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Reading for the Road

2 Apr

Once again, I will be going out-of-town this week, but, unlike the quick turnaround to New Orleans, there will be plenty of time to read. However, I don’t want to spend ALL of the time reading and am going to limit myself to one book. These are the four of which I must choose.

The Woman in Black – I saw the movie but have heard that the book is much better. With that in mind, I picked it up at Target. It has all of the qualities of a good travel book – paperback and not very thick.

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks – I also got this one at Target but heard of it a long time ago. Henrietta was a African-American woman who attempted to make a living by raising tobacco. Unknown to her, doctors took her cells and have used them through the decades to develop vaccines, map genes and…well, the list goes on and on. Advantages: It’s history and a paperback. Disadvantages: It seems serious for a road reading.

Howard Cosell: The Man, the Myth, and the Transformation of American Sports – As a kid, I couldn’t wait until the Halftime Highlights on Monday Night Football and begged my parents to let me stay up to watch. It wasn’t for the films. It was to hear Howard Cosell. Anyone who watched sports in the 1970s knows what hearing Cosell was like. If his private persona was anywhere near as interesting as his public one, then this will be a good book. Unfortunately, it is a hardback and does not seem very convenient for the road.

Lions of the West: Heroes and Villains of the Westward Expansion – Obviously, this is a history book, but it also covers my area of research. Each chapter chronicles the life of a person important to expansion, and several of them are from Tennessee. I’m not a fan of all of them, but you don’t really have to like someone to read about them. It’s a hardback, so I don’t know.

Decisions. Decisions. Life is full of decisions.

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Childhood Memories – Gatlinburg

30 Mar

In the early days of this blog, I started a series of “Childhood Memory” posts and planned on it being a recurring theme. I completed a grand total of two – one about my fortune of seeing Elvis in concert and another about our family road trips. Obviously, the theme was neglected, and I moved on to other topics. Then, I read a recent post by Becoming Cliche about a family hike to Alum’s Cave Bluff, one of my favorite trails, and it reminded me of more childhood memories. Make no mistake, my family was not into hiking, but we spent many weekends in the area.

The trail to Alum’s Cave Bluff winds through the Great Smoky Mountains National Park in eastern Tennessee. Nestled in the hollow of those mountains at the entrance to the park sits Gatlinburg, a small town that grew into a tourist destination. I describe it as the Tennessee version of Vail.

Today, Gatlinburg is a collection of theme restaurant chains, drinking dives and cheap t-shirt shops. And, if you don’t know the back way you get to it by driving through the monstrosity that is Pigeon Forge. Don’t get me wrong. There are great places in the modern Gatlinburg like the Lodge at Buckberry Creek, but this isn’t the place of my childhood. My Gatlinburg existed when Pigeon Forge was a few buildings along the highway and t-shirts were made of better material.

Instead of writing an essay about the joys of old Gatlinburg, here is a list of the things I remember most.

Anticipating our arrival while taking the winding, creek-following road between Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg.

Playing miniature golf at Adventure Golf and my dad letting me win.

Climbing on the rocks in the Little Pigeon River

Having a picnic in the park and my grandfather (Daddy J) brining his red cooler full of Cokes.

Driving around the loop at Cade’s Cove.

Going to Christus Gardens and getting freaked out when the eyes on the Jesus sculpture followed me.

Watching the taffy machines in the windows of the candy stores.

Eating butter and crackers on the porch of Howard’s Restaurant.

Sitting in the rocking chairs of the Midtown Lodge and watching people walk by.

Begging my parents to let me play at Hillbilly Golf.

Skipping the Pancake Pantry because of the line and getting donuts at the Donut Friar instead.

Riding to the top of the mountain and taking a few steps on the Appalachian Trail.

Riding go-carts in Pigeon Forge and my dad letting me win.

Eating the caramel off the caramel apple and leaving the apple behind.

Listening to my mom and grandmother (Mama J) talk about gossip from back home.

Running into people that we knew from home.

