Here’s the audio version of my conversation with former Mayor Craig Brown. Whether you’re on a walk, driving, or just taking a moment, I hope you enjoy it.

Craig Brown spent six years proving that a city can choose cooperation over conflict, trust over suspicion, and patience over spectacle. On May 2, Galveston chose it too. Now comes the work that makes it real. ~ David Landriault

Cities don’t usually get to choose who they are. They inherit economies, geographies, histories, grudges. They get dealt a hand and they play it. Most of the time, the best a city can hope for is that the people in charge don’t make things worse.

Galveston did something different. On May 2, it chose.

JP Listowski — the former city council member Craig Brown endorsed over his own mayor pro tem — won the mayor’s race with 60 percent of the vote, a 24-point margin. Bob Brown won reelection in District 3 with nearly 63 percent. Jeff Taylor took District 2 with 55 percent. All three ran on the same message: end the division, listen to every resident, govern for the whole community.

Taylor put it as simply as anyone could on election night: “I was elected to represent District 2, and it doesn’t matter whether people voted for Jeff Taylor or my opponent. I will represent everybody honestly, fairly, and equally.”

That’s not a talking point borrowed from the outgoing mayor. That’s a man stating his own values — values he shares with the colleagues Galveston elected alongside him. Listowski, Brown, and Taylor are their own leaders with their own visions. But they share a conviction that governance works best when you listen to the people you serve, and that belief didn’t need to be handed down. It just needed to be proven. Craig Brown proved it. They intend to build on it.

In a political moment defined nationally by division and scorched-earth campaigns, Galveston said yes to something better. Now comes the work that proves it meant it.

The Constraint Nobody Talks About

Craig Brown wanted to make sure I understood what those constraints look like from inside city hall, so he explained it the way he explains everything — clearly, patiently, and in terms no one could miss.

That’s the state’s no-new-revenue cap. During Craig Brown’s final budget cycle, a three-member council minority blocked even the 3.5 percent increase, and the result hit the people who keep the city running every day — civilian employees who waited months for cost-of-living raises that police and fire receive automatically through collective bargaining.

The mayor rated the budget challenge a seven out of ten for the incoming council and stressed that every decision they make will ripple forward into future administrations. JP Listowski ran on meeting this challenge through efficiency, technology, and disciplined management rather than raising the burden on residents — an approach that takes seriously what taxpayers are saying while recognizing, as Craig Brown emphasized, that the city also needs to fight for relief from state-level constraints that were never designed for an island with this much growth arriving this fast.

Saying yes to Galveston’s future means finding a way to fund it. That’s not a slogan. It’s arithmetic.

Pelican Island Development

The Pelican Island Bridge is the most complex piece of unfinished business on the table. We’ve reported extensively on the details, but Craig Brown offered his candid read on where things stand — including new developments that have shifted the landscape since our March conversation.

The city has funds from local participants on deposit. The gap remains substantial. Craig Brown met personally with the executive director of H-GAC to make the case for regional funding. Meanwhile, a land bridge concept has gained traction — potentially cheaper, easier to maintain, and capable of carrying rail. Brown believes some form of bridge that allows rail is in the best interest of the community, and as council’s liaison on the Wharves Board, he has supported the port’s efforts in pursuing a feasibility study on the land bridge through a Section 203 application to the Army Corps of Engineers, which could unlock 75 percent federal funding.

Two paths. One bridge. And a new administration that will have to decide which one to build.

On short-term rentals, Craig Brown’s counsel to his successors was measured: the new ordinance is solid, the enforcement is ramping up, and the wisest thing to do is let it prove itself before changing course.

Discovery Sands

And then there’s the decision that will test this new council before they’ve even settled into their chairs. Discovery Sands — a proposed 170-acre coastal village near Jamaica Beach with hundreds of residential lots, a lagoon, marina, and resort-style amenities — is headed to the new council for a vote on May 28. The planning commission recommended approval in April, but the project has drawn fierce opposition not only from Jamaica Beach residents but from communities across the island, with concerns ranging from traffic and environmental impact to building height variances and the character of the West End.

A major developer. A passionate community. Competing visions for what this island’s growth should look like. This is exactly the kind of moment Craig Brown was describing when he told me that people don’t need you to vote their way — they need to know you heard them. However this vote goes, the new council’s job is to make sure every voice in that room matters. The 1839 will publish a detailed look at Discovery Sands and the questions surrounding it in the coming days.

