Thursday, July 31, 2008

Amigos de K'ekchi/Nashville weekend


Friday Stephanie, Vincent, and I drove in our un-air-conditioned rickety Taurus- caravanning with Pastor Jane and church members Soni and Martha in Martha’s car. We left a little late and followed at a very deliberate pace and got to SW Nashville’s 2nd Presbyterian Church a tad late for a great dinner of something like fajitas.

Then we settled in to introduce ourselves/each other. We were really the fifth group – two presbyteries (Middle TN and Inland NW (headquartered in Spokane WA) and Pines Presbyterian church and a TN congregation or two. It seemed pretty clear that the congregations were a tad larger and a tad wealthier than ours. Ours is a congregation with about 150 in worship – mainly social workers, Presbyterian Center and Presbyterian seminary employees, and various students and other business and professional people. Definitely professional managerial class – with a lot of degrees (including a bunch of ministers) – but not a huge millionaire’s club.
We heard about the partnerships these various presbyteries and congregations had forged with northern and eastern Guatemala presbyteries, presbyteries populated mainly by folks from the Mayan K’eckchi cultural group. (Reporting on before, during, and after our mission trip was Stephanie, who shared with folks copies of the beautiful mission trip book that she had constructed out of her, Soni, Doug, and Ian’s photos and her text), and Soni, who shared with folks the sets of beautiful cards that she had constructed out 12 of the pictures that K’ekchi woman drew in the women’s workshop that Soni and Sandra led.) The K’ekchi have their own language, and particularly the women have their own dress. K’eckchi evangelicals – like those we worked with last summer – separate themselves from Catholics and – we’re told – from Mayan spirituality, although apparently this spirituality remains in areas like the reverence for corn production and consumption.



The ruling families and urban professionals in Guatemala are “Ladino” – more identified as white and with the colonizing Spanish – but this is not entirely an ancestral/physical appearance definition. If a K’ekchi person moves to Guatemala City, ditches K’ekchi dress, and speaks Spanish flawlessly instead of K’ekchi, he or she will likely shift into Ladino identity.

Historically, Ladinos (or foreigners) owned the land and ran the government and discriminated against the Mayan groups (who were also their tenants). During the 30-year Guatemalan civil war the Guatemalan military sometimes operated with a scorched earth policy against Mayan communities, attacking villages that believed harbored guerilla sympathizers or from where guerilla attacks came and forcing Mayan communities to move to safer areas (as refugees).

The Guatemalan election this past fall saw a presidential candidate supported by rural voters such as the ones we visited defeat a candidate who came from the military.

In June-July 2007 Stephanie, Vincent, Pastor Jane, Soni, and I and others (8 youth, 11 adults) visited the area north of Lago Izabal, Guatemala’s largest lake, a predominantly K’ekchi area in eastern Guatemala. In El Estor – the Izabal town where we spent most of our time – many of the men and kids who went to school knew Spanish. But women who generally went to school less and older men and kids who had not gone to school knew less Spanish. Either way, for most, K’ekchi was – as they said – the “language of the heart.” We conversed in Spanish with some, but we learned little K’ekchi. We sang “Amazing Grace” in Spanish. Worship services we tried to translate back and forth into K’ekchi, Spanish, and English. Unfortunately, this three-way translation is kind of tedious, and we didn’t always accomplish it in worships gracefully.

The only good thing about this was Spanish was a kind of neutral language for us. Their Spanish was generally better than mine, but we were all trying a little bit.



Back in Nashville, on Saturday we mainly focused on another side of the K’ekchi people’s lives: poverty, poor living conditions, and inadequate education. You’ll recall that Vincent worked on a team at his school – as part of the Kentucky United Nations Assembly Guatemala – and wrote an award-winning proposal to establish clean water projects around the world. I mentioned this when the different groups talked about water projects they’ve been involved in – waiting until towards the end – that this was a KY UN Assembly exercise – that Vincent hadn’t really gotten the money yet.

There was a representative there from Living Waters for the World, a project out of our synod that trains and sends North American church people south with equipment – including to K’ekchi areas of Guatemala – to build very small water treatment facilities – in existing buildings like churches or schools – which the locals must maintain if it is to continue to produce clean water. Other projects we discussed – particularly in the Peten – Guatemala’s northern areas – focused just on generating any kind of water – through wells, etc.

Interestingly, the international Rotary clubs have shifted in their focus from eliminating polio to cleaning water. So some churches have partnered with Rotary clubs in their areas – both in the United States and Guatemala – Recently a Peten Rotary member with whom they’d worked was elected governor of the province (or department). They said he doesn’t respond to their e-mail messages as quickly now.

While Stephanie participated in parallel workshops on Vocational Education, Secular Education, and Health, I participated in Agriculture, Water, and in Theological Education. I’ve talked about the Water workshop, where I signed up to be our rep on the water task force. The main point of those at the Agriculture workshop was to diversify the K’ekchi’s crop base – not just corn and beans – both for the K’ekchi’s diet and nutrition and for marketing possibilities. One of the groups had luck shifting K’ekchis into peanut production and marketing. This is also where it came up the K’ekchi view corn production and consumption reverentially – that the daily activity of taking corn to be ground at the little mills that we saw and then spending hours over a hot fire making tortillas out of the milled corn - which we witnessed in El Estor – was an important ritual. Much of the rest of this I didn’t follow.
In some areas of the Peten even the stove is spiritual. The basic K'eckchi stove is three large rocks with wood intersperced. The three stones represent the trinity. They would then add a rounded metal top over the stones. This becomes a problem when the stones are on the ground in the homes. Children get burnt by the open fire and smoke fills the buildings (they close the windows when cooking...no one seemed sure why) and leads to long lasting lung and eye problems. The health workshop was fascinated to learn that in El Estor they used oil barrel stoves outside, eliminating many of their health concerns, and hopefully the technology can be passed to the Peten area of the K'eckchi.

(Folks in this workshop identified land insecurity as one of the most pressing problems for Guatemala rural people. Most farming families are tenants, and they have few rights: folks recounted the story of a man driving up to a K’ekchi community and telling them – I’m the new landlord, and you’re all going to have to move. In the northern province of Peten, they are converting much of the land to ranching, which involves kicking off tenant farmers. This seems less the case in El Estor, but – before we went there – we watched on YouTube a video of police evicting squatters – families living on unused land owned by a Canadian company – after the company decided to re-open the nickel mine on the land, which we did see some of (see “ “ at http:chpcguatemala.blogspot.com ). Folks at the worshop also explained that even K’ekchi families own or are trying to buy land, frequently the process is delayed by paperwork, and even families who own land find mysteriously that the title has gone over to someone else. Elsewhere I have described this situation and even worse in the post-Reconstruction South – land insecurity – as a fundamental impediment to economic development. Producers who have no idea if they will be able to hold onto the fruits of their labor have little incentive to accumulate property. In the abstract, even tenant farmers can save money and buy property, but not if the buying process is fraught with obstacles and property ownership is tenuous.) A Guatemalan discussing this with Roger Marriot (the mission co-worker) said "Instead of giving a man a fish you can teach him to fish for himself, but it doesn't do any good if he doesn't own the river."

