In Memory

Tony Degges

Paul Anthony ("Tony") Degges passed away on April 12, 2009 in Houston, Texas.

Tony was born to Charlotte Ann Todd and Billy Paul Degges on June 20, 1950 in Dallas, Texas. He was a 1969 graduate of Antonian College Preparatory for Boys in San Antonio, Texas.

Siblings: Russell Glenn Degges (1952-1974) and Samuel Rowland Degges (1955-)
Former Spouse: Connie Ligon (1951-)
Children: Abigail Lee Degges (1970-) and Chadwick Anthony Degges (1971-)


 

 



 
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04/19/09 10:01 PM #1    

Mike Byrne

Of course we can never presume the weight of another man's Cross; but Tony was a good guy in my book. Very self-effacing and honorable in that he didn't equivocate about his errors. He faced them head-on and didn't make excuses. He was standing next to me in my kitchen during the after-party in '89.

'So, Tony-- whatcha been up to?'

Boom. That's just the way he was.

May God grant him Peace.

M

04/21/09 01:26 PM #2    

Court Thieleman

Below is the first communication I received from Tony since my sophomore year of HS, a post he made to the Mac Web-site when he recently registered on it, and the last post he made to me. I think it sums up the Tony I like to remember:

"I'm alive and free".

Rest in peace Tony.

04/21/09 03:27 PM #3    

Nancy Fletcher (Hopper)

I grew up in the same neighborhood as Tony. We all walked the streets at night, & I believe I was the only girl who ran over to hear the Paragons play in the garage after school. You see, I was allowed to go there, because our parents were friends. I was actually going to share this story w/Tony on Sat. at the planning session this coming Saturday. His Dad was a salesman and worked for my Uncle out of Dallas. We didn't know that, we were just friends. I felt safe at his home listening to Roger, Rusty, Court & Tony play. He always walked me back to my house, and he smoked and I chattered.
At the last reunion that he attended we sat and talked for a long time, took pictures and enjoyed our time together. It's all I can think about is how any of us can be at the wrong place at the wrong time.
You will be missed Tony & we'll see you later.
Nancy

04/22/09 04:50 PM #4    

Jeff Schreiber

This is kind of a double memory. I remember being at Bill Ash's house one day, couple of other guys, playing a little guitar, listening to Zepp. Suddenly, it was time to go somewhere! So we walked over a block or two, and there was Tony and a couple of guys. It was a fight! I have no idea what about, just Tony and Bill gettin' after it. Lasted a few minutes, they shook hands, and that was it.

Both great guys, and I wish I had known them in later times.

How silly fighting in high school seems in retrospect.


To paraphrase Kinky Friedman, May they both be blessed by the God of their choices.


Jeff


04/27/09 09:19 AM #5    

Nancy Fletcher (Hopper)

We had another planning session for our upcoming reunion at my mom's home this past Sat. Could not help but think that Tony was planning on attending this meeting. There were many who had never attended our reunions much less a planning session. When you can make the effort to attend one of these sessions..more quality time w/people that you actually cared about. To share w/them how they might of influenced your life in someway or another, ah and to watch this process happen is so fun! I could just see Tony there, being embraced by so many. That's what our class does, we embrace one another, share and make each other feel welcome and how we have missed them. Next session is June 13th, S.A. location tba..you were missed Tony!

05/11/09 06:45 PM #6    

Kenneth H. ("Ken") Pearce

I found this by googling Tony's name. It is from the December, 2005 Reader's Digest Interactive:

Finding a job after prison is tough but I refused to run from my past. So while filling out an application for a video wholesaler, I answered questions honestly. When it asked about previous employer, I wrote: Department of Justice. Job description? Barber/inmate. Earnings? A dollar an hour. How long? Six years. Why did you leave? They let me.

I got the job.
Tony Degges

From what I read of Tony, this was vintage.

05/20/09 10:36 PM #7    

Pat Robinson (Dees)

I REMEMBER TONY FROM GARNER JR. HIGH. HE WAS THE 1ST BOY I WENT "STEADY WITH". WHATEVER THAT WAS BACK THEN! I THOUGHT HE WAS SO COOL WITH HIS MADRAS SHIRTS AND WEEJUNS SHOES. BUT THE CRAZIEST THING HAPPENED TO ME ABOUT 10 YRS AGO. I WAS WORKING AT GUNN HONDA AND THEY HIRED A YOUNG LADY TO SELL CARS. WE WORKED TOGETHER FOR A WHILE BEFORE I FINALLY ASKED HER IF SHE COULD POSSIBLY BE RELATED TO A TONY DEGGES SINCE HER LAST NAME WAS DEGGES ALSO.FIGURED SHE WAS RELATED SOMEHOW.COME TO FIND OUT, IT WAS HIS DAUGHTER ABBY. IT FELT STRANGE CO-WORKING WITH A YOUNG LADY WHOSE DAD WAS MY FIRST STEADY!I AM SORRY TO HEAR ABOUT TONY. YOU HAVE A BEAUTIFUL DAUGHTER. I AM SURE YOU WILL BE MISSED BY MANY!

02/25/13 11:03 PM #8    

Chester Slimp

This message is from Elizabeth Faraone of New Jersey  and was received by the website administration Feb 2013. 

