I f you grew up in Houston, Marvin Zindler is something like folklore, the white-suited crusader and zealous wielder of news mics and public outrage.
But when you move here later in life, as I did, you meet him in fragments, through old clips of his TV days or as a floating head on “Slime in the Ice Machine” T-shirts. But his is a name Houstonians invoke with reverence, Houston’s own zany newsman.
My gateway into Zindler’s life, believe it or not, was ZZ Top…