And then Craig Brown said something I believe should be heard by every person who has ever walked away from a government meeting feeling like their voice didn’t matter.

Galveston heard that. On May 2, they chose a mayor who believes it — by a 24-point margin. They reelected a council member in Bob Brown who spent two years on council and three years on Rosenberg proving it — by 25 points. They sent Jeff Taylor to join them, a man who promised on election night to represent everyone in his district equally. Not because these men offered easy answers, but because they offered something this island has learned to value: the willingness to listen first and govern second.

The budget math is real. The bridge isn’t built. The housing isn’t ready. Thousands of workers are on their way to an island that doesn’t yet have enough homes, enough infrastructure, or enough revenue flexibility to absorb what’s coming.

But Galveston has something most cities would trade every dollar in their reserves to possess: a culture that works. A culture where institutions cooperate instead of compete. Where leaders listen before they legislate. Where a community can raise $2.2 million for a park and, after years of patience, hear their government say yes.

Craig Brown built that culture. Galveston voted to keep it. And now, the people this city chose have the extraordinary privilege — and the enormous responsibility — of saying yes to the hardest things.

In our final installment, we’ll be with Craig Brown on his last day in office. No questions prepared. No agenda. Just a mayor walking out the door one last time, and whatever he wants to say to the city he served.

This is Part 5 of a six-part series. Part 6, the conclusion, follows Mayor Brown on his final day in office.

Craig Brown spent nearly six years as Galveston’s mayor quietly doing the thing most politicians avoid: building trust before asking for anything in return. The result was the most consequential stretch of growth and investment in the island’s modern history — and a warning that it can all unravel faster than it was built.

When Craig Brown took office in 2020, Galveston was a city that mostly knew what it was. A tourist town. A cruise port. A barrier island still carrying the psychic weight of Hurricane Ike and the slow recovery that followed. The economy was real but narrow. The ambitions were modest. The ceiling felt low and permanent—the kind of thing people stopped questioning because they’d never seen evidence it could be different.

Nearly six years later, the evidence is everywhere.

Port revenues climbed from $59 million to $87.3 million—a nearly 50 percent increase. The Wharves Board adopted a $2.4 billion, 20-year master plan. Galveston went from two cruise terminals to four, handled 3.6 million cruise passenger movements last year, and became the fourth-busiest cruise port in America. More than $250 million in waterfront infrastructure is under construction, none of it from city taxpayers. Davie Defense is investing $730 million in a Pelican Island shipyard that will bring 2,400 high-wage jobs to build Arctic icebreakers for the United States Coast Guard. Sachs on the Seawall—a $540 million mixed-use development—cleared council in October. The USS Texas, after a $75 million restoration and more than 400,000 hours of labor, is coming home to Pier 15 this year.

Below the headlines, the less glamorous work continued. New water storage tanks at Isla Del Sol. A new waterline on the causeway. Flood protection engineering. Wastewater treatment plant upgrades at Pirates Beach and Seawolf Park. An AI pilot program for rapid evacuation. Seawall Boulevard on track for full resurfacing, federally funded. And still more that doesn’t fit in a single paragraph.

I laid all of this out to Craig Brown at the start of our fourth conversation for this series. I wanted to hear him explain how it happened—and I wanted him to sit with the full weight of it, because I don’t think even the people who’ve been paying attention have processed the complete picture.

His answer was pure Craig Brown.

He Didn’t Take Credit.

That’s the thing about Craig Brown that you have to understand to understand anything else about his time as mayor. Ask him about the most consequential stretch of investment and institutional progress in modern Galveston history, and he doesn’t talk about himself. He talks about rapport.

Then he said something that stopped me, because it was both simple and, when you think about it, radical for a politician to believe: “The process is as important as the product.”

I’ve interviewed a lot of public officials. I can’t think of another one who would say that and mean it. But Brown does mean it. It’s the operating philosophy that explains everything—the wins, the pace, the unlikely alliances, and the fact that when you ask people in Galveston about the mayor, even the ones who disagree with him rarely question his motives.

It’s built on something local government almost never gets right: trust. Not manufactured trust, not the kind you perform at a press conference. The kind you earn by listening to people before you ask them to follow you.

Brown has been involved with municipal government in Galveston for nearly 25 years—starting on the planning commission, then the Park Board, the landmark commission, city council, and finally the mayor’s office. He told me, plainly, that the cooperation between the city’s major institutions right now is the best he’s ever seen.

