Hang Up and Drive

The incredible velocity of passing time has overtaken me again. A steady stream of remodeling, work, visitors, little league football and more remodeling left me with little opportunity for posts.

With that in mind and with the lateness of the hour I will post only this:

People of Kansas City; Independence, Lee's Summit and elsewhere in this metropolis--Please drive your cars. You took the trouble to get out on the street so act like you know what you're doing. Hang up your cell phones, put down the makeup and take control of your automobiles. Please drive the speed limit. Please drive away when the light turns from red to green. (Green is not the color signal for contemplation or ringing up a consort. It means GO!) Please use your turn signals to indicate your intentions. And please recognize that my turn signal isn't a plea for permission to change lanes; it is a courtesy required in this society to let you know I am moving over in front of you.

Inevitably on a busy street there will be a line of trundling cars with a person (most often a woman, sorry ladies) in the lead chatting away in an obviously engaging conversation on a mobile phone. All too often she is also trying to manage a cigarette. This must end, or lawlessness may ensue. I have been in too many of those processions at ten MPH under the limit with a STAT delivery and found it painfully slow to work my way up to open road. Again I say: Hang up and drive. And crush out the smokes if you can't see the road out there through the fog of your Camels or Marlboros.

Thank you for your support.

August Plaza Follies and TKC

An interesting few days have passed. The Plaza is a war zone and the most powerful labor leader in the city appears to fear the comments of a local blogger.

Just when you think the heat has leveled out everything for a while, unruly mobs return to the Plaza and this time-with the Mayor as an observer-three children are wounded by gang-warfare gunfire. Most of a week has passed and the only result of all this is a lukewarm committment to a nine PM curfew.

All this churns up a few questions. Some have been addressed heavily on local radio talk forums; some less so: (1) Where is Plaza security? Owner Highwoods had a shot across the bow last year with a violent flash-mob and should have been aware of the giant bulls-eye on their property from that point forward. Since that was well over a year ago they have enjoyed adequate prep time to hire some private security people rather than lean on the police department to bail them out. Didn't get the message, I guess. Gee, what would J. C. Nichols have done to protect this wonderful jewel? Time to get a Philly-style Curfew Bus in the parking lot behind the Classic Cup. Highwoods, you are going to have to spend some of the high-rent money you've squeezed from your tenants to protect them and their customers. And ultimately, yourself.

(2) What in the world are street gangs doing on the Plaza? I doubt the local gang-bangers are eating at Starker's or the Cheesecake Factory, or doing a lot of high-end shopping at Restoration Hardware. Or maybe they are, I don't know. This one falls on the PD. They need to encourage gangs to conduct their retributions over on the greenway along Cleaver II, far away from homes and businesses.

(3) Where is condemnation (STRONG condemnation) from local minority leaders, calling for an end to unsupervised sons and daughters? The mobs were largely minority ''youtes'' apparently left to wander the area by parents, guardians, older sibs, etc. What the leaders give us is largely silence, broken only by beleagured activist Alvin Brooks who seemed indignant about the characterization of the lawless crowd as a "mob" in a radio interview. The mayor purports to be upset but no one has been body-slammed over this yet. NOTE: a few regular folks have called the talk shows, and demanded that local minorities begin to own this issue of non-parenting. Year after year it has languished, passed off as another product of the ''victim'' mentality with minority leaders (holding their own blameless) milking the governments as the only approved solution--reparations, of a sort.

A nine-o'clock curfew isn't a body-slam. Put their driver's licenses on the block. Give them public service in orange jumpsuits on weekends, perhaps cutting weeds along freeway fences. (Kansas City is dreadfully overgrown and un-manicured.) This is a chance for the mayor to make his mark. If he crafts a forceful, positive solution and butts heads with these entrenched local minority leaders he will be a hero. If not, and the Plaza--along with other venues--falls to the feral mobs, Sly will go the way of Funk.

Then there is Tony's KC, an entertaining blog which--refreshingly--calls it like it is. Citing tipsters which implicate Firefighters' Union president Louis Wright in a kickback scheme, Tony is now named in a defamation lawsuit.