Riding the skylift and getting our picture made at the top.

Going to Rebel Corner and not understanding why my dad and Daddy J were laughing at what the t-shirts said.

Eating a the Peddlar and getting sliced Vienna sausages from the salad bar.

Watching a national park movie on the first IMAX theater I ever saw.

Going to the Sugarlands visitors center and studying the big map of the park.

Figuring out if people actually lived in Gatlinburg or not.

Hoping to see a bear.

Falling asleep on the way home.

For those of you who have never been to Gatlinburg, you should experience it at least once. Just know that it is not as good as it used to be. The historian side of me knows there was never a “good old days”, but the person part of me knows there was. I saw Gatlinburg in the “good old days”.

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I’m Walking to New Orleans

22 Mar

Actually, I’m not, but I like Fats Domino and wanted to quote his song. In reality, I am driving to New Orleans. I, along with several other faculty members, am taking a group of students to the Crescent City to learn fascinating history and immerse ourselves in the culture. This will involve eating great food, listening to great music and, well, doing other things, too.

Due to our travels, I will not be able to enter the Surrounded by Imbeciles world for a few days. Never fear, I will return after the weekend to recount our experiences. In the meantime, you can follow our progress through Twitter, as I will be sending out updates of our adventures. So, just click on the button to the right if you would like.

Since I mentioned Fats Domino, here is a picture of the man himself – one of the all time greats.

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Terror on the Plateau

8 Mar

I recently wrote about my battle with the forces of nature while supporting my favorite basketball team. That event took place in 2008, but another event just as terrifying took place the next season.

In January 2009, I headed out with my friends, Jeff and McDonald, to watch the University of Tennessee play basketball against South Carolina. Being a night game, we got a late start and knew that we would have a late night return. We didn’t realize that we would be lucky to get home at all.

After a victory by the home team, we walked out of the arena and into a night that was damp but not cold, the type of night that we had driven through many times. Jeff, who was driving, hit Interstate 40 while we listened to the post game show on the radio. We were all hungry but decided to drive until the show was over. Having done this many times, all of us knew that this would get us to the Rockwood exit and a Ruby Tuesday’s.

We had a great meal before driving off into the night. As we walked out of the restaurant, it was impossible to ignore the fine mist falling from the sky, and I, without realizing it, made a fateful decision. I told McDonald that I would sacrifice and sit in the cramped backseat.

Traffic was heavy as we drove westward toward home, and the mist continued. It was a tricky drive, but something was happening outside that we didn’t realize. Between Nashville and Knoxville sits a geographic formation called the Cumberland Plateau that is higher in elevation that the two cities on either end of it. The higher we climbed, the colder it was getting. The fine mist was turning to black ice on the road.

The first sign of trouble was a pickup and a trailer that began swerving in front of us. We thought he just didn’t know how to pull a U-Haul and passed him. That’s when Jeff realized that we were on ice, and the vehicle was out of his control. For me, the next few seconds went into a mental slow motion. We were sliding along with other cars, and Jeff was trying to steer toward the guard rail to get us stopped. The mist was coming down, and fog had descended. That’s when the headlights hit something that no one could ever suspect. A wall was sitting across the road. Not a real wall, but an over turned tractor-trailer lying in our path.

Idiotically, I was not wearing a seatbelt and knew that I was in trouble. Without thinking, I laid down in the backseat and closed my eyes. From the back of my mind came the idea that I needed to stay limber. Maybe I heard it while watching a NASCAR race. Whatever the reason, I forced myself to stay loose on impact.

After that, I heard Jeff say, “I believe we’re gonna hit her, boys!” McDonald replied, “No shit!” Then, there was impact, and my head hit the back of the seat. Almost instantaneously, another vehicle, the one pulling the trailer, hit us. We sat stunned until someone from the outside yelled, “I smell gasoline!” The doors would not open, so we crawled out the smashed back window; climbed over the other truck; and, jumped over the guard rail.

