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Escape From TexasDecember 8th to 15th, 1998. |
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My friends, Dan & Claudia, had been living in Texas for about a year. They're originally from the Northeast, Dan from Northern Rhode Island, and Claudia from the New York metropolitan area, and they hated Texas. They hated Texas with a heat that was cherry-red, like a branding iron searing and singeing the bristly flesh of a terrified Texas longhorn. Well, maybe not quite like that, but they really hated it. So when the opportunity came for them to move back to the Northeast, they grabbed at it with both hands and no man could ever have pried their clawed fingers from it even with the biggest lever in the world. I offered the suggestion that I come out to Texas to help with the move and to share in driving their two cars back to civilization. They jumped on that too. It meant that the long drive back would be less lonely for both of them, there would be an extra pair of hands to deal with their cat, Wes, and because with me along, the drive might actually turn out to be fun. Not that they never have fun alone, but I think if it had been just the two of them they would have driven back as quickly as possible to get it over with. Additionally, they were happy to have me come down because I would be able to serve as a witness that everything they had been complaining about for the past year had not been without a basis in reality. So reservations were made, time was taken off from work and a lot of research was done into cheesy attractions between Texas and Massachusetts. I didn't know how much cheesiness we would be able to explore, or what route we were likely to be taking, so I made sure to cover all possibilities. Tuesday, December 8 I left work in Dedham early and caught the 2:39 PM train into South Station, Boston. I rarely take public transportation and I was a little nervous about it. Oddly, I'm more relaxed about traveling by plane because I've done enough of it that I pretty much feel I know what to expect. So I'm not sure, but I think I might have bought a round-trip ticket by mistake when I got on at Dedham. Not that that would be such a financial loss, but if I did make that mistake, I think it's reflective of my state of mind at the time. A further indication of my nervousness was manifested when I put a $10 bill into the token machine at South Station expecting it to give me change. Instead I got $10 worth of tokens. Now I really felt dumb, but I had places to be so I pocketed the extra tokens and proceeded on my way. I took the Red Line to Downtown Crossing. I took the Orange Line to State. At State a guy in his late twenties or early thirties was haranguing the indifferent commuters about how we should follow the Ten Commandments because the Millennium was coming and we would all be very Sorry when it did and we were still committing Sin and allowing our Greed to lead us to Hell. I thankfully took the Blue Line to Airport. I took the MassPort Shuttle to Terminal A, arriving reasonably early for a 4:10 PM flight. I bypassed the luggage check and went straight to the gate. I wasn't sure if I would be allowed two carry-ons, but I figured I would get away with it if I could. We boarded on time and I settled into my window seat, prepared for an uneventful four-hour flight. The woman in the aisle seat next to me fell asleep. We were soon informed that a problem had been detected with the de-icing mechanism in the right engine. An hour later we finally took off. As we circled above Boston, the pilot came on again to let us know that the engine was still acting up and we would have to land. As we descended the woman next to me awoke. "Are we still on the ground?" she asked. I explained the situation to her. She rolled her eyes and cracked open a magazine. After another hour on the ground, during which passengers were offered the opportunity to rebook on a different flight if they wished, we took off again. And once again, as we circled the city, the pilot came on the intercom. "Uh, ladies and gentlemen, uh, you've probably noticed that once again we've, uh, leveled off early. We're all really embarrassed up here. We're, uh, we're no longer experiencing the problem with the de-icing mechanism in the right engine, but, uh, we've got an indicator showing a problem with the de-icing mechanism in the left engine." Pause. "Uh, we're waiting for clearance now, there are a few other planes ahead of us, but when we get the go-ahead, we'll be landing once again at Logan." Groans from the passengers. My seat mate made an exasperated sound with her magazine. I knew at this point that I had missed my connection, but I felt strangely calm. Or perhaps it would have been stranger to become upset in such a situation. After all, there was nothing I could do. As we prepared for descent a flight attendant came on to remind us to make sure our belts were fastened, our tray tables were in the upright and locked position, and our gear was stowed safely in the overhead bins or under the seat in front of us. Finishing her memorized speech, she clicked off. A few seconds later she clicked back on to say one woebegone word: "Sorry." The tension in the cabin was broken a little as we all shared a chuckle. As we touched down for the second time that night we found her prescribed greeting, "Welcome to Boston," amusing too. Those of us who were still game were rebooked on a different aircraft which was to leave at approximately 7:40 PM. I was thankful that I had not checked my duffel bag because we were informed there was no time to transfer luggage from one plane to another. I quickly gave Claudia a call to let her know what had happened and that I would not need her to pick me up at the airport in Lubbock as we had planned Maybe I don't travel enough, but this was the first