Missouri in the Middle

It started with a trip my wife and I took to Marceline, Missouri in May. That's about 3 hours northwest of St. Louis. The Disney Museum is located here, alongside a railroad track. I had recently read a biography of Walt Disney, and Marceline figured prominently in his development. He grew up on a farm there, at a time when the town was a major stopping and refueling spot for the Sante Fe Railroad. 

Disney Hometown Museum

He honed his imagination, moved to Kansas City to discover a mouse, then to Hollywood and the rest is history. But before he left Marceline, while in grade school, he carved his initials in his desk. It's in the museum, along with a treasure trove of letters, sketches; family, personal and school items.

After 4 hours in Marceline, we headed south to Independence and spent the next day at the magnificent Harry Truman Library. The building is beautifully designed, complete with roses around the entrance. If you think politics is ugly today, know that Harry had his share. You could spend a complete day here if you cared to. One of the things I remember about Harry is that, after he left office, he never accepted any money for speaking engagements. He refused to use the Office of the President for personal gain. 

Jump forward three weeks now, to the third floor outdoor balcony of the Lewis and Clark Restaurant in historic St. Charles. That’s where I had the good fortune to have lunch with distinguished author and adventurer John Robinson, whose column appears regularly in County Living magazine; and the publisher of County Living, Todd Abrams. Sometime between the arrival of my Arnold Palmer and my pulled pork daily special, a fascinating subject came up: The unique position Missouri holds in America. It’s a combination of the yin and yang of America, along with a diverse crop of men and women who had roots here, either by birth or residency. Putting it together, I realized we live at the cultural, historic and geographic crossroads of America.

Let’s start with St. Louis and Kansas City, a contrast separated by more than the width of the State.  St. Louis belongs to the East. Traditional, established, seasoned, energetic yet cautious. The Arch may be the Gateway to the West, but Kansas City is actually The West. Rugged, contemporary, confident, dotted with daring architecture and visionary endeavors.

The contrast continues with the Civil War. The Blue and Gray not only battled here, but divided the State in sentiment and struggle. Sure, we voted to stay with the Union, but a large contingent of rebel-minded folks cheered for Robert E. Lee. We’re a Northern state, we’re a Southern state. It depends where you get off the train.

Missouri is also home to the many faces of Nature: tornadoes, blizzards, bitter cold, sweltering heat; graceful Springs and colorful Autumns; streams, lakes, and rivers (the nation’s 3 greatest rivers meet here: the Missouri, Mississippi, and Ohio);  flatlands and low mountains and gentle hills; and a plethora of wildlife. (I’ve always wanted to use “plethora” in a column).

Now to mention some distinguished Missourians. This is where Mr. Robinson jumped in enthusiastically. I already told you about Truman and Disney. When it comes to literary lions, John began adding names such as Twain, T.S. Eliot, Tennessee Williams, William Burroughs, Eugene Field and Mort Walker (writer AND cartoonist!). Key military leaders dating back to the Civil War include Grant, Sherman, Sterling Price, Pershing, and Omar Bradley. 

Let’s talk shopping. J. C. Penney was born on a farm in Caldwell County. There is no truth to the story that his first words were “Attention, J. C. Penney shoppers.” Harlow Shapleigh, an astronomer, was born on a farm in Nashville, Missouri, and a student at U. of Missouri. He correctly estimated the size of the Milky Way galaxy. And that was without any help from Google.

The famous Betty Grable pin-up

Speaking of Google, I used it to find “Famous Missourians.” Here are a few favorites of mine I pass along - some familiar, some not. Josephine Baker, Susan Blow, Dale Carnegie (I should have read his book years ago), Walter Cronkite, George Caleb Bingham, Thomas Hart Benton, Edwin Hubble, Dred Scott, Charlie Parker, Count Basie, Buck O’Neill, Stan Musial, Emmett Kelly, and, finally, three of my favorites - Betty Grable, Ginger Rogers, and Robert Heinlein. I have a weakness for blondes and sci-fi authors. 