In all but the last of the workshops, for all practical purposes we could have been on the board of a development agency that had appointed ourselves to come in and pour some money into Guatemala and shift it into a more progressive sustainable development/appropriate technology direction. Even when discussing Theological Education, we talked a lot about low literacy rates and the indifference of government and church institutions – such as the evangelical/Presbyterian seminary – in reaching the K’ekchi (through distance learning? Not sure they’ve all got computer access).

For some folks, the nightmare vision for these folks – which they say they’ve seen – is K’ekchi pastors waving the Bible who cannot in fact read the Bible.

In these and much of the workshops, I noticed there were a lot of love and enthusiasm for working with the K’ekchi. But there was a mix of occasional condescension towards the K’ekchi and a "we’ve got to fix things with our ideas and money" approach that violated some things we’d learned: We spent much of the year before our summer 2007 Guatemala mission trip and a good part of the year following talking about developing authentic relationships and engaging in partnerships. What to avoid was to go in to Guatemala with something in mind that we could do to FIX THINGS, instead getting to know people and developing relationships. We heard stories of short-term mission workers like us going in and making things worse or – at best – mucking things up and leaving Guatemalan “partners” puzzled and even embittered. We were also told not to dangle money or gifts in front of Guatemalans, literally or in the short run. At worse, we were told that the K’ekchi are simple people who can’t be expected to think outside of the box about how to improve their impoverished, oppressed status. (I hope my concerns do not simply reflect a lack of generosity (or wealth), on the one hand, and lack of initiative, on the other hand, on our part. I’m willing to consider the possibility that they do.)


Even in the Theological Education workshop, I rarely heard a glimmer about what of the most striking thing about the K’ekchi evangelicals we met: their strong faith and spirituality, in the midst of all of this poverty, inequality, and lack of power. One of the three Anglos who accompanied us in Guatemala, Sarah, has written criticism in her short-lived blog about Guatemala. Sarah argued that Guatemalans’ faith she could see – from one point of view – and slow-moving, rural culture in general – she could see as an impediment to improvement of the country. Guatemalans can be so patient – put up with so much, and with a smile – Now, this may be functional when things are hopeless. But, some times, opportunities – for individual families or for reform – may appear, and Guatemalans may be unlikely to seize the opportunities because of the combined fatalistic and don’t worry be happy approaches that their faith and their theology help engender. Nowhere, however, did I hear such a sophisticated criticism of Guatemalan culture and theology. Instead, the subtext is that the Guatemalan government is corrupt, the society violent, and the people both oppressed and not so sharp – rather than faithful and spiritually alive. Folks at the conference did recount the hospitality that K’ekchi congregations and communities had shown us – something we nodded our heads about, as we remembered the four lunches K’ekchi woman cooked and served us and the two wonderful worship services worshipers at Arca de Noe and Espirtu Santo congregations celebrated with us (and the long, hot drives that K’eckhi pastors undertook caravanning with us – in hindsight, we realized, to try to guarantee our safety from bandits).

(One of the groups that worked on water projects talked about going from Peten village to village looking for promising water project communities – then having others set up the wells – and then moving on to other villages. Even though they worked a lot with presbytery/regional leaders, they – it sounded to me – never got close with people in any one congregation/community and congregational/community cluster, which has been our objective. To be frank, we bonded even more closely with the three mission workers we worked with (David, Ellen, and Sarah, even more than Martin, Jose, and Eliseo, never mind Pastor Pop, Luis, and so on.)

During a break I did get to talk even more with someone from one of congregations with congregation-to-presbytery partnerships, Houston’s Pines Presbyterian. I did confirm that this congregation was about double ours in size and has a congregational budget that is four times ours. The congregation devotes 20% of its budget to mission and sets aside close to $10,000 per year to send to their Kekchi partners for mission projects. The congregation sends at least two mission groups to Guatemala each year – one with a relatively small amount of people – apparently plus a youth trip. Apparently the congregation subsidizes the youth trip – either directly through the church budget or indirectly through fund-raising – but not the adult trips. This points to another difference between the two congregations – The median household income in Crescent Hill’s neighborhood is actually slightly below the national average. The median household income in Pines’ Houston neighborhood is more than double the national average. Fund-raising heavily subsidized the trip for both youth and adults, and a couple of us who helped organize the trip got to go free. Apparently no hefty subsidy of the trips for Pines adults.

A problem at Crescent Hill is that people got tired of us fund-raising. If we were to try to combine a trip to the Guatemala mission network meetings in November in Guatemala City with a visit to El Estor in November, we’d face two problems. Most of the people most interested in this – Soni, Stephanie, Pastor Jane, and I – speak very mediocre Spanish, and most of us are pretty moderate income. Marian speaks better Spanish and may be in better financial shape. I don’t know about Martha’s Spanish, but I’m sure she’s moderate income. That makes it hard for two or three or four of us to imagine paying 100% of our own way and planning a subsequent intergenerational trip next summer with people whose Spanish is OK.

We have got some interesting news recently. We’ve faced lots of problems staying in touch with folks in El Estor and Izabal. We were told that regular mail does not work, that it doesn’t make it. And we got an e-mail address for one person, but it didn’t work. We did try sending pictures and a note to several of the churches. A couple of the things that made us wonder: At the very start, the El Estor folks proposed that we help them build a center for the their cluster of congregations aspiring to form their own presbytery. When we wound up just helping make the cement floors in houses (and leading the workshops), we wonder if the folks figured we were too poor or not generous enough to help out. A confusing set of events towards the end of our visit – when we ended up turning over some play equipment we wanted to give to the cluster/presbytery and our lingering doubts about their acceptance of female leadership – made us wonder whether they wanted to stay connected with us (a good good-bye the next day alleviated some doubts). We also got this weird e-mail and calls from someone who claimed to be Armando, a young man with whom Stephanie and I talked quite a bit, who introduced us to his fisherman brother and showed his home (outside), seeking money to come to the United States, which threw us off. And a mission worker who helped lead our trip, David, and our Guatemalan guide, Martin, had no luck reaching Pastor Pop in El Estor.
In the past two weeks, however, we have caught some breaks. A mission worker who – with his wife Gloria – has concentrated in working with the K’ekchi – who was there in Nashville – apparently has Pastor Pop on his speed dial, and he promptly called him and then gave us the phone number. In Nashville, people from one of the other groups reported to Pastor Jane that they had spoken with El Estor evangelicals recently and that they were looking for partnerships (although apparently not explicitly with us) partly to move on one project we had considered: using and teaching women to use sewing machines that another church had donated for women to make some extra money. In Nashville I also spoke from a woman with the Inland Northwest group who had stayed in the same hotel as we did and had helped paint half of one of the churches whose buildings we did NOT visit and inquired about the outcome of that project.



