Tuesday, March 23, 2021

Lost and Abandoned America

In 1988, I drove across country as a last burst of freedom before starting my first full time adult job. My goal for the trip was to find a lost family house that belonged to my great grandparents in Pasadena, California. Lost and abandoned became one of the themes of the trip. Some things lost because decisions were made to destroy them and others simply abandoned.

1. Lost America: From the Mississippi to the Pacific, Constance M. Grieff (1974).  During my cross country drive, I stopped in Albuquerque, NM to look for its train station and the Alvarado Hotel. It was one of the country's greatest railroad stations along the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe route from Chicago to Los Angeles.  Built in a "Pueblo" style style, it included landscaped courtyards and shopping arcades. True to the words of Joni Mitchell's song, it was demolished and paved over for a parking lot. I read this much later in Grieff's book. Inherited from my mother.


2. Lost America: From the Atlantic to the Mississippi, Constance Grieff (1971).  The first of the two Lost America books by Grieff.  Maybe the most notorious loss of all losses is the destruction of New York's stately Penn Station; cut up in pieces and unceremoniously dumped in the New Jersey Meadowlands like the unfortunate victim of gangland crime. Inherited from my mother.

3. Abandonings: Photographs of Otter Tail County, Minnesota, Maxwell MacKenzie (1995).  Who wouldn't want to visit a place called "Otter Tail County"? Named for the Chippewa who saw a likeness of an otter tail's shape in the river and lake. Maxwell preserves the images of the county located on the edge of the Great Plains in Minnesota's western half in beautiful color photo taken in summer, fall, winter and spring. Bought used but no longer remember where.

4.  Lost Sandusky, M. Christina Smith (2015). Part of the History Press's "Lost" series of books on cities and places. Smith captures the lost business, hotels, transportation, wineries and breweries through concise descriptions accompanied by black and white photos. Lost Sandusky is on my shelf because its where I have roots. I've heard stories of many of the places included from my mother and grandmother.  Bought new online.

5. The Barn: Vanishing Landmark in North America, Eric Arthur and Dudley Witney (1972).  The sight of a red barn evokes a familiar Midwest feeling of home. But there's much more to the eye. Dutch Barns, English Barns, Pennyslvania Bar, and Circular and Polygonal Barns--all types of barns you'll learn to distinguish but all barns that are disappearing from North America.  Extensive colorful pictures illustrating the styles of barn. Inherited from my mother. 

6. Preserving the Great Plains and Rocky Mountains, Elaine Freed (1992).  Historical review of former forts, sod houses, churches, farmhouses, ghost towns as well as preserved structures still in use. Bought new through a mail order book catalogue in the days before the internet.

Thursday, March 18, 2021

Born in a Small Town


Gale Stockwell, Parkville, Main Street, 1933, oil on canvas, Smithsonian American Art Museum

Historically...small-town America has been an underground reservoir of values for the larger nation, sending out its foods, its ambitious youths, its family values and its fad-free common sense attitude to the larger nation.  The underlying and ominous warning is that the inevitable reservoir of values, like the aquifers beneath many of the cities, is being rapidly fouled and sucked dry by a larger society that may soon find, to its uncomprehending surprise and distaste, nothing of value coming up from the straw.

        ---Ron Powers, 1991

I'm a sucker for books and poems about small town life. I grew up in and around a medium and small town in northern Ohio and the longer I'm away, the more of a tug I feel toward the memories and familiarity of those places. It's ironic having lived in the Washington, DC area longer than Ohio but the earliest formative memories maybe the most powerful. There's a mix of nostalgia, melancholy, and rootedness. Here's my mix of books that profile the importance of America's small towns. 

 1.  Uprooted: Recovering the Legacy of the Places We've Left Behind, Grace Olmstead (2021).  I saw this reviewed as a new release and went out and bought it in a real live bookstore the day it came out. This is next on my reading stack. The author's story of growing up in Emmett, Idaho and relocating to Washington, DC, had immediate appeal. Olmstead asks where can you find rootedness?


2. Far From Home: Life and Loss in Two American Small Towns, Ron Powers (1991). Powers is Pulitzer Prize winning author who returns to his hometown of Cairo, Illinois in the 1980s and looks at the town's abiility to recover from racial strife in the 1960s. He compares its experience with the affluent Kent, Connecticut that is transforming into a different direction with exurban weekenders dislocating local traditions. I read a NYT book review on this in 1991 and wrote down the quote above but never bought the book. Finally bought from a thrift bookstore online.

 3. As a City Upon a Hill: The Town in American History, Page Smith (1966).   The title inspired by scripture from the Bible used by Jonathan Winthrop speaking to the Massachusetts Bay colonists. Published by MIT Press, the author places the American town as a foundation for community creating a common good for the country.  Bought used at the State Department book store.


 4.  Ohio Town: A Portrait of Xenia, Helen Hooven Santmyer (1962). Santmyer grew up in Xenia and went away to school at Wellesley and Oxford and worked for a time in New York City for a Scribners. Her recollection of Xenia is considered a superb blend of hisotry and memoir of a small town. Bought used online.  (Included in another list about Ohio.)