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In the early winter of 2006, sitting on the floor in front of the lockers of the Salvation Army homeless shelter in Austin, Texas, a tall, lanky man with soft, silvery hair, warm skin and an authentic smile approached me with great excitement.  "Hi.  I'm Tony Degges.  A group of us are going to cook a big steak and I want to invite you."

"I can't accept your kind offer.  Everyone here is so strapped for money and I make it a rule never to take from those who don't have much."

"I really want you to eat with us.  Let me tell you about myself.  I spent the last 17 years in prison for armed robbery but never intended to hurt anyone.  I'm a published poet."  He pulled sheets of paper from his bag.  "Would you like to read my poetry?"

His writing was enchanting and I immediately felt we were kindred spirits in one way, but certainly not all ways.  Although I felt great compassion for his victimization as a prisoner in a US jail, I have never been able to completely meld with people who have committed errors I feel are unacceptable.

For the next month, he was to pursue my friendship heavily with the enthusiasm of a child and I accepted that pursuit because we both found the world to be both intoxicatingly lovely and mystifyingly loathful and we approached what we loved in life with a similar feeling.   Together we read our poetry to one another, explored a used record store, the Blanton Museum, a food coop, 6th Street,  the public library, a thrift store, comfortable restaurants to stay warm in, Zilker Park, and places I can no longer remember.

One day, while we were doing our laundry and I was arguing with a man over the subject of Cuba, he blurted out, “Girl, you’re going to get yourself killed.”

He shared his foodstamps with me and I my cold medicine and library card.  He loved watching me clean the tables of those eating in the soup kitchen – a much needed job I had given myself, to the initial chagrin of those in charge, who didn’t find it necessary to clean during mealtime.   He designated himself “town barber” and everyone was happy to get a free or cheap haircut.

And he wrote a poem about my light brown eyes.  He had a crush on me and an urgency to spend as much time as he could with me, knowing our time together was limited, although he didn’t understand why.  I understood, but refrained from explaining, having discovered over the years that everyone is better off without my explanations.

As we rode on the meticulously clean buses of Austin, we had long conversations about our life experiences.  While we stood on line for food or medical care, I never held back my feelings about injustice.  When he talked of his prison experiences, I empathized and told him exactly what I thought about the brutality of the penal system – and he appreciated my views.

He spoke of those who were important to him with great fondness.  His daughter, Abby.  His writing teacher in prison.  His ex-girlfriends and ex-wife.  And he told graphically funny stories of his mother.

I stroked his hair regularly because he hadn’t been touched properly for too long.  He always responded like a purring cat.

I encouraged him to find a girlfriend or temporary lover and when he thought he might have found one, he felt guilty and wondered if I was jealous.  I wondered if he needed me to be jealous.  I wasn’t and hoped it would work out for him.  I don’t think it did.

Although he was honest much of the time, he could be dishonest and that may have gotten in his way.  When he spoke of the heists he had pulled off, it was with glee.   While he claimed his cocaine addiction was to blame for his many successful bank robberies, it seemed like it was the excitement that drove him.

Despite his foibles, Tony had the ability to see that which was unseen.  He placed his hand near my hipbone and told me that I had a cyst on my ovary.  A sonogram a month later revealed this to be true.

Although our friendship was short lived and ended by me, out of all of the people I had come to meet in Austin, HE was the one my time was best spent with.  It was a great friendship but would have turned very ugly with time.  When he made his first misstep with me, I, in no uncertain terms, called it quits.

Temporary friendships are our destiny.  Sometimes they last 10 minutes.  Sometimes a day.  Sometimes 10 years.  Sometimes a lifetime.

Tony told me that when he first saw me, he knew there was something crucial he had to learn from me.  I wonder what it was and if he did.  He was murdered on Easter Sunday 2009.  Perhaps he simply needed to spend time with someone completely outside of the culture of Texas.

 

Not The Paint - by Tony Degges

In Memory of 
Russell Glen Degges, Tony’s younger brother, who was shot as he innocently approached a stranger’s home
1952-1974

it is not the paint crayon blue
or the color of hands out to green
but a reason to find the ink then you
who will watch the letter flip
then fall across the vein of eyes
and the tear flicked as daggers do

it is not the paint that covets too long
the boat's mast between the bend of arms
which held the day that smiled at rain

and the train of cloud's heavy sigh

it will never be a sky as small as that

it is not the paint of voices molded mute
nor cry of palms that crave the dawn
or all the sobbing fists that fly outright
but was the night framed against his will
that took the brush in hand and made it still

 

 

 


03/07/13 05:59 PM #9    

Court Thieleman

As a childhood friend of Tony's back in the Garner and Mac days, I found this post incredibly interesting with ups and downs.  That was what it was like with Tony - ups and downs - fast and slow, black and white.

He was an incredible person, but you had to take the time and patience to know him.  I think I tried to back in the day.


05/24/13 04:29 PM #10    

Roger Barnes

For Tony (he would have liked this)...and all of our classmates who have passed.....

 

                                    WIth Rue My Heart is Laden

 

With rue my heart is laden

     For golden friends I had,

For many a rose-lipt maiden

     And many a lightfoot lad.

 

By brooks too broad for leaping

     The lightfoot boys are laid;

The rose-lipt girls are sleeping

     In fields where roses fade.

 

A.E. Housman   1896

 

 

 

 


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