Saturday afternoon I began to fade, and by the time folks settled back into the final big-group caucus (we had also worshipped Friday night and Saturday morning) I was either napping or looking for a place to lay down and/or vomit (the latter never ended up happening). The four afternoon workshop groups reported, and then there was a discussion about next steps. In some ways this discussion was kind of premature for us. Even though we got lots of ideas from the conference, all of these groups are way ahead of us in terms of forging partnerships. If my listening in while ill worked at all, I believe they talked about doing some group projects – and they’ll meet again in April in Spokane – we’ll see if that works out for us – especially since we may try to put together a very small-group November Guatemala trip and another intergenerational Guatemala mission trip next summer.

Half a dozen or of us are set to meet – hopefully within the next couple of weeks – my and our absences/schedule makes this tougher. We’ll see who’s interested in pursuing what, even with my occasional concerns about others’ direction and our comparative lack of resources.

(One other troubling exchange came several weeks before last weekend’s conference – when someone active in the larger Guatemala mission network protesting the denomination’s failure to replace David and Jeanne held up – essentially for ridicule – an e-mail message from a Guatemalan native contact with ESL errors and threatened not to make basic mission contributions to the denomination if they didn’t fill the position – as if the main use of denomination mission dollars is that the folks in congregations and presbyteries don’t have to communicate with any one except for native English speakers. If you only want to deal with U.S. folks, why bother setting up this fake partnership with people in Guatemala?)

(I obviously missed some of all of this, both because I became ill Saturday afternoon, and because I was driving Vincent back and forth (see “Laser Quest and more”). Two things I missed – I believe on Friday. There was a discussion of financial transfers. It turns out that most of these other U.S. Presbyterian entities send money for projects to their Guatemalan partners (quite a bit more than the $2,500 or so we brought with us for our cementing the floors project.). There can be problems on several ends: financial irregularities with the Guatemalan partners, problems with money transfers and Guatemalan financial institutions, and problems with the PC(USA)’s sending mechanisms. The latter is a complaint I heard at the Guatemala mission network gathering in Louisville last fall. I believe it’s no so much – we’re told – that the PC(USA) steals the money as that it gets interminably delayed or lost. Part of this raises the second issue: Apparently partly while I was gone there was a fair amount of bad-mouthing of Louisville/the PC(USA) – going back to the first couple of Guatemala mission network meetings, when folks found PC(USA) staff there to be condescending/dictatorial. But bad-mouthing central/national authorities is of course in fashion, and I don’t take some of this that seriously (and of course I’m in Research where we’re not in charge of any of this). Nevertheless, one of our group (Martha) mentioned late Friday, I believe, that it puts us from Crescent Hill in a funny position because so many in our church – and, indeed, some of us there (me) – work for the national office (Martha until recently also worked for the national office.). Of course, there were others there who work from the national office but off-site – Tracey, essentially a mission worker who operates out of Nicaragua; Roger and Gloria, who are mission workers in Guatemala; and also – we later realized – our hostess Susan (see “Hospitality”). Of course, back at our church are a host of national staff people, including Hunter, the new head of World Mission; Ruth, the interim head of the Presbyterian Hunger Program; and, formerly, Gary, the head of Relief and Development. So Martha’s point was on point, even if I had missed much of any Louisville bad-mouthing.)

(We also didn’t hear a lot about to aspects of mission partnership we had talked about: praying for each (us asking them to pray for specific things/people on our behalf, and us wanting to do that for them) and “reverse mission trips” with folks from Guatemala coming to visit us here.)
-- Perry

Greek night

I'm not really a "Dancing Queen", but I have been known to exclaim "Momma Mia!" "Money, Money, Money" is sometimes a topic of conversation (or blog entries...see June). So when Sarah called and we tried to come up with a theme night for an outing we came up with Momma Mia (the movie) and Greek food. This was of course after discounting Survivor Jamestown at the Frazier Arms Museum (which sounded fun until we thought of what kind of food would go with Jamestown...bland English food...turkey legs...not really appealing in 96 degree heat).

The original plan was for Sarah to meet me at our house to see the dining room paint job that is now finished before heading off to the movies and then dinner. I went in to school yesterday and had technical problems using my computer (the techs ghosted my teachers computer and may have deleted thousands of translated documents...and tests I've created). Needless to say after this technological glitch and the ensuing phone calls to the tech department I was late leaving to get back to the house. While sitting on the Kennedy bridge and not really budging (with no air-conditioning and 96 degree heat) I called Sarah to tell her I was going to be late. I got Sarah's voice-mail because she was calling me with the same change of plans (her pastoral visit to a family turned into something a little more than she expected). The new plan turned into meeting at the movie and skipping the dining room peek.

We got to the movie just in time to catch the last of the previews (something Perry hates). Sarah has seen the actual musical Momma Mia so knew what the basic plot line was. We laughed out loud at parts and even got a little teary-eyed at the smarmy parts. All in all it was a pleasant movie, but it was hard to get over James Bond singing ABBA love songs. I have liked Pierce Brosnan from Remington Steele days but this was a role I don't think I EVER imagined for him.

After the movie and an aborted attempt to go to Omar's Gyros on Bardstown (which seemed to have gone out of business) we ended up at Pita Delite on Grinstead. I've driven by this restaurant many times thinking "oh, someday I should try that cute little sandwich shop." Well, I'm glad we did. After a dinner of rice with lentils, Greek salad, and gyro (Sarah had the moussaka which looked great) we went for the homemade pistachio baklava, which the waiter had suggested. The only thing that would have made the baklava better would have been a dollop of vanilla ice cream. The waiter explained that they have a call list for when they have the homemade baklava. Hashim the owner only makes it once a month. I think I might try to get added to the call list it was excellent.

