austin, for instance, jeweler Zoltan David rhapsodized about a pendant necklace created for the effective child advocacy’s annual auction.

“I was driving home one night, thinking about what to make,” he says. “I looked up into the sky and saw the moon and stars. I thought: We are all made of stars.”

David fashioned a starburst of palladium around a perfect pearl surrounded by tiny flecks of gold and a flashes of diamonds. He made it sound like Keats.

Why did his family leave Hungary all those years ago? David, bluntly: “Communists.”

Caught up with Judge Darlene Byrne and lobbyist Shanna Igo. A ringer for dignified actress Jane Alexander, the Honorable Byrne commands respect from everyone in the family law community.

Yet’s she’s a hoot talking with Igo about their grown sons, who’ve been best friends since grade school and who ignore the advice of their learned mothers. (It was ever so.) Igo represents Texas municipalities at the State Legislature.

What’s the biggest challenge: “Texas tries to micromanage,” she says. “Now they want more transparency at the local level. Try starting with the state itself.”

Linda and Michael McCaul

U.S. Rep. Michael McCaul briefed me on his efforts as chairman of the House Homeland Security Committee to defend the borders and cyberspace. This during the otherwise featherlight benefit known as the Crystal Ball, which aids the fine folks at Helping Hand Home, one of the city’s oldest charities.

McCaul emphasized the role of the private sector in helping public entities go after invasive hackers who could take down huge swaths of our digital superstructure.

The congressman’s wife, Linda McCaul, talked of raising five children in their sprawling home above Lake Austin. We also shared our admiration for former American-Statesman editor and all-around mentor Rich Oppel and his super-sharp wife Carol Oppel.

Later, Hill Abell and Laura Agnew talked about how alien Austin’s five debutante balls seem, and yet, they turn out charming and sweet. I mean, who can fight America’s Princess Industrial Complex?

Plus, the Crystal Ball grosses about $1 million a year, while turning the vast Palmer Events Center into a Blue Danube dream this time out.

Berry Crowley and JoLynn Free

A few minutes later, over at Zach’s Topfer Theatre, we arrived in time to hear the angels of Conspirare sing as if announcing the coming of the Lord. Charismatic conductor Craig Hella Johnson has a way of embodying Austin’s core characteristics: Open, kind, smart, fun and fit, from the inside out.

Good twist this year at the Conspirare Gala: After appetizers, music. Right away. Unlike last year, when we slogged through ages of auctions and eating. This year, dinner followed in the Bobbi Pavilion.

In the tent, backers such as Berry Crowley, JoLynn Free and Nancy Scanlan (just back from weeks in New Zealand) attested that to love Conspirare is to cherish pure beauty.

Charisse Berry and Joshua Warner

The President’s Masked Ball is one of Austin’s essential galas. Wish it didn’t fall on the same night as four or five other big ones, but that’s Austin in the spring.

Huston-Tillotson University marketing student Yanelys and college trustee Leon Thompson chatted about the challenges faced by higher education during uncertain economic times. The ball raises several hundred thousand each year for HT scholarships.

The silkiest dance followed dinner at the Sheraton Austin Hotel at the Capitol. We bumped into Joan Khabele and Bertha Means from the indispensable Means-Khabele brood. They’ve been key backers of HT for decades.

Melissa Cha and Nicolas Nadeau

The next report is more about a place than the people inside it. The barn-like Shoal Creek Events Center is an eccentric space. Yet when AIDS Services of Austin lost the Austin Music Hall to stage its 20th anniversary Viva Las Vegas benefit, backers turned to the evolving venue on the MoPac Boulevard feeder.

Nailed it. Longtime party organizer Susan Campion and team filled all the nooks and crannies with entertainment, lounging, snacking, dancing and fake gambling. The crowd was big and various. Campion admitted, however, that she only hoped to break even. Changes in health spending and visibility have hampered ASA’s quest for bucks.

Like I said, the crowd was healthy and dressed for fun, none more so than Melissa Cha and Nicolas Nadeau, whose stylish flourishes matched the evening’s campy theme. Rarely have I chased a couple around a party, but I wanted that shot!

Denver and Jennie O’Neal

The pre-SXSW week is crammed with career honors, this year including Texas Medal of the Arts (Tuesday) and Texas Film Hall of Fame (Thursday). A third is not as well known, but should be: Texas Heritage Songwriters Awards.

At ACL Live, the ceremony rivaled any other celebrity fest in town. Recently deceased coach and songwriting champion Darrell K. Royal was honored, as was late HAAM backer Robin Shivers, who was given the first DKR Award posthumously.

The show included classy sets from Sonny Curtis (Cricket, “I Fought the Law,” “Mary Tyler Moore Show” theme song), Toby Keith (saluting Roger Miller) and, via video, Sir Paul McCartney (honoring Curtis). Now that’s a get!

Sky Cheung and CK Chin

I concluded my two-day, post-vacation social adventure by judging the finals of a beauty contest at Haven nightclub. I had no idea what to expect, but I trust owner Sky Cheung, who has turned the former Pangaea/Phoenix into a profitable and clearly much loved hotspot.

Austin has very few clubs where people dance with abandon. This is one. A failed contestant, in fact, turned dancing into bared-breast brawling by the morning hours and was forcibly ejected from the club.