I had the foresight to grab my cellphone as we escaped the carnage and called my parents when I knew that we were out of harm’s way. As I told them the story, I could hear crashes in the distance. Before it was over, we were car number one in a forty car pileup.

However, the night was just beginning. Jeff’s face smashed into the steering wheel, and he was losing blood and teeth at an alarming rate. McDonald couldn’t climb over the guard rail because his arm was broken. Luckily, I only had a scratch on my forehead. Immediately, people started scrambling. A woman was trapped in her car and under the truck. The TV announcer for the game was in the wreck as well. Truckers were climbing out of their cabs and trying to help. The air was getting colder by the minute, and the road was getting slicker. Now, we jokingly call it “Terror on the Plateau”, but it wasn’t funny that night.

I got Jeff into the cab of a truck for warmth and called his wife. I also called our friend Larry and asked him to call McDonald’s wife. That’s when I got a call from a friend caught in the traffic. He asked, “Are you caught up in this wreck?” I replied, “We are the wreck.” He sat in one spot until daylight.

After 1 1/2 hours, the ambulances began to show up. They were behind because seven other wrecks happened at the same time, and they couldn’t make it up the incline to us. It was too frozen. We finally got Jeff into an ambulance, and I waited for another one with McDonald. When it arrived, I stormed my way into it because it was the only ride I had into town. McDonald asked the paramedic if his arm was broke. The paramedic answered, “I don’t know, but it’s deformed.” That made us laugh for the first time in a while.

They checked us at the emergency room in Crossville while we waited for Larry, who had decided to head our way, to pick us up. He had a heck of a time too, as the interstate was closed coming from the west as well. When he arrived, I was sitting in a chair. McDonald had his arm in a sling. Jeff was sitting in a wheelchair and looking like Rocky Balboa after his first fight with Apollo Creed.

We were all nervous on the way home but finally made it at 6 in the morning.

After several operations, Jeff is back to normal, except for some false teeth. McDonald’s arm healed but only after he missed a season of senior softball. I was sore for a while but had no injuries. We have been to many basketball and football games since, and the terror of that night is slowly fading away. However, we still talk about that night as we go down the interstate, and I always look at the spot where the truck created a wall across the road. The spot where we lived several hours in our own disaster movie.

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It’s a Conspiracy

4 Mar

This semester, one of my fellow history teachers is offering a cool class on conspiracies in American history. I wish I could sit in on the course because he covers conspiracies from different eras and explains why people have been attracted to the theories during those times. It is interesting to hear his students talk about the subjects they cover in class and the assignments that he gives them. I can tell that they are having a lot of fun and learning along the way.

A few days ago, a couple of students were in my office talking and explained that each of them have been given a specific conspiracy to research and write about. As one talked about their assignment, I said that I had been there. Then, the other one talked about their assignment, and I have been there as well. Finally, one of them said that I must be the one behind all of the secrets because my travels have made me a common denominator. We laughed, but I began to think, “Damn, I have been to a lot of these places.”

With that in mind, here is a list of the places I have been lucky enough to visit that are connected to some vast conspiracy.

Cape Canaveral – One of the coolest tours anywhere, you can get a upclose view of the launch pads used from the 50s to the present. It is amazing to take a journey through the technological changes. What makes this prime conspiracy territory? Ask any moon landing skeptic, and they will tell you that these launches didn’t go anywhere. The astronauts were walking around somewhere in the desert.

Mount Rushmore – Actually, I didn’t know a conspiracy surrounded this monument until I watched an episode of Brad Meltzer’s Decoded. I thought the only conspiracy involving this place was by the people who made that stupid National Treasure: Book of Secrets movie. However, Meltzer’s minions looked into the possibility of the mount paying homage to racial purity. I don’t know about that, but I know that the Black Hills were the sacred land of the Sioux. The fact that it is now a tourist trap is conspiracy enough.

Roswell – In 1947, a UFO crashed near this New Mexico town, and the government has been covering up the incident ever since. It must be true because there is a museum dedicated to it with a lot of cool exhibits.