-- Stephanie

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

End of July update


You'll recall that - as Stephanie left - my Mother started back to work. Within a few days, Mom was back to working full-time. She's working in physical therapy appointments twice - and then once - a week, at the of the day. She's not going to try to go to tai chi while she works hard at work on a presentation - I think next week - summarizing and analyzing FL's ACT results - she'll be briefing the education commissioner about this before the presentation. Mom has arranged for a woman from church to come and help her clean the house every two weeks. The woman starts this week. Mom still has to struggle with some tiredness and remembering to do exercises at home - and earlier this week she faced some swelling in her surgery leg. Still, hopefully she's on her way to a solid recovery, with some new factors built into her life - help with housecleaning, her home with new furniture and grab bars somewhat re-engineered for her (and minus some books and clothes that have been library-ied or Goodwill-ed), and some more exercise built into her life. I suspect in a few weeks she's going to lose the handicapped parking space underneath her building (pictured above) - and that may pose a big challenge - since unless she gets rides she'll then have to park far away.

Stephanie's Mother continued chemotherapy on Tuesdays. The doctors continue to monitor both the effectiveness of the treatment against her tumors and her blood count and other symptoms of negative side effects from the treatment. Still, now, they've seen some effectiveness and some side effects. Stephanie's stepfather Bob continues to have stomach problems that may be long term side effects of his treatment against cancer a dozen plus years ago. He's still suffering and they're waiting for some new test results.

My sister and her family suffered from the air-conditioning in their house going out and some plumbing problem. When you're no longer a renter, you can't ask the landlord to fix these types of problems. When their son Jacob was staying downstairs for a while because of these problems, he didn't suffer from cold and wheezing symptoms, which made them (and him) think the carpet upstairs was bothering him. Jacob can't keep staying downstairs, because there's no bedroom down there. But Penny and Serge may have to take the new carpet they put down up there out (and replace it with something else), because it's apparently triggering Jacob's allergies.

We're eyeing August 9-10 as I believe the days that Grandpa Beck and Aunt Sandy go to the doctor. And the newly elected Stated Clerk (Gradye Parsons) awaits word from doctors at the Cleveland Clinic, where Tom (Stephanie's step-brother) was treated for lung cancer, as to when they can go ahead with surgery - heart surgery? - that he found out he needs (he found out immediately before the General Assembly meetings, which he was essentially in charge of.

(I went to hear part of a brown bag discussion with the new denominational moderator last week, and joined FaceBook and found that the moderator and I are among other people now FaceBook "friends.")

I'm praying not only for Mom, Nancy, Bob, Penny, Serge, Jacob, Sandy, Grandpa, and Gradye - and for Vincent - but also for our Unitarian Universalist brothers and sisters in Louisville, Macomb, and elsewhere. One of the congregations I worshiped with during my eight months in Macomb, IL, was the Unitarian society there. And next week among the denomoinational/faith group researchers at the gathering I'll be at will be two or three from UUA. You'll recall that - while Stephanie, Vincent, and I were in Nashville this past weekend - a gunman walked into an event at a Unitarian congregation over in Knoxville - and shot several people - apparently because - among other things - he disliked Unitarians' ethics/politics. That makes us all a little more nervous (all the more so since our Louisville and Tallahassee congregations are among the more liberal in town).
-- Perry

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

The Dark Knight


The three of us saw "The Dark Knight" Thursday night, one week after it debuted (see "Superheroes and Silly Swedish Songs"), at a way too expensive "Director's" theater. The 2 1/2 hours sped by. Heather Ledger as The Joker (above) is stupendous - he completely dominates the movie. It's hard to believe this is the same guy who was equally good in "Brokeback Mountain" and funny in "Knight's Tale" (his character is so different). Not sure what to make of the assault charges against him, but we loved Christian Bale not only as Batman/Bruce Wayne but also in "The Prestige" and me him in "Rescue Dawn." What's not to like about this movie? Aaron Eckhart, Morgan Freeman, Michael Caine, even Gary Oldman, who was Harry's godfather in the "Harry Potter" movies? I personally love "Batman" with Michael Keaton, but this takes the cake. I don't want to say that $300 million worth of people in the first 10 days can't be wrong, but - for once - Hollywood and the U.S. viewing public got this right.

If you really haven't seen the movie yet, and don't mind previews (I avoid them, since they spoil most of the movie), (or if you just want to re-live the movie - it's not a bad little preview) (apparenty the distributor toyed with not featuring Ledger in the preview, because they thought people might see this as tasteless, but the got an OK from the family - and Ledger dominates here as in the full-blown movie.) take a peek here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WaIR9dAZRR0

-- Perry

Progress














Happy Birthday, Christy!


In the past year the Research office has nearly doubled in size. At one point we were down to almost just five staff people, and now we have 9/10 (but now only two - instead of four - are guys - plus now Becki's son Jonathan (obscured in the bottom picture)). Last winter as we contemplated three new staffpeople one of the managers commented that with all of the new people - eventually in the future - the office would be different. And perhaps it is. (We're certainly very glad they've all joined us.) Because of the large number of people, because 1 1/2 years ago we moved away from the office with the de facto conference room of our own, and because we now include administrative assistants in our weekly staff meetings, we've had to move many of these events out of our other manager's office - where they'd been ever since we moved down to the 1st floor - to one of two conference rooms (one or both at least nominally controlled by other offices). Last Thursday we gathered in the Prebyterian Investment & Loan Program conference room to celebrate the 29th birthday of the AA who started soon before me, now our senior AA - Christy (pictured in the top left in the lower picture above). A couple of weeks before we both welcomed our new colleague Hilary and celebrated her birthday in the other confernce room. Among those pictured above are all of the colleagues new to us during the past year: Susan, Becki, Joelle, and Hillary (plus old-timers Deborah and Ida).
-- Perry

Monday, July 28, 2008

Wild nature

After leaving Ft. Wayne, IN we returned to the rest area where Vincent and Perry had stopped on Saturday. We turtle hunted in the wild flowers behind the truck area. It seemed bleak with acres of land behind the area, including at least an acre of beautiful daisies. While Perry looked for Speckles Frisco romped, Vincent played flower ninja by kicking the heads off of flowers with well placed kicks, and I looked (via the view finder on the camera) for Speckles. We eventually gave up. It just seemed an impossible task. We also were worried we WOULD find a turtle but get back home to find Speckles and then have THREE turtles.



We stopped for dinner on the way home at a Ponderosa that Perry and Vincent had visited on one of the trips to see me when I taught at Western Illinois University for the summer. Walking outside we noticed the growing storm clouds. By the time we were on the road (we had to get gas and walk Frisco, who had been not so patiently waiting in the car during dinner) the sky was black and was full of fascinating lightning. Living in Florida you see lots of lightning but I don't think I've seen anything like this. It would flash and zigzag across the sky and never actually go down, but rather look like an electric spiderweb. Eventually there was ball lightning and then strikes coming down. Perry tried to capture the lightning on the fireworks macro on his camera (thanks Sara for encouraging him to even look at the macros). While only one showed up at all (we just aren't as fast as lightning...and our camera isn't fast to reshoot) it was an interesting way to drive home. Me pointing out the lightning as I drove and Perry trying to get the shots (Vincent even expressed interest in the lightning).

