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.