5.  Lowell, Lisa Barker Plank with the Lowell Area Historical Museum (2010).  I'm exercising some personal bias by adding this one. Lowell, Michigan was my father's hometown. We used to visit during summers on our way up to northern Michigan. it seemed to be a composite of real and fictionalized American small towns: Mark Twain’s Hannibal, Sherwood Anderson’s Winesburg, Thornton Wilder’s Grover’s Corners and Ray Bradbury’s Green Town. I could imagine boys with sticks rolling hoops down the main street or whitewashing fences in bare feet and girls jumping rope singing, songs in cadence to the smack of the rope. Bought online.


6. Our Town, Thornton Wilder (1938). The Pulitzer Prize winning drama of life in the village of Grover's Corners. It remains one of the most performed American plays. Grover's Corners seems an emblematic representation of a small town and for that reason I made an exception and included a work of fiction. Bought from a thrift store online.

Thursday, February 4, 2021

Hard Hat in the Information Age


Originally posted March 2020; reposting as the link seems to have broken.

I’m in my late 50s and in the last four years have lost both my parents. Sorting through their personal artifacts, there are some I keep for the stories they tell.  

One is a hard hat from Vulcan Materials Company that belonged to my father. It’s white with a ridge down the top center like the spine of a reptile or the midsagittal crest of a great ape. It has short brim at the front with a sticker above reading Vulcan Materials Company with the tag line underneath, "Think Safety" underneath.  The sticker is in the company’s colors navy and deep gold with a logo that looks like two chevron-like shapes, one inverted above the other.  At the end of his life, my father kept the hard hat in the trunk of his car, a gray Ford Crown Victoria. He would have last worn it in a work capacity in the mid-1980s before the company sold off its metals division where he worked for as the Business Director. This included logistics and on-site supply chain reviews, entering plants and foundries across the country and the hard hat is what he would have worn.

The hat became of a symbol of post WWII America. He served as a US Navy Corpsman at the end of WWII and when he graduated Wayne State University on the GI Bill, he went to work as a salesman for the company’s predecessor, Aluminum-Magnesium, in my hometown of Sandusky, Ohio. The company smelted aluminum and other light metals selling them to manufacturing companies across the Midwest to be forged into aircraft parts, engine blocks, lawn mowers, and light industrial products. As a salesman, he traveling to mid-sized cities with flinty sounding names like Benton Harbor, Gary, Ft. Wayne, Union City, Milwaukee, Jackson, Toledo, and Muncie.

My freshman year in high school, my father gave me a tour of the Sandusky foundry wearing the hat and hard-plastic safety googles. I had to be outfitted with the same. He seemed to take on more business-like air of authority talking about the temperatures of the metals, operation of the furnace, and equipment needed to protect the men working in such hazardous conditions. He raised his voice to a dull yell to be heard over the din of the furnaces smelting aluminum to over 1,300 degrees. My father introduced me to one of the foreman, Mr. Cooper, an African-American man massively built like a defensive end. Mr. Cooper was overseeing a pour of molten ingot molds.

The summer after my freshman year in college, my father arranged a summer job for me doing unskilled tasks in the plant. I wore my own hard hat, steel-toed shoes. Decades later, my memory still tingles when I recall the heat and grit working in the foundry. The experience has stayed with me giving me a respect for the hard work of the manufacturing things.  

My father had a theory at the end of his life, at beginning of what we call “the Information Age." He believed American companies that manufacture tangible things should be given tax breaks.  He felt the country had lost its ability to manufacture material goods like cars or machinery. It’s understandable that he saw the greatness in the manufacture of tangible things he could see every day. Manufacturing had given him a job and provided for a family.  

In 1986, the company sold off the metals division because it was no longer profitable, competing with cheaper metal in an ever globalized world, and he was forced into early retirement.  My father held onto his hard hat keeping it in the truck of his Crown Victoria. He would have been nearly the same age I am as I write this—his late 50s. That’s a challenging time to get hired again — you’re too old and too expensive.  He moved into seasonal work as a tax preparer, working for the next 25 years for H&R Block. He enjoyed the tax work and never looked back.

In the 1990s the Sandusky plant was sold off, demolished and the land reclaimed to become a city park.

Today, I work as a lawyer as part of the Information Age economy looking at laws and regulations that affect data.  Despite the fact he was grounded in the manufacturing age, he had a strong grasp of what I did and was proud of it.  Still, I have this hard hat.  He told me to keep it. The hat sits in my workshop should I ever need it to make something tangible.

Sunday, January 3, 2021

Doggeral House Cleaning

Every few months, I have to sweep up the doggerel from the left side of my notebooks and put it out on the street for pick up. 

Tyrant Times

Stalin’s poetry
makes for a sad science
and sirens in the distance

Excuse me, are these two related?

On the trek
he ran amok

This golden ager
had golden anger

Rated D

Defiant deviant's defacement denuded damsels


Match Making Challenge

Love tyrant
hermit fanatic
oh what a ride

Fall Ride

November sun
reveals ancient ground

On the drive home
shadow bars
picket my path

English Mystery Solved?

Alice in Wonderland listened to the Walrus
John Lennon admitted later, in song,
that it was Paul.

Not that Bard College

I enrolled in Shakespeare’s School of Night

The psychiatrist and the sculptor faced off: 

Mental nudity vs. metal nudity

Baby's First Poetic Rhyme Scheme

What Ed said
Was in Ted’s head
and what Ned read.

Writing Prompt: Father Time and Mother Nature on a blind date