-- Stephanie

Lost turtle


Last week I decided we should take to Fort Wayne not only Frisco our dog but also our land turtles Greenville and Speckles, who had not been on a trip for while and who both needed their weekly baths and walks. Although they don’t love being put in a box and left for long stretches and they worry about the temperature extremes (outside; in the car), they basically like trips, because they always get baths in the motel bathtub and then get to walk around the motel room.

I should have interpreted it as a bad sign when we got to our smoky Fort Wayne Motel 6 room and – very unusually – there was no bathtub, just a shower. But what I noticed next was much more scary. I remembered picking Greenville and Speckles up and putting them into a relatively short box with newspaper in it and leaving it for a brief time on the table in the Florida room. Then I picked up the box and put it on top of the car and then into the back seat. It was precariously placed in the back seat, and so several times the whole box almost flipped over. Vincent had to right it. Now, keep in mind that we have lost two turtles. Water turtle Speedy died after we’d had her just six months. After three years, I let Sawyer an Ohio land turtle, out in the back yard too long, and he escaped from a wire fence circle and into Grandma Martha’s then messy back yard (where despite six plus hours of raking, we did not find him.), and he was gone for good (and it went down into the 20s that night, while he had pretty much been inside for three years).

You may recall that – after a break – we then got Greenville, a beaten up male, from David, who had picked up this box turtle while the turtle was crossing the road, in Greenville, FL, hometown of singer Ray Charles. Greenville – and Madison, a boy with whom Sawyer had fought (until we separated them) on the one play date that they had – had lived in David and Helen’s back yard for four years. Stephanie had engineered this shift of Greenville to me, so he and I could go to Minnesota together, around the time that David moved (Madison and the other turtles ended up escaping at the new house anyway). Greenville did not like living inside and in Minnesota, and he went on a hunger strike for five months until I tinkered enough with his environment and food enough and brother-in-law, Serge, gave him a healing. Then he started eating again.

On the way to Stephanie taking the PRAXIS teaching standardized tests in Richmond and a rehearsal dinner and wedding and lunch (Chris and Sabina’s) (and staying with Cindy and Rob) in Washington, D.C., Stephanie and I tried to save money by staying with Greenville in Medoc Mountain State Park, in northern North Carolina, in out tent. Even though it was June, all three of us froze in that tent (I eventually shifted to the car). After we got up, we drove in between tobacco fields, and Stephanie noticed a land turtle crossing the road. I stopped, and Stephanie got me to walk back, pick up the turtle, and put it in the box with Greenville. That night we showed the two turtles to Cindy and Rob’s kids.

Back in Tallahassee we put Greenville and Speckles in different dry aquariums, since we had read that turtles are not social (and having watched Sawyer and Greenville not get along (we didn’t know the probably ornamental (or Oriental?) turtle we came to call Speckles – for the bright – well, speckles – on the top of her neck – was a girl..

But when we tried putting them together, they didn’t fight and they seemed to snuggle up with each other, often under the big piece of tree bark that gives them privacy/protection. They were buddies. After some time, it became clear that Speckles was a girl, because we came home finding them doing things we’d of course never want any biological kids of ours doing together – plus she laid eggs.

Historically, Speckles – even though she’s smaller – is more agile and is a much more aggressive (and voracious) eater. In general, she’ll try to push Greenville out of the way so she can get to food or water. We think Greenville has poor eye sight, and perhaps partly because of that? – he’s a very picky eater. In one area – sex- though, he’s definitely the pushy, more aggressive one.

You’ll recall from “Babies (?)” that Speckles has continued to lay eggs periodically. In spite of our incubation procedure, no eggs have ever hatched, and this latest batch now looks no more promising than the previous batches.

Imagine our terror and sadness on Saturday night. As I unpack our stuff and got Greenville out (but not for a bath), I am shocked to realize that there is no second turtle in the box. I assume that Speckles crawled out of the box into the car- which she’s done before – perhaps in connection with the box essentially tipping over. (The short box is no doubt a factor too, as I usually bring them in a larger box – but it takes up so much space.) But when I got out of the car – before picking up Vincent from the “rave” – I am again shocked that I cannot find her. I substantially clean up the car that night and the next morning – throwing away a bunch of stuff and bagging up some recycling to take home – but still no Speckles. Stephanie looks too, and we both look carefully before the motel room, where she might have escaped also.

My theory then focuses, first, on the house and, second, on other Fort Wayne locales. I figure there’s a chance that I never picked Speckles up – that I forgot and left her in the aquarium – or, more likely, that she escaped out of the box while it was perched in the Florida room – or, more terrifyingly, while on top of the car. Another remote possibility is that I gave Speckles her bath back at home in the bathtub and I forgot and left her in there.

What I wanted at that point was someone who knew to enter our house and check the dry aquarium, the bathtub, and Florida room for Speckles – partly so they could – if they found her – relieve our anxiety – and also so – if they found her – that would relieve of us exploring the Fort Wayne locales. Reaching neither the church nor anyone else Sunday morning (except for a church friend who was in the middle of orchestrating her parents’ anniversary party, from which I did not want to pull her away.

So, instead, on our way out of town, we drove by the Burger King Vincent and I had stopped at for lunch on Saturday (the Virginia Tate memorial Burger King). While Stephanie and Vincent had more lunch at Taco Bell, I searched the parking lot where we had parked on Saturday and the surrounding grounds for our lost turtle. An hour later, on the way to Indy, we turned around and stopped at the northbound rest area) where Vincent and I had stopped on the way to Fort Wayne Saturday. There I searched the parking lot and then walked to the back of the lot – and imagining Speckles having raced across the lot, avoiding all of the semis (Saturday we had mistakenly parked on the truck side), and sauntering through the prairie behind the lot – Frisco (pictured above) and I – with some help from Stephanie and Vincent (though they got distracted by the flowers) – hunted for Speckles all over the prairie and into an adjoining creek bed. No turtle.

I also asked the Burger King manager and the rest area maintenance staff person if anyone had turned in a land turtle or mentioned that they’d seen a turtle. No dice.

And so we had a good three hours (plus a Scottsburg, IN Ponderosa stop) of driving – anxious and feeing guilty– before we could check out our other theories, because we had never gotten through to anyone (this pointed out some chinks in our thin friendship ranks in Louisville. Three of my colleagues had served as turtle sitters for me, but one no longer works at the Center, another is now my manager and goes home quickly after church, and is busy with her family on weekends and lives pretty far away. I only reached the anniversary party woman and no one else from church. I actually tried calling a new colleague (Joelle) but couldn’t find her number. Our friend Sarah is a pastor, and so by Sunday afternoon she’s already been working hard for quite a while and deserves a break. It had to be someone I didn’t think would be that busy on Sunday, who lived relatively nearby, whom I felt comfortable asking (and he preferably was OK with animals).