That claim would sound self-serving coming from most people. From Brown, it reads as an honest accounting by someone who has watched these relationships from every possible vantage point over a quarter century. And the evidence supports him. The port’s explosive growth, the Davie shipyard, the coordinated infrastructure investments—none of that happens in a city where the institutions are pulling in different directions.

In Part 2 of this series, recorded last year, I asked Brown about his legacy. He didn’t mention a single project. No bridges, no cruise terminals, no dollar figures. What he said was this:

I brought that quote back to him in this conversation. Sitting here now, I asked, with everything that’s happened since—do you feel like that legacy landed?

He paused and then offered something that, for Craig Brown, amounted to a personal declaration of pride—delivered in his typically understated way.

There’s something important embedded in that word: community. Not “for me.” Not “for my legacy.” For the community. You can dismiss that as political language if you want, but if you’ve watched this man work for six years, you know it isn’t.

The port is the clearest evidence of what that cooperation produces.

Brown gave significant credit to Roger Rees, the port director, for moving the institution forward in ways it hadn’t moved in years. But what struck me was how he framed the relationship—not as a political one but as a strategic partnership built, again, on rapport.

That common cause now includes managing success—a phrase Brown returned to more than once. The port doesn’t cost the city a dime in direct funding, but its growth sends pressure radiating through everything around it: roads, parking, city services, workforce housing. Brown’s response was characteristic. He didn’t complain about the burden. He went and found new revenue—a $1-per-day-per-vehicle cruise parking fee and a passenger tariff that funnel unrestricted dollars directly into infrastructure and planning. That money also funded a mobility study the port is now conducting before any decisions are made on additional cruise terminals.

Brown put it in terms any business owner would understand.

A mayor who spent six years recruiting investment to his city—and whose primary concern is making sure that investment doesn’t outrun the people it’s supposed to serve.

But here’s the part of this story that people most need to hear, because it explains both the scale of what Brown accomplished and the fragility of what comes next.

Galveston’s institutions weren’t always aligned. Brown described a culture he inherited when he first entered municipal government—one defined by avoidance. Difficult issues were kicked down the road. Infrastructure was deferred. The things that mattered most to residents’ quality of life—drainage, roads, the hard, unglamorous work of maintaining a city—went unaddressed because no one wanted to touch them.

Brown broke that pattern. Not by being a bully—he was clear about that—but by being the first person in the room willing to say the difficult thing out loud and then stay long enough to build consensus around a solution. Flooding, infrastructure, the relationship between the city and the port—these were third-rail issues that Brown grabbed with both hands.

He described his approach with an honesty that felt almost confessional.

It is not, as Brown readily admitted, a sexy way to govern. But it is effective. And it produced something that Galveston hasn’t had in a generation: momentum. Real, institutional, structural momentum—the kind where each solved problem creates the conditions for the next one to be solved.

What worried me, sitting across from him, was how clearly Brown understood the other side of that equation. Toward the end of our conversation, he offered an analogy that was so precise it deserves to be quoted in full.

He let that settle for a moment. Then he added something quieter, and I think more important.

I asked Brown, near the end of our conversation, whether there was anything he’d do differently. He thought about it—genuinely thought about it—and gave an answer that tells you everything about the man.

There it is. The one regret he can name is that he might have pushed harder—and he immediately talks himself out of it, because pushing harder would have meant becoming someone else. Someone less patient. Less willing to listen. Less Craig Brown. And whatever that version of the mayor might have accomplished, it wouldn’t have built the thing that actually mattered.

The culture. The way people in power treat the people they serve. The willingness to sit across from someone who disagrees with you and hear them out before you ask for their vote. The belief—validated now by a quarter century of evidence—that people don’t need their elected officials to agree with them on everything. They need to believe they were heard.

Craig Brown built an entire administration around that insight, and it worked. He built the trust between institutions that had spent decades pulling apart. He built the willingness to face hard problems instead of kicking them down the road. And he built it all quietly, without theatrics, one relationship at a time.

The bridge, the shipyard, the port, the investments—those are the product. The culture is the process. And if Craig Brown is right about anything—and his record suggests he usually is—it’s that the process is what matters most.

In each conversation, co‑hosts David Landriault and David Finklea bring their decades of civics leadership and community insight to the table. They explore the forces shaping our island—from policy and development to culture and community—offering candid analysis and inviting listeners to think about what comes next. These episodes aren’t just about politics; they’re about understanding how Galveston works and how informed citizens can help it thrive.