time I'd ever missed a connection. It certainly could have been worse -- at least the airline (American) took responsibility and dealt smoothly with the rebookings and hotel accommodations for those who needed them. The second airplane took off and arrived in Dallas without incident. The mile-high midnight view of Dallas was pretty cool. Areas of light and dark were rigidly marked, separating the urban and suburban areas from the rural with very definite boundaries. On the ground, I was given a voucher for a nearby hotel, a number to call to arrange a new flight to Lubbock and I was directed to a free shuttle bus. By the time I reached the hotel it was about 1 AM. I checked in and made my way across the street to a mercifully-open Denny's. I hadn't eaten anything other than airline pretzels all day, having missed the in-flight meal (and the in-flight movie!). I had a late dinner/early breakfast, served by a balding, swishy waiter with an ass hardly larger than my two fists. There was one Texas stereotype shattered. I was in bed by 2 AM. Wednesday, December 9 I was roused by a 6 AM wakeup call. I took the shuttle back to the airport and caught an 8:01 flight to Lubbock. The plane was one of those little puddle jumpers, a prop plane that carried, at most, 30 passengers. I thought the flight attendant was hot. She had bangs and glasses, which I like, and that adenoidal West Texas accent that I find oddly sexy. I landed in Lubbock at around 9:30 and Claudia picked me up in the Saab. We drove to D&C's house in the yutzy Lubbock neighborhood of LakeRidge. There I helped them pack up the remainder of their possessions, which would be traveling by moving van. The truck was done around 2:30 PM. While Dan signed a huge stack of paperwork, Steve, the head moving guy, related a story about an elderly couple whom he had moved from a mansion into a three-story townhouse on a narrow street. Among the couple's possessions were his & hers grand pianos. Claudia, after reading a draft of this account, added: "Even worse, the kitchen of the townhouse is on the third floor, and the man is 94 and his wife is 90. Their son picked this place out for them, and it sure looks as though he's trying to kill them." He said it took an hour and a half to get the truck in and two and a half hours to back it out, with several policemen directing with flashlights. He probably tells everyone that story. He spoke very much like the Boomhauer character on "King of the Hill," pushing his words together in a hard-to-follow slur. Boomhauer: "Itellyuhwhut... yuh see that part whar dang ol' George come in 'ar talkin' 'bout tastin' 'is own burp an' Kramer come slidin' in jus' lahk 'e al'ays do... Itellyuhwhut... them dang ol' New York boys... Jus' a show 'bout nothin'." After the moving men left, we ate lunch at the Black-Eyed Pea. Dan, after reading a draft of this account, commented: "Fried corn, dude! Tell 'em about the fried corn!" Ah yes, fried corn. A greasy amalgam of corn-on-the-cob and fried chicken, minus the chicken. Weird. Claudia had warned me about a few of the interesting regional idiosyncrasies of West Texas wait staff, so when the waitress was spot-on with drink refills, I was not too surprised. Nor was I surprised when she asked, "How does everything taste?" rather than, "How is everything?" When we were finished eating she brought us our "ticket" instead of our "bill." Sated, we returned to the house and continued packing and cleaning. At approximately 8 PM we went to a firing range and I met D&C's friend Russell, a real, live Texan. I fired a gun for the first time that I'm aware of. Dan comment: "Lots of guns! You were a shooting madman!" Well, that's somewhat of an exaggeration. I shot four guns, a .22 Smith & Wesson revolver which belonged to the range, Claudia's semiautomatic Browning Buck Mark .22, Dan's High Standard .22 semiautomatic and Claudia's Browning Hi-Power 9mm semiautomatic. I guess I did pretty well, although I found it surprisingly and annoyingly difficult to remember to keep my finger outside the trigger guard when not firing. Russell was very patient with me and didn't make fun of my nervousness, so I decided he was okay. After shooting, at around 9:30, we stopped off at Russell's house so he could drop off his guns and pick up a small pistol. [Dan comment: "North American Arms Guardian .32 (again, a semiauto)."] He doesn't like to ever be without a gun. Then we all went for dinner at the County Line. Russell got an enormous plate of ribs that he was unable to finish. [Dan comment: "Flintstone ribs! Gigantic ribs! Bigger than your face ribs!"] Afterwards we subjected Russell to a tour of Lubbock's lovely Christmas decorations. Dan comment: "Details!" Oh come on, Dan! How could I possibly improve on your own description of Lubbock's Christmas light mania? Answer: I can't. But I'm here to say that Dan's description is true. All of it. Hidden in the attic of D&C's house were found dozens of strings of lights, as well as a full set of luminarias, left behind by the previous owners. As for our tour of the Lubbock lights, I took almost a whole roll of pictures, trying to capture the true nature of the experience. (Unfortunately, very few of the photos came out, but I tried). The outlined lawns, the outlined buildings, the blood-red luminarias, the cartoon cutouts, trees festooned with twinkly white lights -- some trees with only their trunks wrapped (that presumably being as high as the stringer could reach). I saw a ten-foot-tall Santa/cowboy lit with spotlights. You know those guys you hear about on the news every year, who have decorated their yards to such an extent that they become Attractions? That's what it was like on every block in Lakeridge. Do these people have nothing else to do with their money? Dan convinced Russell that he really needed some Christmas lights by suggesting some rude things he could