I went straight for the aquarium and Stephanie for the bathtub, and Speckles was in neither of these places. I then looked through the Florida room and found nothing. It was already dark, and so we kept looking there, and then throughout the rest of the house. The longest I remember having hunted for Greenville when he and I lived in Minnesota by ourselves was 1 ½ hours. Since then once or twice I’ve given up for a night on finding them and tried again – successfully – in the morning.

One scary possibility: when Speckles and/or Greenville are having their night on the town, we always shut the door to the stairs of the basement – in the kitchen – because we fear Speckles will crash down the (carpeted) stairs (or even plunge down the side) – and crack her shell and get killed. Also – with all of the boxes in the finished part of the basement and the boxes and equipment in the unfinished part – we’d thought it would be very difficult to find her down there.

I went to look down in the basement once and didn’t find her there. I noticed that she could have fallen into the sump pump (for which there is a big hole in the floor in the unfinished part of the basement) and drowned. By this time it had started to sink in that we probably weren’t going to find her and that – unlike with Sawyer – we’d probably never know what happened to her. Was she somewhere we had looked but not carefully enough Had she gotten run over by a semi and left no evidence in the the truck parking lot or King parking lot? Was she some completely different place we hadn’t thought of?

Of course, I felt terrible because it was apparently all my fault. And we were sad because we had previously lost Sawyer and Speedy – our water turtle who died after six months – and once again Speckles’ eggs seemed to be on their last legs. Stephanie and I both wondered if we couldn’t have Speckles’ babies, at least, if we lost contact with their mother.

One other thing that worried me. What if months later we found Speckles dead (having dried out or starved to death in the house) because she had hid some place where we didn’t look. Couldn’t we look a little harder? I went one more time to the ,basement and looked a few new places, including behind the poster boxes against the basement north wall

As I pushed over the last poster, there was that familiar hissing noise, and there she was, on the carpet, next to the wall, under the box. “Stephenie!” I yelled. “Stephanie . . .. . !” “I found her.”

I was so happy – I almost couldn’t believe it. Much of the time I was looking for her, I didn’t really believe I was going to find her (a sure-fire way to make sure you don’t.) it was like she had died and been raised from the dead. Welcome back, Speckles (pictured back in the terrarium below)!

Afterwards, Mother and Stephanie pressed me not to take these two again on any pleasure trips – unless there’s a strong reason for them to go – I’m probably all right with that because I don’t ever want this to happen again. But I was so happy having resolved it OK this time.

Now if we can just find Sawyer back in Tallahassee.

-- Perry

Ikasucon


Stephanie says it was taking Vincent to see the animated Japanese movie “Princess Mononoke” (which Grandma Martha than got Vincent in video) that first got Vincent into anime. I remember he watched “ “ in Minnesota. In Bradenton, in 8th grade, Vincent and his Manatee School for the Arts friends had Saturday afternoon parties under the guise of the anime club. Then, when he got to Louisville, the libraries maintained anime clubs, and Vincent at least started out going to events at several libraries, including the annual summer event at the Main Library.

Through anime and martial arts and restaurants and home cooking and also video games, Vincent became interested in Asian culture (some Korean, but especially Japanese culture). Until a month ago Vincent was dead set on doing college study abroad in Japan, and had even drafted a book manuscript about two college students, friends, who go as exchange students to Japan, but one of them ends up becoming a ninja (“Ninja House”? “American Ninja in Tokyo”; or something like that????)

For a time Vincent was also spending lots of time on the computer watching episodes of the anime TV series “Naruto” on the Web, IN JAPANESE. And – years before – Vincent was fans of “Pokemon” and then another card game. Pokemon connected video games, playing cards, anime-ish TV and eventually movies with those fuzzy little creatures like Pikuchi and the superhero-style powers they could get.

No doubt Vincent likes the fighting and perhaps the occasionally risqué women’s outfits and the themes of revenge and the cool graphic and fashion style. But I’ve watched one of Vincent’s favorites – a violent movie that covers much of the historic ground that “Last Samurai” covers – and there is both historic sweep and good story-telling in the best of anime. Plus – for many other anime affcianados – as we shall see – anime activity connects with Halloween, dressing up, etc., which – in other settings – often appeals to Vincent.

The first anime convention Vincent went to was the mother of them all – JACON – in Orlando – in spring of his 8th grade year – when – just by accident, Stephanie and I were there to help Mom run the Florida AAUW convention, for which she was convention chair, down the street at another Orlando hotel. Several of Vincent’s anime club mates were there for a wild scene of video gaming rooms, marketplaces, forums about films and shows and games, an anime musical, and – above all – “cosplay” – this creative combination of dressing up in anime characters and playing that character- with contests and creativity abounding.

Vincent had heard of that one from friends – I believe- but, besides sending him to the Louisville Main Library’s annual summer all-day anime event – in August; the first time, just three months later – I began to peruse the Web for anime conventions. Fom here he’s been to conventions in and outside of Cincinnati; outside of Grand Rapids, Michigan, at my friend Joel’s university; and in Bowling Green, KY. And Vincent met Grandma Martha once to go back to JACON (which he still talked about going to for years – too expensive for the whole trip). Some others fell through or had some imperfect moments (such as when Vincent and one of his Brown classmates miscommunicated and I didn’t check in with his parents and we de facto kidnapped his friend and took him two hours away to Bowling Green – where I worked while watching Frisco in the car, then he and I toured the campus of Western KY University, which Vincent may attend starting a year from now – until his parents figured out where he was and became unhappy. Almost all of these I found on anime convention Web sites – and sometimes dangled going to them in front of Vincent as a reward for good behavior. Because Vincent is often on an ‘electronic holiday,” and therefore can’t play video games except occasionally at others’ houses, he – more than some others, who’ve got Guitar Hero and Mario Super Smash Brothers and Halo at home – loves the (free) game room part of it. And he’ll usually watch a couple of anime movies and check out the marketplace (and in Grand Rapids/Allentown the Japanese food).