In this episode, the Davids dig into one of the most debated topics in Galveston governance: revenue caps — what they are, why they exist, and how they directly affect essential services on the island.

What starts as a numbers discussion quickly becomes a conversation about daily life in Galveston. From public safety and road maintenance to long-term planning and neighborhood quality of life, the Davids examine how decisions made at City Hall ultimately show up in your street, your taxes, and your community’s future.

Along the way, they break down:

• How revenue limits were created — and the political forces behind them

• The difference between “no-new-revenue,” “effective rate,” and actual tax bills

• Why percentages can be misleading when public safety and infrastructure are on the line

• How today’s choices will shape Galveston for decades

• The gap between public perception and political reality

Unfiltered and unapologetically local, Episode 2 brings clarity to a topic that impacts every resident — even if they never step into a council meeting.

If you’ve ever wondered why Galveston sometimes feels stuck between what it needs and what it can afford, this conversation connects the dots.

Galveston Isn’t waiting for the Future – We’re Building It.

Galveston just notched two of the most significant maritime wins in the nation: the Coast Guard’s next-generation icebreaker program and the Navy’s Flight III destroyer modules. What began as a hopeful spark has become a full-scale industrial revival on Pelican Island, proving that the island’s shipbuilding renaissance isn’t theoretical—it’s already underway.

There’s a moment—somewhere between long-shot ambition and actual economic transformation—when a city realizes it’s no longer hoping for big things. It’s building them.

For Galveston, that moment arrived quietly at first, in an early-morning press release from Davie, the century-old Canadian shipbuilder. They were acquiring Gulf Copper’s Texas assets and planning a $1 billion investment to bring the U.S. Coast Guard’s next-generation polar icebreakers to our waterfront.

A few months later, before the island could even finish celebrating, another announcement dropped:

Gulf Copper’s Galveston yard will fabricate structural modules for the U.S. Navy’s Flight III Arleigh Burke–class destroyers.

Two federal shipbuilding programs. Two of the most strategically important platforms in American maritime defense. Both connected—directly or indirectly—to the industrial soil of Pelican Island. This is no longer a “maybe someday” story. This is a shipbuilding resurgence, unfolding in real time.

THE ICEBREAKERS: Galveston’s First Big Signal

Davie’s U.S. expansion—centered on Galveston and Port Arthur—is one of the largest maritime industrial proposals in recent American history. Their modernization plan, totaling up to $1 billion, is designed specifically to support the construction and sustainment of the Coast Guard’s Polar Icebreaker and Arctic security programs.

Davie’s public statements are unambiguous:

• The investment is expected to support up to 4,000 U.S. jobs (half direct, half supply chain).
• Texas is being positioned as a “southern anchor” of North American shipbuilding.
• The goal is to modernize the yard into a next-generation, high-throughput naval construction facility.

When that news broke, economic developers across the Gulf Coast felt the shockwave.

Galveston—after decades of watching shipbuilding happen in other states—was back in the conversation.

But no one expected the next announcement to come so soon.

THE ICEBREAKERS: Galveston’s First Big Signal

Davie’s U.S. expansion—centered on Galveston and Port Arthur—is one of the largest maritime industrial proposals in recent American history. Their modernization plan, totaling up to $1 billion, is designed specifically to support the construction and sustainment of the Coast Guard’s Polar Icebreaker and Arctic security programs.

Davie’s public statements are unambiguous:

• The investment is expected to support up to 4,000 U.S. jobs (half direct, half supply chain).
• Texas is being positioned as a “southern anchor” of North American shipbuilding.
• The goal is to modernize the yard into a next-generation, high-throughput naval construction facility.

When that news broke, economic developers across the Gulf Coast felt the shockwave.

Galveston—after decades of watching shipbuilding happen in other states—was back in the conversation.

But no one expected the next announcement to come so soon.

THE DESTROYERS: A Second Win, and a Bigger Statement

Gulf Copper & Manufacturing confirmed what had been rumored behind closed doors: after a year-long pilot program, Huntington Ingalls Industries—the largest Navy shipbuilder in the U.S.—awarded Gulf Copper a five-year Strategic Sourcing Agreement to fabricate outfitted structural units for the Navy’s newest guided-missile destroyers.

These aren’t museum ships.

They aren’t maintenance contracts.

They are new-build components of the Navy’s most advanced destroyers—the Flight III Arleigh Burke class, equipped with the powerful SPY-6 radar and the upgraded Aegis combat system.

And they’ll be built, in part, right here.