What? You didn’t know Bigfoot is an alien?

Then, you probably didn’t know that they have real recreations of alien autopsies.

Actually, the museum is interesting and has an extensive collection of UFO videos, research and writings.

Memphis – I wrote in a recent post about my visit to the National Civil Rights Museum, built on the site of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s assassination.

This conspiracy springs from the idea that a petty criminal like James Earl Ray could not have shot King and escaped to Europe without help. Ray fed this idea with his insistence that he was working with a man named Raoul. I have also wondered how Ray got away but had my questions answered after reading Hellhound on His Trail: The Stalking of Martin Luther King, Jr. and the International Hunt for His Assassin.

Dallas – The granddaddy of all conspiracy theories is based around the assassination of John F. Kennedy at Dealy Plaza. Most people probably believe that Lee Harvey Oswald did not act alone. Some say it was the mafia. Others say it was the Cubans, the Russians, or even the vice president. I don’t know about any of that, but I believe this conspiracy lingers for a couple of reasons.

First, a president, Abraham Lincoln, was actually the victim of a conspiracy.

Second, a visit to Dealy Plaza leads people to believe that something else must have happened. Walking around the grounds, it just makes sense that the gunman was on the grassy knoll and not in a window on an upper floor of a building. It is difficult to describe the area, but everyone should take a look for themselves. I must admit that of all the conspiracies this is the one I come closest to believing.

There you have it. The list of conspiratorial places that I have visited. I promise that this doesn’t make me the Cigarette-Smoking Man from The X-Files. Where’s my proof? If I was, then the following would happen.

Derek Dooley would resign as the head football coach at Tennessee, and the team would never lose another game.

I would win the lottery.

People would be breaking the law when they throw chewing gum on the ground.

I would win every hand of Blackjack.

All of us bloggers would be world-famous.

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On Top of the Tornado

3 Mar

Storms swept across Tennessee today and left some destruction in their wake. Tornado warnings and watches were all over as the map turned green, orange and red. Thankfully, not much happened around my house, but it reminded me of a time that I found myself on top of the tornado. This tornado to be specific:

In 2008, my girlfriend of the time and I traveled to Atlanta for the Southeastern Conference basketball tournament. We hit the afternoon session to see my favorite team, the University of Tennessee, win a close game. As it ended, fans from all of the teams filed out of the Georgia Dome in anticipation of the night session and more excitement to come. However, we had other plans. Dinner reservations at the restaurant on top of our hotel, the kind that slowly turns so patrons can get a panoramic view of the city. After dinner and a few drinks, we would hit the lobby bar before turning in. As we got dressed and prepared for the evening, we could not anticipate what was really going to happen.

As we left the room, she asked if we should take our phones, and I said no because we weren’t even leaving the building. We took the special elevator to the top and exited into a crowded restaurant with people laughing and dishes clanking. With a little time to wait for a table, we found a seat, ordered some drinks and watched the sky light up in the distance. Lightning was everywhere, but it was miles away. At no point did anyone think that it would have an effect on us. Then, it happened. I noticed a strange haze outside and suddenly saw a large piece of something fly by. I immediately grabbed my girlfriend’s arm and said let’s go. Why?

I could only say one word. Tornado.

As we moved it hit the hotel. Diners screamed and began to panic. Chandeliers swayed, hitting the ceiling with each swing. The building was swaying as well. Not a good feeling when you are 73 stories high.

People immediately began running down the stairs thinking that they could beat the fall if the building collapsed. There was no way I was getting trampled in that stampede, so we stayed behind and rode the elevator down with the restaurant staff. By then, the tornado had passed and the electricity had not gone out. It was the slowest elevator ride ever because we really didn’t know if we would make it all the way down. Luckily, we did, and, when the doors opened, we found a lobby turned into a refugee camp. People who had been on the street came straggling in covered with water, dirt, debris and with haggard looks on their faces. It was a disaster movie come to life.