Vincent and I parked outside of the Hilton and then went through the Hilton to the convention center – all set up much like in Bowling Green. Vincent had been to the same event two years ago, for part of a day, when it was in Cincinnati. The next year it moved to Fort Wayne, and here we were again at Ikasucon. We paid and Vincent got only a schedule and we looked vaguely for the film screening rooms and game rooms before I left

After I talked with Pat, Patty, and Ms. Hannah and picked Stephanie up in Indy, we returned to retrieve Vincent and take him to dinner and the motel. On the way in we talked with two young women, from nearby Auburn, Indiana, who were playing the same – or lookalike? – character from the “Final Fantasy X 2” (video games or movies – Vincent has seen the original “Final Fantasy” movie). They explained that they could not enter the cosplay contest because they didn’t MAKE all of their outfits- they bought some things. They explained how they had developed a division of labor, whereby one of them worked on a certain piece of clothing for both of them (like the boots), while the other one worked on a different piece of clothing for both of them) – so they would look identical.


Later – when we were picking up Vincent on Sunday – we talked with a young woman from Louisville – a U of L college student whose outfit was risqué enough that I couldn’t take her picture until she stood up (below) – an Asian-American woman who said she had come in third place the night before in the Video Games Live! Pre-show Guitar Hero contest (see “Video Games Live!”) but had gotten up to Fort Wayne too late to enter the cosplay contest (she had won some cosplay contests previously.) I can’t actually remember but she was chatty and we said perhaps we’d see her at a subsequent event, perhaps in Fort Mitchell (outside of Cincinnati – in early November).


(In between Vincent stopped back from the pizza place and went to the “rave” – a dance party – he said he went back and forth between the party and the game room (?)- for 90 minutes while Stephanie and I checked into the hotel. He also brought a show sword at the marketplace to complement the wooden sword (see “Books and bokken”) he got for sword class at his martial arts school.)

After subdividing off from Al and Judy and before meeting this young woman, Stephanie and I belatedly had lunch – with Frisco, outdoors at the Hilton restaurant, practically next to our car. A woman sitting there (Shirley, it turns out – pictured below) befriended Frisco, then Stephanie. We ended up eating at a table next to Shirley’s, and talked with her for over an hour. She was an anime parent, bringing her daughter (who would have just as soon she left her there for three days and disappeared) to the convention and staying with her in the Hilton.



Shirley was a Dayton, OH ad promoter and had two multiracial kids during a difficult 14-year marriage to a multiracial German-Japanese American man (whom she said she already didn’t like on the second day of marriage. Shirley might have been one of those rare women who will privately admit to themselves that parenting isn’t number 1 on their list- or else she got completely run over by her husband inside and outside of court – since he got the house, essentially the kids (who grew tired of going back and forth each week), and child support payments from her (earned as part of her advertising promotion employment). It as interesting to talk with another parent, perhaps lonely (engaged to a new man who was not there that weekend.) We never met the daughter, but perhaps we’ll see them at later anime events like the one in Fort Mitchell.



(Vincent actually started to get in trouble for carrying around the (fake?) sword in the festival, just as we started to get trouble for carrying the dog.)

-- Perry

Traveling thru Indiana




Remembering Virginia Tate


Throughout my high school years, my family and I were members of the United Church in Tallahassee the Tallahassee version of my childhood church, the United Church of Gainesville. One of our favorite people from UCT was Virginia Tate, an older woman (and, it turns out, a widow) who functioned as a kind of extra grandmother. Virginia Tate (pictured above with me in my Athletic Attic uniform - probably around 1981 in her Lake Ella/Los Robles area apartment?) also served as an interim “housemother” at my girlfriend Linda’s sorority house, Delta Zeta, and so I ran into Virginia Tate in her professional capacity (though she was already semi-retired at that point). Virginia Tate was proper, but could also be warm and have a sense of humor.

My mother and sister later visited with Virginia Tate and one of her daughters, who was a New River Gorge rafting guide, who later died at age 39 in a car accident.

In December 1995 – 13 years ago and five months before I met Stephanie and Vincent – I was driving back from Chicago, Madison, and Minnesota (a 2 ½-week trip that inaugurated my annual Thanksgiving trips to the Twin Cities, which in a way helped lead to us living in the Twin Cities) – and I stopped for a very late supper with Virginia Tate, who had moved from Tallahassee to Fort Wayne to be near another daughter, Judy. Since it was already 9 p.m., Virginia Tate nicely invited me to stay, and then she got up and took me to breakfast at a nearby Burger King.

Several years later on another Columbus to Chicago trip, I drove through Fort Wayne in the middle of the night. In addition to stopping at Kinko’s, I drove by the Burger King and the condo complex. In the interim, Virginia Tate (apparently in 1999) had died. I had exchanged notes with her daughter, but it was 3 a.m., and so I didn’t call.

This time – during the drive up from the “Idol” auditions – I did call – and left a message for Judy and husband Al on their answering machine. But imagine my surprise when – as Vincent and I were driving into town – what should appear but that very same Burger King, outside of which I had once taken a picture of Virginia Tate. Vincent said he was hungry, and so we stopped there to eat. I walked the dog too, and we sat out (leaving the car doors open – significant later) in the shaded part of the parking lot while I ate my lunch. We then drove by what I think was Virginia Tate’s old condo complex.



I figured that Al and Judy were out of town (and so we’d have to catch them on a different trip), and so they were. But Al called me on my cell phone from Chicago to say that – after putting his son and their family – back from Mexico, where their daughter-in-law is from originally – on a plane to go elsewhere – they would be coming back that night and could see us Sunday morning. I had hoped to attend church at our old Columbus pastor’s church in Lima, Ohio, just 75 minutes away. But I had found that the church had closed, and Pastor Dan was now a military chaplain, serving overseas (perhaps in Iraq or Afghanistan) (see “War and Peace”). So we were available Sunday morning (although that became more complicated than I might have imagined).


Sunday morning we got up, Vincent had breakfast at the diner next to our low-end Motel 6 motel, and we dropped him off at Ikasucon. Then Al (pictured below) drove up and took us to their home, in a southern suburban part of the city. He gave us background about the town, they showed us their house (their dogs were still being boarded and so we were able to bring Frisco, whom of course they liked), shared with us about their family, and eventually showed us around some more of their town. Judy (pictured above - who of course resembles her mother a little and I chatted and reminisced about her mother – and she filled me in some – a native of New England, husband died in his late 50s of lung cancer, which eventually killed Virginia Tate also (no doubt partly from passive smoking), and her sister, both deceased. Stephanie and Al talked, and, then, after Judy had to go to an appointment, Al shared with us a little about his struggle with depression and his successful effort – earlier this summer – to get the United Methodist Church to pass a resolution in support of the theory of evolution.

We enjoyed their company and their stories (though with just orange juice we got a little hungry) and – as always – enjoy having a personal connection – in/with an area we visit.