When the deal was announced, Gulf Copper’s destroyer program manager, retired Navy veteran George R. Harris, captured the weight of the moment:

“To be entrusted by HII with an expanded role on a project of this magnitude is both an honor and a responsibility we take very seriously.”

— George R. Harris, Gulf Copper & Manufacturing

That quote matters.

It signals that Gulf Copper isn’t just joining a program—they’re being trusted with a mission.

WHY GALVESTON: Because We Prepared.

Before either of these wins, Galveston quietly made a series of practical, forward-thinking decisions:

• The Port invested in deeper water.

In 2022, the U.S. Army Corps authorized up to 495,000 cubic yards of dredging on Pelican Island. Gulf Copper and the Port split the cost of the first 155,000 yards, clearing the way for a massive dry dock and future heavy-lift operations.

• The region embraced workforce development.

Galveston College launched a shipfitting program—exactly the kind of pipeline needed for module construction, precision welding, and maritime trades.

• The shipyard proved its capability.

Gulf Copper’s handling of the Battleship Texas project showed they could manage large vessels, tight timelines, and complex logistics.

This wasn’t luck.

It was readiness.

THE NEW IDENTITY OF A HISTORIC ISLAND

We’ve been a financial capital.

We’ve been a tourist destination.

We’ve been a port city.

We’ve been a place where culture, medicine, and education thrive.

Now—once again—we’re becoming something more:

A shipbuilding city.

A manufacturing city.

A city that builds the vessels that guard America’s waters.

This destroyer contract isn’t a side story.

It’s a signal.

It says that Galveston is no longer watching major naval projects pass us by.

We are winning them.

THE FUTURE: A Shipyard That Could Anchor a Region

If Davie’s acquisition closes—and all indicators suggest it will—the next five years could bring:

• A fully modernized yard.
• Thousands of high-skill jobs.
• The ability to build and support both icebreakers and Navy surface combatants.
• A diversified industrial economy that balances tourism with high-wage manufacturing.
• A Gulf Coast shipbuilding hub that rivals some of the best in the nation.

That’s the scale of what’s now possible.

Galveston isn’t just re-entering the maritime industry.

We’re repositioning ourselves as a national asset.

And it’s happening faster than anyone expected.

The bell hits at 2:17 a.m.

Boots scrape concrete. A coffee cup tips. The bay door shudders up like a tired lung and the single engine at Station 2 noses into the salt‑wet dark, its bumper nearly kissing the wall it’s outgrown. In the bunk room—thirty feet from the diesel—someone tugs into turnout gear and thinks, not for the first time: Weigh the risk, not the cost.

Galveston doesn’t sleep. Neither does its alarm.

Why this bond matters

Station 2 is a 1960s shell trying to house a 2025 fire service. Two short bays mean no ladder truck. Sleeping quarters sit too close to the apparatus. There’s no real EMS staging. The island has outgrown the building—and the East End has outgrown the illusion that its needs can wait. A new, modern Station 2 isn’t a luxury; it’s the minimum we owe our neighbors when the siren calls.

This is exactly the kind of resilient, future‑minded investment The 1839 exists to champion: community‑anchored, pro‑growth, and rooted in dignity for the people who keep Galveston standing. We were built to elevate this island with a visionary, fair, elegant voice—and to back big moves that strengthen public safety and civic confidence.

The secondary alarm: how we got here

Beneath the rumble of that bay door is a quieter truth about this year’s budget. To force the no‑new‑revenue tax rate, three councilmembers—Marie Robb (D6), Beau Rawlins (D5), and Alex Porretto (D4)—blocked a budget that kept a modest 2 % cost‑of‑living raise for civilian employees and replenished the city’s emergency reserve. Because state law requires a supermajority to inch even a penny above the NNR line, a majority that supported the raise and the reserve (Mayor Craig Brown, Sharon B. Lewis (D1), David Finklea (D2), Bob Brown (D3)) still lost the outcome. The result: fewer dollars for people and equipment—precisely what we warned would happen under an inflexible, last‑year’s‑dollars rule.

We can debate tax philosophy until sunrise. What we can’t debate are the consequences: firefighters equipment funds and civilian employees’ modest raises already down; equipment replacements slowed; the steady pressure to “do more with less” baked into the very work of keeping us alive. That pressure doesn’t show up on a campaign mailer. It shows up on a Tuesday at 2:17 a.m.