As people continued to pour in, we learned what happened after the tornado hit. It traveled down the street, wreaking havoc along the way, and hit the Georgia Dome where a basketball game was being played. Fans and players scrambled as the roof was ripped apart and pieces fell on top of them. I realized that my dad would have been watching the game and seen the carnage. I didn’t have a phone and was banned from going to the upper floors. Knowing that my parents were home worrying, I could kick myself for leaving my phone behind, but I got lucky again. Sitting on the floor across from me was a man from my hometown. I used his phone to call home, and my parents relayed what they were seeing on television. It was hell outside, and we were lucky to be alive.

After several hours, we were allowed to go to our room and got there at the same time as the people next to us. When they opened the door, they stood with shocked looks on their faces. Like moths to a flame, we followed them in and saw their entire window blown out. We were standing in an open room 40 stories in the air. Lucky once more, our room was untouched.

We left the next day and, for the first time, realized what we had found ourselves in. Debris was piled on all of the streets, and demolition workers had cleared a path on one street to get people to the interstate. It was like driving through an apocalyptic landscape, and we were scared. The shock and adrenaline had worn off, and reality set in. We came close to death and never realized it.

Lucky has been used a lot in this post, but that is an understatement. It’s been four years, and I still don’t have adequate words to describe it.

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Picture This – Bobcat Bite

27 Feb

Each May, myself and a few other professors (Dave, Fred and Pete) take students on a field trip to Santa Fe, New Mexico. Over a span of two weeks, we explore the surrounding area and provide the students with information in our fields of study. Dave, a business professor, talks about the economy of the region and how it changed during the centuries. Fred, an anthropologist, specializes in Native American cultures and oversees the trip. Pete, a biologist, tells us about the land, plants and animals of the area. I, as the historian, attempt to bring all of this together and tell the story of the region and its people.

However, eating is the highlight of the trip for all of us. We hit some of the best restaurants in Santa Fe and Albuquerque in an attempt to introduce the students to fine New Mexican cuisine. They think good Mexican food can be found at Taco Bell and the millions of locally owned Mexican restaurants in our area. I am convinced they are all owned by the same person because they all have the Speedy Gonzales special. At any rate, when they get back to Tennessee their taste buds have been spoiled with real peppers, sauces, tamales, burritos…the list goes on and on.

With that being said, one of our favorite places doesn’t serve Mexican food, from New or Old Mexico. In business since the 1950s, Bobcat Bite is a small, pink building on the outskirts of Santa Fe that hides heaven within its walls. In the picture, that’s me and Dave salivating before we go in. And, what’s waiting for us inside? Green chile cheeseburgers. These are 10 ounces of ground beef covered with cheese and drowned in green chile sauce. I don’t even have the words to describe how delicious it is. All I know is that it is so good that we go more than once on our trips.

The restaurant has been featured in GQ, Bon Appetit, and Travel and Leisure. But, I don’t have to read those articles to know what to do after I write my name on the chalkboard (being small there is usually a wait). With a little luck, I will get a seat at the lunch counter with a view at the surrounding mountains. From here, there is also a view of the kitchen and the wonderful things happening back there. Then, I order the cheeseburger that I described and an order of fries. They also have steaks, but that really isn’t the point. When the goodness is placed in front of me, I dig in and enter hamburger, cheese, green chile and grease paradise.

If you ever find yourself in Santa Fe, then do yourself a favor and head to Bobcat Bite. Get a cool t-shirt while you are there.

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Journey Among Kings

21 Feb

This weekend, my girlfriend and I decided to get away for a few days and took a short trip to Memphis. Ordinarily, this is not a city that ranks high on my agenda of places to visit. However, there were a couple of sites within its confines that I wanted to visit – one place that I had never been to before and another that I have been to numerous times.