I’ve left out a lot of familiar names and influential people, especially politicians. Here’s what you can do to broaden your horizon, not that anything is wrong with your horizon. Google your way through the State’s history; take a trip to a small town; buy one of John Robinson’s entertaining and informative books; John Robinson's Book Or send me a check for $20 to further my literary career. (Just kidding about that last item.)

On behalf of John, Todd and myself: Welcome to Missouri.

(Note: This column is in the current Summer issue of County Living Magazine.)

The Sounds of Music in St. Louis

Listen. Can you hear it? It’s out there. A violin. A trumpet. A bass. A Steinway and a Selmer. These are the sounds of autumn. As nature’s world goes through her changes, leaving summer behind. the Sounds of Music flourish in St. Louis.

     I learned Beethoven's “Fur Elise” on the piano when I was ten, thanks to my mom’s love of classical piano. Her favorite was Chopin. At a statewide competition I won a tiny gold piano pin for that number. And so it began with classical music.

     Jazz came next, in the shape of two LP’s from Columbia - “The 1938 Benny Goodman Carnegie Hall Jazz Concert.” I had never heard songs and players like this before. Their names are still magic for me: Harry James, Gene Krupa, Teddy Wilson, Lionel Hampton, Jess Stacy, Babe Russin. And of course the great Benny on clarinet. I still have those albums, framed on my office wall.

     Which brings me to the point of these musings: I love this time of year in St. Louis. Sure, the trees are colorful and yard work is about over (except for raking), the "back to school" ads have been recycled. Even as the autumn leaves pass by my window, I can hear the downbeats, the count-offs, the tuning-ups, the reverent silence and enthusiastic applause just around the corner.

     The music season has returned to St. Louis, much of it centered on Grand Avenue. I don't mean to imply that there isn't music scattered throughout the city and county throughout the year. It's just that Grand is where the lights shine brightest.

     St. Louis is home to one of the premier jazz clubs in America, The Bistro, aka Jazz at the Bistro.

It sits near Grand and Washington, about a hundred yards east of the magnificent Fox Theater. The Bistro underwent an extensive face-lift during the summer, which promises to make it even more audience friendly and "cooler" than before. Gene Dobbs Bradford has done a terrific job over the years keeping jazz on track in our town. 

     One word of caution: this place is “respectable.” Which is good, but I also remember, quite fondly, the jazz clubs here in the '50's and 60's.

Peacock Alley, the Dark Side, Jazz Central, the Glass Bar, Gino's, Georgie’s, and - on the East Side - the Blue Note, the Terrace Lounge, the Palladium. Those clubs had "atmosphere." Which means they were crowded, had uncomfortable chairs, watered down drinks, lots of chatter, and almost everyone smoked or so it seems. Even today there are times when I’d like a Newport and a bourbon while listening to jazz. I quit smoking 30 years ago. Still.....

     Okay. Enough about jazz. Let's modulate over to classical. From The Bistro, stroll three blocks north and you're at Powell Hall, home of the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra. 

Their season coincides with autumn and runs through spring. Again, thanks to my mother (incredible how our mothers shape our lives) I saw my first symphony at the Kiel Opera House when I was at Jackson Park grade school. I'm still a sucker for the Russian romantics, such as Rachmaninov and Tchaikovsky. Give me a beautiful melody played by a whole lot of people and I'm happy. Even happier if the symphony is on a Friday morning when Krispy Kreme provides free donuts. Hundreds of 'em. The SLSO compliments that with vats of coffee. There's nothing like listening to Beethoven or Brahms while on a sugar high amped up with caffeine. It's kind of a senior Woodstock. I go to about six or seven concerts a season. Powell Hall and the Orchestra make a beautiful couple. Did I mention the donuts?

     While we're on Grand, one final word about music. Namely, The Broadway Musical. Thanks to Mary and Leon Strauss, the Fox is still a showplace over eighty years after it first opened. Back then it was movies, one of the great palaces on Grand. Today the road companies from Broadway, as well as popular music acts of all genres, keep the Fox and the neighborhood vital. 