Meanwhile, my fellow judges and I had plenty of time to get to know one another. Fascinating flock included Lindsey Dement (Brass Ovaries dance studio), Justin Brown (Wilhelmina Brown modeling agency), Erik Fink (Disco Donnie Presents electronic music production), Mickey Vo (Expo Salon), CK Chin (Swift’s Attic), Benjamin Sacks (film/TV producer), Adam Lyons (film/TV producer), Cole Dabney (music videos),JohnPaul Wilson (photography) and Matthew LoCoco (Do512).

Profile? Profile? Anyone smell a profile?

All in all, the Texas Medal of the Arts has matured into a dignified and honorable awards ceremony.

Joe Straus and David Dewhurst

Staged by the arts advocates at the Texas Cultural Trust, the show mirrors somewhat the Kennedy Honors and other hall of fame ceremonies. It starts grandly with a cocktail mixer outside the Long Center — ideal weather on Tuesday — where celebrities and politicos rub shoulders.

I caught Dallas Cowboys owner Jerry Jones and football and dance legend Emmett Smith grinning ear to ear nearby tycoon T. Boone Pickens. A few paces away, Lt. Gov. David Dewhurst huddled with Speaker Joe Straus and AgCom Todd Staples.

Denise Bordas and Veronica Garcia

Inside a giant tent on the Long Center Terrace, more than 1,000 supped on Four Seasons catering. My table — turns out I was at the wrong one, but my gain! — was sponsored by the legal eagles at Baker Botts. Regulatory litigants gone wild!

I bonded with Austin lawyers Molly Cagle and Pam Giblin (air and water regulation). To my left was former personal aide to Gov. Rick Perry, now director of business development Clint Harp, a young man with a future. Too far away for me to engage easily was Rep. John Kuempel (Seguin), the bluff son of the late Rep. Edmund Kuempel, an Austin native known to everyone within a mile of the Capitol.

I winced slightly once inside Dell Hall. The sail-like decor looked like a craft project. Yet the rest of the show — including tribute videos — was slick and smart. Chris Harrison from “The Bachelor” made a smooth and surprisingly humble emcee.

Some wins, such as awards to James Surls, Big Thought, Kimbell Foundation, made plenty of sense. Others were confusing. Texas Monthly, which barely covers the traditional arts, won for corporate support, which it gives through advertising. Houston Ballet, the fourth largest in the country, surely deserved its award, but nobody mentioned the man who made it happen — Ben Stevenson. It would be like honoring Ballet Austin but not mentioning Stephen Mills after he left the company.

Guitarist and honoree Steve Miller played hotted-up versions of “Fly Like an Eagle” and “Abracadabra” with Ray Benson.

Highlight of the night for me: Joe Sears and Jaston Williams win Texas Medal of the Arts. Huge laughs! Williams on Sears: “We have an exquisite friendship.” But why bring out the astronomically overrated Art Guys?

Any awards show is a rollercoaster ride, to some extent, equal parts boring stretches and electric improvising. The Texas Medal has earned its place among the top such shows in town.

At the First Tee 9 Core Values lunch, I sat with a covey of UT McCombs School of Business graduate students who have formed groups to promote early volunteerism and philanthropy. My first responses were 1) awe, 2) pride and 3) the urge to help. I can do so by conducting media relations workshops with their groups and setting them up with movers and shakers their age, such as Alex Winkelman of Citizen Generation.

Dawn Moore and Kerry Tate

The host charity promotes character through golf and values training. Each year for the past five, the group has honored local leaders who embody those values. But first, former Longhorn and NFL All-Pro Johnnie Johnson made a neat comparisons between dropped balls in sports and in life during a cool but overlong inspirational speech.

Former UT President and Chancellor Bill Cunningham won the First Tee leadership award. In a stroke of good timing, Patsy Woods Martin took the confidence award right after big Amplify Austin take. Personal hero Art Acevedo copped the honesty award: “Willingness to tell the truth no matter how others react.”

Pastor Joseph C. Martin was not there to pick up his integrity award. He’s recovering from a heart transplant! (Heal quickly.) Power broker Pete Winstead walked away with First Tee judgement award. Don’t really know LBJ School lecturer Michele Deitch, who won the respect award. Would love to know her better.

Friend and almost neighbor Kerry Tate picked up the responsibility award. Much laureled former Rep. Wilhelmina Delco was honored again, this time by First Tee for sportsmanship.

And now for the tears: The next winner was recently deceased friend Mary Margaret Farabee. Former Sen. Ray Farabee spoke 17 plain, heartfelt words of thanks to First Tee for Mary Margaret’s courtesy award.

David Kazen and Maricruz Luna

I think Bill Powers gets better and better as university prez. He might go down as one of the best in UT history. This judgment drifted through my consciousness during the short, crisp, dignified President’s Citations honors later that day, also at the AT&T Center.

Jane Arledge, Ruth Buskirk, Michael Scott, Wendy Domjan and Patrick Davis took President’s Associates Teaching Excellence Awards.

David Stone nabbed the Arno Nowotny Medal for transforming registration, admissions, standards & records at UT. The Civitatis Award was conferred on Sue Alexander Greninger for UT faculty governance.

Really big guns won the Presidential Citations, UT’s top honors: JJoe Jamail, Peter O’Donnell, Pam Willeford and Judith Zaffirini.

Can you believe Jamail has won more than $13 billion for his legal clients? Or that O’Donnell has given more than half a billion dollars to UT?

“A real warrior!” One backer said of Sen. Zaffirini. Like O’Donnell, a bane of UT haters.