7 new things

Ah, tagging time again! This time, I have Rich to thank. Seven things about me. A slight discount from the last time, which was eight fascinating facts...

1. Let's start at the beginning. I was born in Riverside, Calif., home of the historic Mission Inn (above), in the wonderful state that was described in the WPA Guide to California. Those were the days of "slightly higher west of the Rockies." If the Golden State were still like it was in the 30s, we'd see few Californians moving to Prescott -- and I might consider living there again.

2. Two aunts and one uncle attended Antioch College in Ohio; therefore, no surprise that's where I finished my higher education. I loved the place and my days there, but we parted ways as the school became more and more doctrinaire left and I spiraled off in a western /libertarian direction.

3. Since I don't particularly care for soft cheeses, I can't qualify as a foodie. Better the kind of cheddar that comes in the black packaging, meaning that it bites back. Even better: those 5-, 7- and 12-year aged cheddars from Canada, where folks take their cheese very seriously.

4. I learned to read with the Oz books. An aunt bought two in the series, started to read them to me, then became bored with the project. The only solution was to do the reading myself.

5. Never learned to drive. Problem: it was the war years, my father had an A card & was honest. Therefore, there was no excess gasoline for my lessons using the family car. Then I spent all those years in the Big City with plenty of public transportation -- no need to drive.

6. I loved my years in Chicago. Where else would a socialist alderman have the clout to fix a parking ticket? Somehow, in Chicago, you had the feeling that almost anyone could reach out to those in power, unlike, say NYC.

7. Why Arizona? Lots of family here at one time -- my father's family arrived in Phoenix in 1916 and my mother was born there while her parents were on a leisurely trip to take a look at California, purpose: relocating from the Dakotas. Arizona always held a soft spot in my heart.

OK, now for the fun part: tagging others. Let's see, how about:

* The String Bag
* Vinegar & Honey
* Life's Free Treats
* PrescottStyle
* Loosely Speaking
* The Singing Bird
* and last, but not least, a new local blogger, Home Sweet Prescott, to get him started off properly by being amongst the tagged. RE in AZ also has begun an ambitious second blog about our most critical problem -- water.

Link of the Day

Here's a link to those places that may haunt your dreams or, perhaps, entice you as you drive through an old Rust Belt city. Abandoned factories. Worn-out, empty 3-flats. Tunnels that appear to go nowhere. Sewers and drains. I'm referring to not-so-licit amateur urban "archeology", which appears to have more than a bit of a following in this country and elsewhere. Wikipedia has a good article on the subject.

(In the case of Chicago, there's that narrow gage railroad that runs throughout the Loop connecting with the 3rd basement level down in most major buildings; Sarah Paretsky featured it several years ago in one of her V.I. Warshawski detective novels. It's right up there with Floor 3-1/2 in the City-County Building where the Board of Election Commissioners used to store their records.)

Old Chicago Adage: Vote Early & Often

That was the lesson I learned as a gung-ho, radical college student. I suspect it's still taught at mothers' knees in the neighborhoods of the windy city. After all, local politics is the city's secular religion. Where else would a socialist alderman from the reform-minded 5th Ward (i.e., University of Chicago area) be able (and willing) to fix a ticket along with the most loyal machine Democrats?

But that was then. Today was now! Very little electioneering evident at my polling place. Just this one guy with a sign -- and he more visible from Gurley Street than from most entrances to the voting booths.

Here's the entrance, with signs, of course. No cell phones. Nothing said about cameras, you'll note. I did ask the assorted election officials & judges. As far as they knew, there was no law about taking pictures. So I did.

This is the first sight I saw upon entry. These citizens are using the paper ballot, filling the circles with a lovely deep black, very inky pen. Just like those machine-scored tests back in school!

Another voter getting his ballot.

If one felt high-tech and trusting, there was a touch screen model optional. I didn't see anyone using it while I was present.

My turn -- checking the ID against the roll.

I get my long, long ballot.

It's finished -- I had to carry a cheat sheet because of the overload of propositions. Arizona is a western state, where citizen-initiated law is the rule. Like California.

This machine slurps my ballot -- and maybe it also scans the document to add to the totals. I didn't get that info clear.

In any event, the paper ballots are stored in this locked box just in case anyone raises an eyebrow about the count. After that civic workout, it was time to go across the street to the local cafe for B&G, coffee and a newspaper.

Where I ruminate. I may not be in Chicago any more, but I still believe in the voting booth, if at all possible. Yes, it is easier to sit at the kitchen table by yourself with a mail-in ballot. About as exciting as making out a shopping list, isn't it? For my money, that approach puts ever more distance between the citizen and Them. No -- give me the rituals, the citizen and party people overseeing the voting scene, the interaction of voting with others at the local precinct. I still celebrate that secular religion I learned in Chicago.