One block west of the Fox is the Sheldon Concert Hall,

built in 1912 and another superlative music venue with perfect acoustics. I went there Sunday night with my brother to see Spokfrevo Orquestra, a 17-piece band from Brazil that blew the roof off. One of the most exciting musical events I've ever seen. St. Louis was one of only 7 cities in the U.S. to book this band, and The Sheldon did it. According to the program, frevo music is a combination of "vivid, frenetic and vigorous rhythm" with an amalgam of several Brazilians music genres. In other words, you've gotta hear it to believe it.  In Concert: Spokfrevo

     So let the leaves fall, the chill winds blow, and summer become a memory. As long as there’s a soundtrack for autumn, I’m happy. And what better way to close off this show than with the Stan Getz definitive recording of "Early Autumn." Sit back, relax, and listen.

Bones in the River

This little story was inspired by Linda O'Connell in a recent post on her blog, Write from the Heart. It's a beautiful reminder of the Arch and Riverfront. Her story took me back. Here's a link to the post:

http://lindaoconnell.blogspot.com/2012/04/on-warm-afternoon-this-past-weekend-we.html

Bones in the River

1964 was a  year filled with excitement and change. LBJ was elected to continue the vision set by JFK. Khrushev has been tossed out by the Russkies. China showed the world it now had the atomic bomb. The Cardinals, led by a voracious Bob Gibson, won the World Series over the Yankees, led by a struggling Mickey Mantle. And I landed a job at KMOX-TV, the CBS station in St. Louis, at 12th and Cole Streets. 

I was one of the few single men there, which gave me a sense of freedom not enjoyed by most of the other guys. Then, to my good luck, three months after I started, the National Sales Manager hired a very attractive secretary. Her name was Mary Lee. She, too, was single.  So we began to hang out together. She was vivacious, in the mode of one of my favorite actresses, Betty Hutton. She was beautiful with a dynamite figure. And she had a great sense of humor, evidenced by how easily she laughed at all my jokes. 

Mary Lee and I would get together occasionally for lunch, or drinks after work. She went for Chablis, I preferred scotch and water, tastes now both thankfully put to rest. But our favorite lunch date was known by the code words, “Bones in the River.” As in, “Would you like to throw some bones in the river today?”

Here’s how it worked. We’d get into my 1960 Corvette convertible, top down, and head across Eads Bridge to East St. Louis. We’d wind our way through some side streets until we came to a small wooden shack with a take-out window and a hand-painted sign that said “Nichols BBQ.” We’d get two slabs of ribs, laid over slices of Wonder white bread, soaked in sauce, wrapped in wax paper, and head back across Eads to the St. Louis waterfront. We’d park on the levee, sit on the wall, and dig into the ribs. Oh, I forgot to mention. She had a root beer, I had an RC. In glass bottles. 

Behind us, on the hill overlooking the river, the St. Louis Arch was inching its way into the sky. Cranes crawled up the stainless steel legs, adding sections  slowly and carefully, approaching the day when the two legs would be joined by a final span. 

The grounds around the base were pretty much of a mess, looking like most other construction sites. But I’ve got to admit, it was exciting to think our city would soon have this distinctive structure. And there we were, Mary Lee and I, in its shadow, talking and laughing and getting sauce all over our mouths and hands. 

As we finished our ribs, we’d walk down to the edge of the Mississippi and ceremoniously toss the ribs into the brown, swiftly moving water. Sometimes we’d make a wish, but usually it was just a simple flip of the bare bones into the river. I don’t know if any of our bones ever made it to New Orleans, but I hope so.

Then we’d head back to the station and go our separate ways. 

That was in 1964. In 1965 we were married.

This May we will celebrate our 47th anniversary.

You may wonder if we ever went back for Bones in the River. We did. For our 25th anniversary. That was in 1990. A lot had happened in 25 years, including a completed Arch surrounded by beautiful grounds and an imposing staircase from the levee to the Arch. Nichols BBQ was now an empty lot, but we picked up some ribs that day at a BBQ joint in Soulard and sat on the levee once again. Mary Lee was still beautiful, still had a great body, and still laughed at my jokes.

Fortunately, some things never change.