We left late on Friday, which meant that we arrived in Memphis, a city with one of the highest crime rates in the nation, after nightfall. I was not comfortable with this prospect and was even less comfortable when we missed our exit. You see, the interstate system is strange in the fact that there are no signs saying “Downtown” or “Beale Street” or anything else that might be familiar. Even a GPS, which we had, leaves questions. Things got worse when we found streets blocked to allow the NBA crowd to get out-of-town. We talked to a couple of policemen who sent us on detours through neighborhoods with blown out windows and people wandering the streets. Finally, we made a turn and happened upon our hotel.

On Saturday morning, we slowly arose and visited the site that I had never been to before, the National Civil Rights Museum at the Lorraine Motel.

The National Civil Rights Museum

Normally, I am not a fan of museums (strange for a historian I suppose). To me, the places where history happened are a lot more interesting, and that is what made this a place I wanted to see. The Lorraine Motel was the location of one of the great tragedies in American history, the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr. Most people have seen the photographs of him lying on the balcony, so I will not reproduce them here. I will say that powerful emotions emerge when you walk around the corner and see the balcony ahead.

Unfortunately, I did not get the same feelings about the museum. First, there were few authentic artifacts. The struggle of African-Americans from the beginnings of slavery to the assassination was told through photographs, audio and reproductions. I really believe that a story as important as this would be well served to have original pieces of history.

Second, I felt like a Japanese tourist at Pearl Harbor. To explain, when I was last at Pearl Harbor a lot of Japanese tourists were also there. World War II ended a long time ago, and we should be past hard feelings. But, something hit me as I watched them look around, and I thought to myself that they had no business being there. Stupid, I know. As a white person at the location of King’s assassination, I got this feeling that I had no business being there.

Third, it bothered me that the history had been gutted. The Lorraine Motel holds an important and haunting place in our history, but the facade is all that is left. I wish they could have kept more of the building intact. Granted, I have no idea of its condition when the museum was created, but I had the sickening feeling that a historic site had been demolished to build a museum. On the inside, the hotel rooms were recreated, but they were at the edge of a larger room. The sense of history had been erased. The same happened with the building that James Earl Ray fired from. A cramped, dirty boarding house was gutted and opened into a museum loft dedicated to the murder. The one part of history that was not changed and I noticed immediately was the short distance between the two. I never realized how close they were.

When the tour was finished, we had a late lunch at Charles Vergos’ Rendezvous, the most famous barbecue joint in Memphis and one of the most famous in the world. If you are in Memphis take a walk down the alley and head in. You won’t be disappointed. After that, we had drinks in the lobby of the Peabody Hotel and watched the ducks march from the fountain to the elevator on their return to the roof. Don’t know the story of the Peabody ducks? It is something to behold, and the lobby becomes packed when the Duck Master appears.

On Sunday, we got up and headed to a place that I have visited countless times, Graceland.

Graceland

I have written about Elvis Presley before and must say that any fan should take a trip to his house, the second most visited private home in the country. It is an homage to 70s decor and the style of a man whose tastes had few bounds. He had money and would spend it on almost anything outrageous. The Jungle Room is probably the most famous, but the TV Room is my favorite. ALERT! ALERT! TRIVIA QUESTION AHEAD! Can anyone tell me what 70s era movie is always playing in the TV Room? Hint: It’s a western.

There are three tv's. I left out the one showing the trivia answer.

After touring the mansion, the private planes and the other attractions at Graceland, we headed back to Nashville. We both agreed that visiting these sites was a great experience and everyone should make a point to go to each one. They play different roles in our history, but, as we know, all history is important. I have read extensively about both people and the events of their lives, but leave it to my girlfriend to ask questions that I could not answer.

1. Did Elvis Presley and Martin Luther King ever meet? After all, they were contemporaries and two of the most famous southerners in the country.

2. Was Elvis at Graceland the night of King’s assassination? If he was, then he wasn’t too far away. Knowing his fascination with police work, Elvis could very well have been following the events closely.