This is not abstract. It lands in real kitchens, on real paystubs, and sometimes in real minutes added to a response time. And it lands on the voices at 911—men and women whose calm carries us through the worst minute of our lives—now watching consolidation talks and wondering what happens to their jobs if “efficiency” becomes the only measure that matters.

“If we cut the ribbon on a gleaming station but starve the people inside it, we’ve built a shell, not a safeguard.”

This is not right. And we can do better.

Capacity or Collapse: Galveston’s Choice

So let’s draw the line where it belongs: between building capacity and draining it. The bond builds capacity. It modernizes the house that holds the courage. It says the East End matters, that resilience is not a slogan, and that public safety is the bedrock on which we set every other ambition—commerce, culture, cranes at UTMB, lights on the Strand. That’s why The 1839 proudly endorses a YES vote.

“Progress isn’t just cranes and condos—it’s the seconds between the bell and the sirens outside your door.”

And after we pass it? We fix the mindset that put our first responders on the wrong side of an accounting trick. That’s on all of us—voters, business owners, neighborhood leaders, and yes, the councilmembers we’ve named above. The four who fought to protect raises and reserves did the right thing. The three who forced the NNR outcome made a choice that cost real people and real equipment. We disagree with that choice. We’ll say so plainly, without spite, because accountability is not a weapon—it’s a compass.

What we stand for

Our mission is bigger than one bond. The 1839 is here to elevate, to convene, to push bold, ethical leadership into the center of the room—and to match cinematic storytelling with civic spine. We back investments that keep Galveston safe and prosperous, and we’ll keep a clear, fair spotlight on the decisions that either strengthen or weaken that future.

The echo of the siren

Back at Station 2, the engine rolls home, wet tires whispering on concrete. Someone rights the coffee cup. Someone slides the fork back into the drawer. The room settles into that small, bright quiet you only understand if you’ve waited for the next call.

It will sound again. It always does.

This time, let it be a call to us—to vote YES, to rebuild what’s been allowed to thin, and to insist that the people who run toward danger never have to budget their courage. Because the true story of Galveston won’t be told by what we build—it will be told by who we choose to stand beside.

The morning after

By midday, the colors were gone, and the island seemed to hum with outrage. Headlines appeared before facts had time to breathe. Short videos looped on social feeds, and half-truths ricocheted through group chats faster than the paint could wash away. For many, the conclusion felt instant and certain: someone had caved, someone had betrayed Galveston’s LGBTQ+ community — and the rainbow was the casualty.

That story is tidy and is happening way too often. In the case of Galveston, it is also untrue.

What happened downtown this week is simpler and, in a way, harder: a community‑led retirement of a privately funded, always‑temporary gesture happened to land at the same time as a larger political storm. The coincidence muddied everything. But it did not cause the decision, and it certainly was not a case of the City spending tax dollars to erase a symbol.

From the person closest to the project, the facts are clear.

“The crosswalk was meant to be a short‑term gesture of solidarity and celebration… There was no intent or commitment for it to be permanent.” — Trey Click

“Since then, the crosswalk has faded and required frequent upkeep… paid for [by] a small group of private citizens—including the late Tom Schwenk and several others, myself among them.” — Trey Click

Those citizens covered the repaints for years. And when it came time to retire the crosswalks, Trey Click agreed to pay for their removal. The City will not spend a dime.

Despite reporting to the contrary, this was not the City’s call, and it was not intended to unfold in the manner people witnessed. The overlap with statewide headlines was just that—an unfortunate coincidence.

The internet rewards outrage. Galveston deserves better.

What the crosswalks were—and were not

In June 2019, the rainbow crosswalks rose to mark the 50th anniversary of Stonewall. They were a community gift, permitted by the City but funded and maintained by private citizens. They were never designed as a permanent public‑works installation, never placed on the City’s maintenance schedule, and never guaranteed to live forever under Gulf sun and constant traffic.

They were, in other words, exactly what the best public gestures often are: a bright marker that says you belong here—until weather and wheels have their say.

For six years, when the colors chalked and the edges frayed, neighbors paid to bring the vibrancy back. Few noticed the invoices; most noticed the joy.

The men behind the meaning

Ask anyone who worked beside Tom Schwenk why the rainbow mattered. They’ll talk about a neighbor who made room, a businessman who gave more than he took, a civic partner who saw Galveston not as a brand but as a promise. Tom’s belief in inclusion wasn’t a posture; it was a practice. He underwrote it with money, with time, with that rare kind of attention that quietly threads communities together.

Tom’s passing this summer left a tear in the city’s fabric. If the rainbow was color, Tom was the weave.