Understandably Wright is interested in clearing his name but it almost seems he doth protest too much. As Tony suggested during a radio interview, why hasn't Wright simply demanded Tony publish a retraction? Well-read as it may be, TKC isn't so pervasive as to destroy Wright's reputation, or cause widespread contempt. People that respected Wright before this broke will continue to do so, and those who think he's a jerk will revel in it but, it seems absurd that Wright would be remotely involved in any such enterprise. A retraction would have reached the same readers who saw the original story. Wright has suffered no job loss or economic deprivation from all this, and by filing the suit has actually widened the spread of his own accusations. Public figures, alas, have to endure a few randow arrows.

And since Tony runs a blog, not an op-ed column, Wright could have offered a rebuttal in the comment section. TKC takes all the rocks people care to throw and Wright's well-crafted reply would have been a most effective move on his own behalf. Now he appears to be the fat-cat political boss sitting on the exercise of free speech, regardless of the folly in the content. At least, that's how it looks to me.

Hot

Yeah, it's hot. No one knows that better than I. I know it better than all the talking TV heads that pretend to be your parents, urging you to drink lots of water and wear light colored clothing because I am out there in it all afternoon long.

They also urge you to take lots of breaks, and I keep wondering how many foremen or crew chiefs have been informed that "Larry Moore told me it's OK to take an extra break, 'cause it's hot," as an employee wanders off to sit down under a tree.

All that aside, does anyone remember the summer of 1980? We didn't have high nineties and low hundreds. There were 17 days of 108 or better, and other days of lesser but still high temperatures, besting the heat we are sagging from this past week. I remember that summer, and how hot the ramp was at the airport, and how heavy the radio seemed that we had to carry and how ineffective the air conditioning in each airplane was against the wall of hot air outside. I had to wear a white dress shirt, a tie, and try to look presentable, finally going home soaked through and through. And I remember that each day was just like the one before with no end in sight.

That went on for weeks and weeks and still wasn't as hot or unpleasant as the summers of 1934 and 1936 which were hot and dusty. Add to that, there was very little air conditioning employed in those days. Not many heat warnings, advisories and excessive heat alerts either. How did the people survive?

Global warming? Well, yeah, the globe is warmer, at least right around here. Look around, the glaciers are gone. They were gone before we had cars, coal-fired electric power plants and Al Gore--possibly the largest source of heat pollution around. Yeah it's hot. It's been hot before and will be hot again. It will be cold again too. Something else to remember: How much we bitched and moaned about how cold it was five and six months ago. Conjure that up--and enjoy the heat.

Independence

After more than three months absent from the blog, it's long past time for more of my mediocre observations. Being broke and friendless, and working once again in an entry-level job tends to lessen the passion for sharing slices of life. Then the realization occurs that it is, nonetheless, life. So here goes.


Today's observation, in the aftermath of the failed rapture prediction and in the wake of the horrific tornadoes in Reading and Joplin is: Independence. Of course, what else?


Driving around the city as I do in my new job, I have observed that each city and neighborhood has its own feel, or personality. Hyde Park, for instance, is rich in large, beautiful residences--once, and still, home of many city leaders in commerce and government; a pleasant mix of races, lifestyles, shops with no evident fear of the depression which lies just east of Paseo. It's an in-your-face confrontation with urban decay, right there on the front lines.


But most of my workday is in Independence, best known as the origin of the Santa Fe, Oregon and California trails by which the early West was populated. It is equally famous as the home of Harry Truman, whose life has been thoroughly seized by the Chamber of Commerce for promotional considerations.


Independence is a blue-collar town. Many neighborhoods are full of small, well-kept homes in which the owners have refused to abandon their "inner city" to the "we buy ugly houses" promoters. The yards are often overgrown and many side streets have no curbs or sidewalks but Independence has refused to give in to blight. I suspect the average age of home owners there is pretty high and wonder what will happen as the properties begin to come up for sale when age forces residents to apartments and nursing homes, but for now it's solid as a rock.