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Picture This – Holcomb Community Park

31 Jan

Cities all over the country have parks dedicated in the honor of local citizens, and many of them have the same attributes as this one – benches, trees, walking trail and plenty of grass for picnics. Compared to other parks, this one is small, as it sits in a triangle of crossing streets. It is as if the small town of Holcomb, Kansas needed to do something with land that had been cut off from use and thought a small greenway would be a perfect solution.

However, this park does not honor a founding family or a local politician. It is dedicated to the family of Herb and Bonnie Clutter, which was slaughtered when their home was invaded by robbers in 1959. Tragedies such as this happen in cities all over the nation as well, and as years pass those incidents, also tragically, fade from the memories of those communities. In today’s world, we seem to be desensitized to the violence that happens around us. Bridges are named for fallen soldiers, but we hardly think about them as we pass by the signs. There may be other parks honoring murder victims, but they must be few and far between. So, why did the citizens of Holcomb build a park in honor of the Holcomb’s? Because several years after the attack, the murder in rural Kansas became known to people throughout the world.

After reading a newspaper article about the crime. Truman Capote became mesmerized by the story. He convinced Harper Lee, his childhood friend, to travel to Holcomb and investigate the murder. The result was “In Cold Blood”, a book that many believe began the “True Crime” genre. The writing of the book and the book itself have also been the subject of several movies. In my opinion, the work of Capote and his role in the overall story has come to overshadow the actual crime. As I drove around the small town and walked around the park, I did not think of the Holcomb’s or the men who were convicted of their murders. The question that kept running through my mind was:

Truman Capote came here?

The few people I saw stared at my rental car with the Tennessee tags and gave me the “what are you doing here?” look. And, I am sure they are used to a few people stopping by because of the town’s notoriety. I can’t imagine the reaction of the citizens of 1959 Holcomb when Truman Capote – he of the high society and fashionable side of New York City – arrived with his peculiarities. Likewise, I can’t imagine Capote’s thoughts when he arrived in a little town surrounded by nothing but flat plains. A more odd meeting of cultures is difficult to think about.

Despite of the strangeness of it all, or maybe because of it, I suggest a stop by the park to anyone who finds themself in the vicinity of Holcomb. Take a stroll around the walking trail or sit on a bench and take yourself back to 1959. Picture Capote and Lee hanging around town and interviewing people. Think about the reaction of the authorities when the pair walk in and start asking questions. And, imagine the journey that the writers took to dig deeper into a newspaper story. However, do not forget the Clutter family; the crime that struck down parents and two children; and the two other children left to live with the pain and the constant, best-selling reminder of the horror of their lives.

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Picture This – Saguaro Cactus

25 Jan

I have noticed that most blogs follow a theme. Some people write about cooking while others write about books. There are blogs about music, history, relationships and even adult entertainment. This blog really doesn’t follow a set pattern. I simply write about what’s on my mind at that particular moment. I have made attempts at being witty, serious, thoughtful and insightful, but lately I have found myself struggling to come up with things to write about. I don’t want to force anything because blogs should flow naturally. With that in mind, I have been trying to come up with some new ideas. Actually, I have been staying awake at night with ideas floating through my head. Does that mean I am addicted? I don’t know, but a thematic idea has cropped up. Occasionally, I will click a random photograph in my computer and write about it. This will be the first go at it, so here is a picture.

Saguaro Cacti are found in southern Arizona and can live 250 years. Due to the numerous westerns filmed in the area, the cacti have become iconic symbols of the American West. The plotlines of films made moviegoers believe that the cacti could be found throughout the southwestern United States. In fact, the best place to see them up close is in the land surrounding Tucson, Arizona. When this photograph was taken, I was walking through the sand and around the vegetation while my girlfriend at the time stood on the path. As a person with an intense fear of bugs, the sounds made by the insects in the area were freaking her out. I must admit that the clicking sounds reminded me of some of the sound effects I have heard in alien movies. With the constant noise in the air, we took some photographs and moved on down the road. Our next stop was the Old Tucson Movie Lot and Studio, home to the movies that made these cacti and this landscape famous.

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