Trey’s statement does not mourn the crosswalks. It elevates them.

“Now, after six years, the rainbow crosswalks have been removed. And I’ll be honest — it’s extremely upsetting that the timing of their removal coincided with Governor Abbott’s edict from above to do this. I’ve been in discussions with Brian Maxwell for at least six months about creating a more permanent tribute to Tom. Removing the rainbow crosswalk should not be viewed as erasing or disrespecting the LGBTQ+ community. Quite the opposite — it offers a chance to replace a fading symbol with something truly lasting and worthy. A more permanent, city-sanctioned tribute to both equality and to Tom Schwenk’s legacy would carry far greater meaning.” “Symbols matter, but stewardship matters more.” — Trey Click

Stewardship: that is the assignment Tom and Trey hand us now.

Anger is a spark. Stewardship is the fire.

The instinct to be angry is human—and honorable when it’s rooted in love. But on this particular issue, the anger has been misdirected at the easiest surface available: a paint job, a rumor, a headline.

What Trey is asking for is harder and far more useful: take that energy and build.

A crosswalk is not a place. A crosswalk cannot hold a nameplate, a bench in the shade, a plaque where a teenager reads the story of a man who made this island kinder. A crosswalk cannot endow a scholarship, commission a sculpture, or create a pocket of public space where every neighbor can sit and feel seen.

Paint fades. Place endures.

What comes next (and how to help)

Trey Click is working—quietly and determinedly—on a permanent, city‑sanctioned tribute to honor Tom Schwenk and the values he championed: fairness, inclusion, and kindness and he’s inviting the rest of us to join him—not with rage, but with resolve.

Early concepts under consideration include:

• A landscaped public space
• A commissioned public artwork or sculpture
• A named fund or scholarship

How you can turn feeling into action right now:

1. Pledge support—financially if you can, vocally if you can’t. Small gifts seed big outcomes.
2. Offer your skills—urban design, legal, engineering, preservation, fundraising, fabrication, storytelling. Permanence is a multidisciplinary craft.
3. Share your stories—of Tom, of the crosswalks, of what belonging has meant in your life. Those testimonies will shape the design and the dedication.
4. Help endow maintenance—because the difference between a memorial and an eyesore is the plan to care for it.

When formal giving channels and design timelines are published by Trey’s team, support them. Share them. Treat them as the island’s greatest treasure. As soon as they are available, we will be publishing them here.

Two truths to carry forward

“There was no intent or commitment for it to be permanent.” — Trey Click

That is not cynicism. It’s clarity. Temporary art can do profound work. It did.

“Let’s move from paint on pavement to something enduring—just as Tom Schwenk’s legacy has proven to be.” — Trey Click

That is not resignation. It’s a blueprint.

The echo we choose

In 2019, color on concrete announced what the island had the courage to say: You belong here.

In 2025, our next act can make it impossible to forget: You always will.

If your heart sped up when the rollers came out, good. It means you care about this place. Now let that care do the slower, steadier work. Not the rush to blame, but the patience to build. Not the dopamine of outrage, but the discipline of stewardship.

The crosswalk did its job.

Now we do ours.

By David Landriault
The 1839

With direct quotations from Trey Click

What it means for Galveston

1) A flagship industrial investment on Pelican Island.

Davie Defense has unveiled plans to transform Gulf Copper’s historic shipyard in Galveston into an “American Icebreaker Factory”—a $1 billion modernization aimed at building U.S. ASCs at speed and scale. The company says the project could support ~2,000 direct jobs at the yard and more than 7,000 jobs statewide, with an estimated $9 billion economic impact. (These are company projections.) The site is Gulf Copper’s 2920 Todd Rd. complex on Pelican Island, already an active heavy‑repair and drydock operation.

2) A natural workforce pipeline next door.

Galveston is home to Texas A&M University at Galveston and the Texas A&M Maritime Academy—one of just seven U.S. maritime academies and the only one on the Gulf. That proximity could become a strategic talent pipeline for marine engineering, naval architecture, and licensed deck/engine officers as advanced icebreaker work starts up. Source: Texas A&M University Galveston

3) Supply chain, skills, and technology transfer.

The program is deliberately structured to import Finnish expertise first, then on‑shore production. Design partners named by industry include Aker Arctic (Finland) and Seaspan (Canada)—firms with deep polar pedigrees—paired with Bollinger for U.S. construction. That cross‑border partnership is meant to accelerate know‑how transfer in hull form, ice‑class systems, and cold‑weather integration—capabilities that can anchor long‑term, high‑skill manufacturing in the region.