Aside from the trails and Truman attractions, the dominant industry in Independence looks to be tattoo parlors. I counted six in a three-mile expanse of 23rd Street. The residents seem to reflect this and support it as many people you encounter are covered in ink, with varying degrees of artistic appeal. Behind tattooing, discount smoke shops are everywhere and do a land-office business, reflecting Missouri's high incidence of smoking (25 percent of adults, a rate exceeded only by three other states). In third place, fast food looks to be the winner with a Taco Bell at least every 4000 liner feet. Fast food is way more popular than fresh food, judging by the infrequency of supermarkets and the long lines at drive-thru windows.


Independence is known locally as "Meth-dependence" in honor of the local industry which the Chamber of Commerce seldom mentions. Small, inexpensive homes in quiet neighborhoods have drawn methamphetamine cookers in disproportionate numbers, to bedevil the local authorities and keep the supply lines short. I guess all those tattoo-ed folks driving around in beat up old cars are that way for a reason.

But still, this is a pleasant town. I see many children out riding their bikes and chasing each other on the quiet streets and across tended lawns. In these warmer, longer evenings, homes with front porches draw neighbors up for a chat. Walkers are everywhere, old and less old alike. It looks a lot like small-town America that played well on TV in the Fifties and Sixties. You won't see Donna Reed anywhere; she has gained some weight and ink, and taken up smoking. Still it seems a lot like my small-town hometown in Kansas, and much less like a little urban brother to Kansas City.

Not to say there aren't problems here. Other than the meth concern, you need only wait five minutes on any street before a IPD black-and-white cruiser roars by under lights and siren en route to some lawlessness. It is, after all, a city of over a hundred thousand souls. And it is the true county seat of Jackson County. The courthouse is square in the middle of town, and what is known as the "Jail Annex" is only two blocks away. Larger counterparts do much more business in Kansas City but this is the Real McCoy.

Independence is the only city in which I have personally seen a store-front casket shop. Proudly displayed in the window are coffins of varying styles and colors, in case you're having problems finding just the right one. Don't know just how much walk-in business they get, but it has been there a while now and must be profitable. We didn't have anything like that in my small-town hometown in Kansas.

The crown jewel of Independence is the annual "Santa-Cali-Gon" festival over Labor Day weekend. A carnival moves into downtown and hordes of crafts booths, T-shirt vendors and some of the greatest food hawkers ever set up shop along the sidewalks. "Ye Old Corn Hole" sells hot corn on the cob. Others sell amazing french fries (yes, they are fantastic), funnel cakes, burgers, onion rings, fried pickles and pies. In the evenings, there is usually a concert and dancing in the street. Early September is still very much summer, but these people are unmoved in their determination to celebrate.

What exactly they celebrate is unknown to me. Could it be the history living in the Trails? Or perhaps Harry Truman, whose silhouette adorns every street corner? Maybe they fete the Sheriff's deputies for their accrued meth busts since the last Santa-Cali-Gon, I don't know. But when city living tends to jade one's senses it is refreshing to see folks just celebrating. And I kind of wonder if they are just celebrating living in Independence. You could do a lot worse. You could do a lot worse in Missouri.

Eureka!

Not too long after the New Year, I said to Adorable Wife, "As long as I'm off we should go to LA and see your brother before he moves back here. Drive out. You have vacation. Why not?"


She couldn't come up with a reason not to, which took me a little by surprise, so we decided to try it. I had expected not a "NO" but a "HELL NO" because Wife cares little for excursions by automobile. Thus stunned, we made a few calculations regarding where to stay and how far to drive each day and what the weather would be (pretty much wore out the Weather Channel website.) And then, on the appointed day, we left. You couldn't ask for a better trip.

We were gone ten days and had nine days of sunshine. Across the great Southwest, it was actually warm. Amarillo, on the first day out, was above 60. Kingman, Arizona, our second night's stop, was 65. Every day in Los Angeles was 80 or better; it was actually hot one afternoon. We had nice accommodations in each place we stayed overnight, including Uncle Jim's house, and never had a bad meal. It was a nice trip in every way possible and leaves me with a few observations.


*Except for local freeways here and in LA, you only need three highways to get there: I-35, I-40 and I-15. Very simple, and we didn't even take a map. We should have, just to keep tabs on where we were and what town was coming up next. But we didn't anticipate much highway construction and gambled.