Federal Architecture From Depression Era

Officially, it's a U.S. Post Office. On the top floor is a federal district courthouse. Of course, this is not the Prescott post office -- that's over on Schemmer Drive, just off Miller Valley Road. Not in the middle of town, which is where the main post office ought to be, in any proper city.

It took an outcry from the downtown merchants, the city and county fathers to keep this historic post office open. Built in 1931, the structure is listed in the National Registry of Historic Places. When the city outgrew this facility, the Miller Valley PO was was built in the early 90s; the feds had planned to turn the Cortez Street building into an federal office and court house building. Thank goodness sanity prevailed -- I have a box there. Also, it's a lot more convenient for all those tourists to stamp and mail their post cards.


The windows are pretty grand, although these around on the Cortez Street side may need some TLC of the kind that cost Uncle $166 Gs up at the third-floor court house. According to the Courier, "officials knew they had to do something after a window fell apart in a judge's hands." However, that kind of money bought a real restoration rather than some mismatched or slap-dash repairs.


I wonder how long it has been since modern post offices bothered with decorative brass boxes...


...and drawers (for those with a serious flow of mail.) I vote in favor of decorative brass over brushed stainless steel any day.

It's curious -- when I was in my impressionable 20s (and this building was about the same age), I was quite caught up in Mies van de Rohe chic. I would have poo-pooed the Goodwin Street post office as hopelessly mundane and outdated.

Chicago, long proud of its architectural heritage, boasted a couple of stark, "structurally honest", clean-lined apartment buildings by Mies. By the time we left the big city in the early 80s, those monuments to modernity were looking a lot tattier than this local building looks today, nearly 30 years later. It's much more interesting, too. Maybe that's because Mies would never have used decorative brass.

Music to My Ears

Long before music from Jamaica and France and Ethiopia and India and Bali and all points East and West was repackaged as Politically Correct, Multi-Cultural World Music, I developed a taste for popular and folk music from assorted corners of the globe.

After all, I did live in Chicago, where obscure little radio stations were beamed to the many ethnic groups in the city. Programs such as the Sakura Hour -- and plenty of polkas -- were the meat and potatoes of the AM dial and fun to listen to.

But maybe I should thank Mike Nichols. Yes, that Mike Nichols. His movie career didn't take off until several years after his first public performance -- as a DJ on that original model for every Good Music Station, WFMT in Chicago. Mike's late Saturday night show was called "The Midnight Special," featuring primarily the Pete Seeger/Woody Guthrie variety of American folk music. (Note: this show is still on the air, over 50 years later!)

But he did introduce his listeners to more exotic fare periodically. He had a favorite album featuring a sexy Egyptian lady who probably would be stoned by the Muslim Brotherhood these days. He played a wonderful flamenco LP that included a chilling version of the saetas (a religious processional.) And I'm pretty sure that I heard South American flute music on that show, as well.


Which is the reason I made it down to the Kokepelli Kitsch show on the Square today -- an announcement in the Courier that Andean Nation had the official platform this year; the last time I heard a similar group here, they were busking -- as were the flute players that frequented Old Town Victoria during the tourist season a few years back.

I popped for a CD -- but not a pipe; I'm long past the age when it would be easy to learn an instrument.


Just as haunting as the Bolivian/Peruvian/ Ecuadorian music is fado, from Portugal. I had the good fortune to first hear this music in a Lisbon courtyard. As the World Music Center explains: "whatever its origins, its themes have remained constant: destiny, betrayal in love, death and despair. A typical lyric goes: 'Why did you leave me, where did you go? I walk the streets looking at every place we were together, except you’re not there.' It’s a sad music and a fado performance is not successful if an audience is not moved to tears."

Popular music from India is usually more upbeat, especially movie music -- a lush and fascinating blend of Eastern and Western styles. To get a quick taste, go to the official web site for Krrish. This hit is an Indian version of Superman. Yes, he does leap tall buildings in a single bound! But this movie is from the Sub-Continent, which means a requisite number of song-and-dance numbers, too.


Reggae never quite filled the bill for me; don't know why. On the other hand, restaurants in Chicago's Greek town down around Halstead & Taylor were for all practical purposes night clubs, with musical entertainment (and belly dancers, of course). Great sounds. I also liked Edith Piaf in her day. Not to mention Japanese pop music.

And let me close with this admission: I was thrilled the day a bagpiper showed up in the alley, piping for all he was worth.

Did I happen to mention J.S. Bach......