4) A broader geopolitical arc that favors Gulf Coast capacity.

The deal rides alongside the tri‑national ICE Pact (U.S.–Canada–Finland), a framework launched in 2024 to pool polar shipbuilding capacity. If Washington sustains priority on Arctic presence, follow‑on cutters, retrofits, and through‑life support could keep the Gulf Coast—and Galveston specifically—in the game for decades.

What’s firm—and what isn’t (yet)

• The international agreement and presidential directives are signed. The MOU and Presidential Memorandum are in place; the latter cites 14 U.S.C. §1151(b) and 10 U.S.C. §8679(b) to justify foreign construction as a national‑security necessity and directs the Coast Guard to plan the on‑shoring path.
• The U.S. yard split is publicly stated—but contract details can evolve. Reuters reports 3 Galveston / 4 Houma today. Separately, a Bollinger press release says a Bollinger‑led international team was selected to build six ASCs, with the first three coming via parallel early construction at Rauma (Finland) and Bollinger (U.S.) before shifting fully domestic—language that does not perfectly align with Reuters’ count. Expect clarification as contracting actions are published.
• Davie’s Galveston buildout is significant—but still proceeding through approvals. Davie’s acquisition of Gulf Copper assets in Galveston and Port Arthur and its yard transformation plan remain subject to financial, legal, regulatory and lease approvals, per WorkBoat’s reporting.
• Funding and oversight will shape the schedule. The Coast Guard has been evaluating ASC options within the FY25 budget and supplemental debates, and Congress will scrutinize costs and timelines, particularly alongside the Polar Security Cutter program.

Bottom line for Galveston right now:

The policy direction and intent are clear—Galveston is in the plan. Contracts, yard upgrades, and workforce ramp are the next gates. On the Island, the opportunity is to organize talent pipelines, supplier networks, and logistics now, so that when steel is ready to cut, Galveston can execute at scale.

The cutters themselves

Industry materials tied to the Bollinger‑led team point to a multi‑purpose icebreaker design from Seaspan + Aker Arctic. Reported performance goals include breaking ~4 feet of ice, 12,000‑nm range, and >60 days endurance, enabling missions from sovereignty patrol to SAR and research support in harsh conditions. (Final U.S. requirements will be set by the Coast Guard.)

Local readiness: a few practical considerations

• Pelican Island access and heavy logistics. The Island’s Gulf Copper yard is on Pelican Island, which saw a barge strike and temporary bridge closure in 2024; the bridge subsequently reopened with restrictions. As industrial activity grows, redundant and resilient access (roadway and waterside) will be critical.
• Workforce partnerships. TAMUG’s Maritime Academy and marine engineering programs are a ready partner for apprenticeships, credentials, and officer licensing aligned to shipbuilding and sustainment roles.
• Supplier base. Advanced ice‑class vessels demand specialized steel, propulsion, HVAC, coatings, sensors, and electronics that perform in extreme cold. Early vendor outreach will help anchor more of that value chain on the Gulf Coast.

Why this matters

For decades, the U.S. lagged in icebreaking while rivals built capacity. This pact shortens the timeline by pairing Finnish leadership in polar ships with American yards—and seeds a homegrown industry on the Gulf. If Galveston executes, the “American Icebreaker Factory” won’t be a one‑off project; it can become a signature capability for the Island, attracting follow‑on classes, retrofits, and high‑skill maritime careers for a generation.

“It is not enough to report on Galveston. We must champion it. We must demand the kind of journalism that strengthens people rather than pacifies them.”

Journalism has power—or it has nothing at all. For David Landriault, Founder of The 1839, the calling is not to sit safely on the sidelines but to step forward with courage, clarity, and purpose. In an era of noise and bias, Galveston deserves a publication that stands unflinchingly for truth, one that sees journalism not as an act of observation but of service.

The 1839 exists to elevate this island’s voice—to tell stories that matter, challenge narratives that limit us, and illuminate the people and ideas driving Galveston’s future. Every word, every image, and every investigation is guided by integrity and a deep respect for the community we serve.

We don’t chase outrage or headlines; we seek understanding. We don’t echo the past; we want to help define what comes next.

Galveston’s future is written by those who speak up. Share your story, engage with your neighbors, and subscribe to The 1839 newsletter. Together we can elevate this island’s voice and ensure our community thrives with courage, integrity, and pride.