Texas’ Beef Too Tough to Swallow

Either the great state of Texas is on to something. Or Texans have evolved into a breed of wimps.

There’s no two ways about it. But you probably aren’t interested in my opinion. The only opinion that matters, if you believe those Texas cattlemen, is the opinion of the almighty Oprah Winfrey, who, as you may know, stands accused in an Amarillo courthouse of saying bad things about beef and thus violating Texas’ 1995 law against agricultural disparagement.

So Texas cattle interests are seeking damages totaling $12 million. “She may win this case,” one 70-year-old rancher told The Times’ Stephen Braun as the trial commenced, “but this little lady’s going to find out you don’t trifle with cattle people.” (Which makes me wonder: Is Oprah still little?)

Anyway, let’s review Oprah’s fightin’ words. She was doing a show on mad cow disease and listened as a cattleman-turned-humane activist painted a grave scenario under which Britain’s troubles could occur in America. Then Oprah said: “It has just stopped me from eating another burger!”

Shocking, isn’t it? Cattle futures plummeted. Rich men got less rich and poor men lost their jobs. All because of Oprah, they say, though I tend to think genuine concerns about mad cow disease might have played a role too.

Where have all the cowboys gone? John Wayne is dead, “Lonesome Dove” is a memory and J.R. Ewing has been supplanted by the cartoon Dad of “King of the Hill.”

Yes, Texas used to be big and tough. Remember how the beef industry used to fight back against the health campaigns against red meat? Thick slabs of succulent steak would appear on our TV screens to the vibrant strains of Aaron Copland’s “Hoedown.” Then we’d hear Robert Mitchum’s tough-guy voice: “Beef. It’s what’s for dinner.”

The message was clear: Chicken and fish are for wimps.

But now Robert Mitchum is dead too.

So the Texans, like so many Californians, call up lawyers when Oprah says something mean.

Yes, it’s a sad day for Texas, once the most manly of states. In the real world, the evidence of Texas’ decline is more disturbing.

The volunteers who died at the Alamo, even Tennessee’s Davy Crockett--they all represented Texas. LBJ was a Texan’s Texan, big and tough. Yes, the old Texas was LBJ, the new Texas is Phil Gramm. The old Texas was steely Cowboys coach Tom Landry, the new Texas is whoever gets hired to replace Barry Switzer--maybe even Terry Donahue, imported from Los Angeles, of all places. The decline of the Cowboys mirrors the state’s--and now poor Houston has as many NFL teams as L.A. The difference is, Houston cares.

There’s still some real Texans around. Ross Perot is a real Texan, little and ornery. As for the lady folk, there’s former Gov. Ann Richards and columnist Molly Ivins. All genuine USDA Choice Texans.

George Bush, of course, was a fake Texan. A Yankee blueblood who moved to Houston and put family money into oil. He ate pork rinds and took a tough stand against broccoli. Out of the loop as vice president, he drew a line in the sand as president. Would LBJ have taken Saddam Hussein out? Hard to say, but we know George pulled back.

And now George’s boy Jeb is governor of Texas. Jeb is a Texas kind of name, and he’s got the right kind of accent and obviously Texas embraces him as its own. Jeb Bush is a thoroughly modern Texan--and people tout Jeb Bush as the Republican for president in 2000.

But it must have been Jeb’s signature on that law against the defamation of agricultural products. Makes you wonder if broccoli is grown in the Lone Star state.

Texas isn’t alone in this. Thirteen states have adopted so-called “veggie libel laws” since the Alar scare of 1989, much to the dismay of freedom of speech fans and consumer activists who think the laws may well put fetters on the unfettered debate of serious health and safety issues. In Idaho, be careful what you say about potatoes. In Florida, be careful about citrus products. (Couldn’t they sue O.J. on general principle?) Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, South Dakota and Ohio are among the others with “veggie libel laws.”

California considered a veggie libel law too--proposed, as you might suspect, by a lawmaker from Fresno. (Has anybody insulted raisins lately?) But we’re tougher than that.

Then again, fair is fair, and if the meek really will inherit the Earth, perhaps we should stake our claim and adopt such a law ourselves. Sure the laws are probably unconstitutional, but it would make more work for our many lawyers.

We’re proud of our cheese, for example, although I never realized this until those ads started running on TV, claiming that ours is better than Wisconsin’s. Perhaps the Supreme Court could settle this once and for all.

We Californians are also very proud of our wine. As you know, medical evidence is mounting that a glass of wine a day keeps the doctor away, but some people doubt that. A law might help shut up the naysayers.

And not far from Napa Valley, Humboldt County growers have boasted of the medicinal value of their leading cash crop--an opinion recently validated by California voters. Perhaps we could sue every state that doesn’t recognize the therapeutic virtues of marijuana.

But why be conservative? Why not expand the concept to a general ban to cover other industries as well?

Maybe that would have put a muzzle on Bob Dole before he complained about Hollywood’s “nightmares of depravity.” And maybe we could have a law that says: If you don’t have anything nice to say about gangsta rap, don’t say it. And here in the San Fernando Valley, pornographers could take the Moral Majority to court.

We could go on and on. But it’s getting late and time to go. Maybe I’ll stop by In-N-Out on the way home and get a double-double with onions.

So you see, Texas, I’m not afraid of Oprah. Cheeseburger: It’s what’s for dinner.

Scott Harris’ column appears Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. Readers may write to him at The Times’ Valley Edition, 20000 Prairie St., Chatsworth, CA 91311, or via e-mail at scott.harris@latimes.com. Please include a phone number.