By the way, as I expected, Virginia Tate’s body was cremated. I had actually mentioned on their answering machine that not only would I love to chat with them (I left it up to them whether it should be on the phone or in person – they were obviously OK with in person, it turns out) but also I wanted to know where Virginia Tate might be buried, in case I could visit her grave site. Judy told me that they had spread some of Virginia Tate’s ashes over a family cemetery in Connecticut River and then the rest over the nearby Connecticut River. An interesting end for the remains of a lovely woman.

-- Perry

Friday, July 25, 2008

Rent-asia

While in Florida to help Martha, Martha and I watched movies in the evenings (when we weren't out or too tired from running around). One movie, Rent, Perry, Martha, Vincent, and I had seen the musical of at the Palace Theater when we still lived in Columbus. While Martha knew the musical/story it was based on, La Boheme, either because of the distance, sound (rather loud if I remember right), or the updated story...HIV vs. tuberculosis, she had a hard time following the musical. Feeling guilty that she didn't fully enjoy the musical with us and hoping to rectify that for Christmas last year we bought her the movie version so she could see it again at her own pace. She hadn't had time or energy to figure out the new DVD/VHS combo player we had bought her also so she hadn't been able to watch Rent. We enjoyed the movie and the story made more sense to her this time around (we watched it over several nights).
The second movie, Fantasia, I brought with me. While preparing for painting the dining room I had to empty out the video cabinet that usually sits against the ugly wallpaper wall in the dining room. It was too heavy to move full. Since I was emptying it out any way I made Vincent go through the old videos to see if there were any we could get rid of or I could take to work for my students. Vincent nominated several that he thought he had out grown (Fantasia, Little House on the Prairie, Paulie, etc.) and could give to Jacob, my nephew, or the library. I took the nominated ones to Florida after picking through to see which ones I could take to work (Fantasia being too long and harder to relate to academic content tested on ISTEP). Martha and I watched Fantasia together over several nights. I'm not sure if we completely finished it but I enjoyed reminescing about watching it as a child. I even remembered peeing my pants (when I was little) because the Night on Bald Mountain segment scared me. I also did an art project in high school where I took old reels of film and bleached them out. We then were supposed to draw our own video/animation for the film. I chose to draw the mushrooms from Fantasia (yes, you have to draw pretty small and a lot for each second of film someone sees...60 frames per second if I remember right...but that was a while ago) and Mickey Mouse for my three minute film. I played some of the Nutcracker Suite for my soundtrack. While I don't remember what we were supposed to learn in the project, I definately have an appreciation for animation (maybe where Vincent gets his?) so particularly enjoyed seeing Fantasia again.
-- Stephanie

Walk/history museum

After I dropped Vincent off at the Ikasucon anime convention, I noticed there was a Fort Wayne tourism office across the street from the Hilton, where I was parked. It turns out that in the summer – when the city has more visitors – it’s open on Saturdays. I noticed outside the tourism office a booklet that Stephanie and I had perused in electronic form on the tourism bureau’s Web site. I went and talked with Pat and, among other things, she gave me a map with half a dozen walking tours around the downtown. I picked one that sent me south and east of the Hilton/convention center area, partly through what had historically been the old African-American downtown (like those in Columbus and St. Paul – mowed down by freeways – or like Frenchtown in Tallahassee). I first went by an old theater (pictured above), several old historically white churches (below), the old Central High School (below), and the site of the old railroad yards.


Next was the African-African American Historical Museum. Pat had told me about this and the woman who had founded and still curated it (reminded me of a woman I worked with in Manatee County, who had showed my history students the Family Heritage museum on the Manatee Community College campus). (That my students went to see that museum and then the Sarasota history center and treated the women who spoke to them at both sites with respect, both at the time and afterwards when reminiscing about it with me in class, persuaded me that these students were very special – and they would have liked these women too.) I figured I might try the museum Sunday, when our dog had a hair cutting appointment.






But there I was walking by it (building and flowers out front pictured above) and so I walked in and asked about bringing Frisco (who I had in my hands) in and – for only the second time ever (the first time being last week with the curator’s niece and her dog) they let a dog (and a person) in. Patty, the docent, showed me not only the artifacts of the slave trade (reminded me of the Henrietta Moore exhibit back in Louisville) and of Africa (pictured) and of local African-American sports and music figures (unlike the apparently white-dominated History Center) but also the local history room that lightning had struck two weeks earlier (damaging the room but few artifacts) (pictured).





Towards the end Frisco and I sat down and talked with Amanda, the curator (pictured below), in her early 80s, who reminisced about the black downtown, having parts of the day at the swimming pool (where the staff drained all the water out and then refilled the pool with water before whites swam in there), the good manufacturing jobs that African-Americans like her parents who came up from Alabama got in Fort Wayne, and the 1942 flood that flooded many houses in her west side neighborhood near the steel plant. The building we were in had housed the Phyllis Wheatley settlement house and then the Fort Wayne Urban League, where Ms. Amanda had been employed. She had also lived across the street.


By the time I got out of there, it was well past 3, and I was supposed to pick up Stephanie in Indianapolis at 5. I should have headed straight for my car, but I couldn’t stop myself. I jogged/walked quickly through the rest of the tour – past the site of an old African Methodist Episcopal church (pictured below) and an old house that an Underground Railroad activist had lived in and used to hide runaway slaves in the 1850s. I was more than half an hour late to pick Stephanie up.


We never did get back to any of these other official tours or to any other museums. (Tragically, I learned from Pat, the one museum on my list – the Lincoln Museum, which housed the world’s largest privately held collection of Lincoln artifacts and papers – had just closed for good two weeks earlier. Apparently, even with the Lincoln birthday anniversary – attendance was down and the Lincoln insurance company- which had subsidized the museum – has moved its HQ to Connecticut. Still I want to do lots of Lincoln tourism, and I couldn’t believe our bad luck in getting to Fort Wayne two weeks too late to see the Lincoln Museum, which I had heard about at least 10 years earlier. Perhaps the success of the Lincoln presidential library and museum, which Stephanie and I saw three summers ago in Springfield, Illinois, had eclipsed this museum. Apparently, Ford’s Theater, in D.C., which both Stephanie and I have visited, is in the running to purchase the Lincoln Museum holdings.)

But an informal host (whose Methodist church was late in my walking tour) did drive us by and show us several downtown sites. And – in the process of hunting for dinner – Stephanie, Vincent, Frisco, and I did walk north and northeast through much of the rest of the downtown. We walked the next to last night of the Three Rivers festival, past an outdoor restaurant that we decided was too crowded for Frisco, past a government building that looked old and grand enough to be a state capitol, and back to the pizza place where we ate outside, thanks to two nice staff people who had actually already put the tables up.

Just as we had decided about a Northern city that surprised us two summers ago (except that its presidential museum – Ford’s – was still open) (Grand Rapids), Fort Wayne was fun to visit, at least during the summer.

-- Perry