*The interstate highways are very good, even in cold-weather states like Kansas and Oklahoma. In fact, the freeways in Kansas City are superior to those in LA for smoothness and roominess, but obviously don't take the beating that the cousins in California endure daily. Even on our worst days, the traffic in Missouri is far better than what the Californians grapple with. LA has no rush hour. It's just a mess to drive in all the time.


*All of what is called "LA" is incredibly populous. It's a long ride to the east before you begin seeing open space; pretty much up in Cajon Pass. There are just too many people there, too much traffic and no where to park. Uncle Jim's apartment has a gated garage which was undergoing repairs one day. If you took your car out it had to stay out until after five. That isn't good because there is very little street parking and on Tuesday there is no street parking because they sweep the streets. It gets to be a bit of a hassle, but if you live there and never lived anywhere else you wouldn't know about how roomy and low-maintenance America really is.


*Los Angeles TV reporters are easily mistaken for movie stars except that the reporter babes are far better looking. Seriously, where do they come up with these gorgeous women to cover the daily school shootings? I was stunned. Even the weather was aired by babes, one of whom seemed challenged just to stand up on her platform shoes and balance out her big fake boobs. Well, it is LA. Entertainment capital of the world, you know.


*California is unreasonably expensive. Gas was $3.45 or more. Deli turkey was $12 a pound. A two bedroom apartment with a parking space is over $2200 a month in a decent neighborhood. Forget buying a house; nice suburban homes such as you find in KC north or Johnson County for $200,000 weigh in around $750 large (and up) in Torrance. I didn't even ask about the property taxes.


*Latin influence is even more noticeable that three years ago, the last time we traveled there. Cali has always had it, but now there is more. I guess it all seems to work, and I can't put my finger on it, but there is just more.

*The Mojave in winter is certainly easier to inhabit than in July, but it seems wrong to wear a jacket. It is still just as foreboding and impressive in the 40-degree range and no less beautiful. I marvel at how anyone got across there to the coast before the railway was built through.

*Route 66 is alive and well in the five states through which we and it travelled together, although we stuck to I-40 due to time constraints. The next time we'll take as much of 66 as we can and make it the destination rather than LA. Doing that we will be able to stop at Jack Rabbit, Bluewater, Sky City, and Clines Corners. We can explore Tucumcari, Albuquerque, Grants, Winslow and Barstow as we wish. Long pieces of the Old Road are still out there as frontage roads or secondary routes, but there just the same.

All went well until the last night on the way home. We attended 5:00 mass in Amarillo at St. Thomas the Apostle, arriving uncharacteristically early. A family of five came in and sat next to us, two little boys and a girl toddler. The younger boy was squeamish and uncomfortable until he finally erupted in a magnificent show of vomiting as the homily began. He fouled his mom's stylish black dress and much of the nearby pew and carpet. Adorable Wife immediately went to DefCon 2 and left in search of help. The mom sat stunned with her hands cupped together, full of junior's puke and completely helpless. After getting his bearings, the dad scooped up the offending child and headed for rest-room solace but poor mom was immobilized until Adorable Wife reappeared with a highway-department-sized trash can and some rags. With a disgusting SPLAT mom dumped the festering and fetid contents into the can and set about to cleaning herself up, eventually gathering the rest of the brood and filing out.

After that and in need of some pampering, we treated ourselves to a nice steak dinner at the Big Texan Steak Ranch. Big Texan is a tourist-oriented, barn-like steak house which offers a well-known challenge: If you can eat a 72 oz. (that's four and a half pounds) sirloin, baked potato, roll, butter, salad and shrimp cocktail in an hour, it's yours free. If you can't, it costs $50. They say only one of each eight contestants succeeds. We settled for a couple of normal steaks and paid for them ourselves, but the place was very entertaining and the food was great. This shocked me because I usually don't expect much from highly hyped establishments that feed on travellers. I would go back again, or if I lived in Amarillo, often.

Thus fortified, we returned home the next day with cold and snow slowly reappearing as we worked our way back north. It's odd how, after only a few moments back in the house, that it seemed we were never actually gone. But we were, and I have the credit card receipts to prove it. And I think we're both ready to go again!