spell out with them. Russell liked that idea very much so we loaded all of the lights from the attic, including the luminarias, into the back of the Saab. Even with the back seat down they filled the entire space. There were that many of them. We dropped Russell and his new acquisitions off at his house and bid adieu. He invited us in to look at his gun collection, but we begged off. We were feeling kind of tired. Thursday, December 10 D&C went to close on the house at 10 AM. While they were gone I began to clean out the refrigerator. Old fuzzy ice cream, pickles (3 kinds), condiments, cheese, eggs, seltzer, bread, hot dogs, carrots, potatoes, butter. As much of it as I could, I put down the garbage disposal. Have you ever dropped whole eggs into the gnashing teeth of a household disposal unit? You should, it's fun! More packing and cleaning when D&C came back. At perhaps 12:30 PM Russell showed up with a lady friend named Kim and we all went out to lunch at Furrs, a cafeteria-style restaurant catering to families and the elderly. After being rushed along through the line by an inordinate number of lunch-ladies and lunch-gentlemen, we emerged with trays bulging with fried chicken, biscuits, mashed potatoes, boneless ribs, steamed veggies and many other things which were difficult to identify. I wish now that I had taken a picture of all the odd-colored food. Dan comment: "Describe the yummy green 'n' pink bricks! The millionaire pie!" Right. The "green 'n' pink bricks" he's referring to were some sort of Jell-O and cottage cheese concoction. They were big on Jell-O concoctions at Furrs. We tried several. There was one that had walnuts (shudder). As for the millionaire pie, I know I ate some, but to be truthful, it didn't make as much of an impression on me as did the assortment of Jell-O thingies. Here's what's in Millionaire Pie, according to texascooking.com:
Russell couldn't believe he'd allowed himself to be dragged into another questionable activity, but for some reason he insisted on paying. Kim was unfazed. Apparently Furrs is a frequent hangout of her family. After lunch, Russell and Kim packed up a pair of bookshelves and a day bed into Kim's pickup. While they were engaged in that endeavor, and while Dan took care of some things back at work, Claudia took me on a quick tour of Lubbock sights in the Miata. We started out looking for a canyon that Russell had impressed Dan with some months before, but we took a wrong turn and ended up finding the Buddy Holly Memorial and Stars Walk of Fame instead. The Stars Walk of Fame included such timeless celebrity talents as G.W. Bailey, the guy who played Rizzo on M*A*S*H. Having satisfied my desire to look at a statue of a dead guy, we headed back the way we had come and eventually found Slaton Canyon, which featured some lovely scenery and switchy-back driving. I tested out the Miata for the first time there. I don't really like standard transmissions, but I did okay. I drove down into the canyon, up the other side, then turned around and returned the way we had come. On the way out we noticed the tumbleweeds. Yes, tumbleweeds. We were both surprised we had not noticed them on the way in. We had to stop and play with one. Claudia took a few pictures of me holding and being attacked by it. Tiring of that game, Claudia took over the driving and we went around the loop to another canyon. Ransom Canyon was developed, with homes clinging to the sides and a small lake at the bottom. Claudia wanted especially for me to see a couple of interesting, long-unfinished homes. One looked like a giant seashell gone wrong, and the other looked like something designed by Darth Vader, all curved rusted metal and gaping rounded apertures where windows should be. Done with Ransom Canyon, we headed back to Russell's house later than we had expected. Dan was already there. Russell had been disappointed the night before when we had been too tired to look at his gun collection. No such excuses today, so he opened his large safe and proceeded to show us dozens of handguns, rifles, shotguns and semi-automatic weapons. Russell said that those were only a portion of his collection as he had many more in a safety deposit box. We had fun dry-firing various of the guns and we took pictures of one another holding the cooler implements of deadly destruction. That taken care of, Russell spent several hours cleaning and adjusting D&C's guns while I watched America's Most Amusing Deadly Police Videos and tried to stave off a low-grade tension headache. Claudia's .22 had not been ejecting its shells properly, so Russell had to take it completely apart to fix the problem. It took him awhile, but he managed to put it right. We took leave of Russell around 9:30 PM. He was bumming in a big way because he was going to miss Dan and Claudia very much. I guess there aren't too many people in Texas who have more than a few brain cells to rub together, and now there would be two less. D&C chided Russell about not being willing to come up to Yankeeland for a visit. Russell seemed torn between his contempt for the Northeast and his desire to commune with people who read books rather than billboards. Final farewells were exchanged without Russell admitting that he would be willing to visit. We took in dinner at Abuelo's, a Tex-Mex place. Then back to the nearly-empty house for next-to-last-minute cleaning and packing. I supervised the loading of the cars because, as D&C acknowledged, I'm good with spatial relations. Friday, December 11 After last-minute cleaning and packing, sweeping out the garage and hauling the last of the trash back to the dumpsters (the houses in Lubbock have alleys running between them where trash is placed for pickup, just like on "King of the Hill"!) , we left 4409 88th St. forever. Claudia, Wes and I were in the Saab, with Claudia driving, and Dan was in the Miata. We stopped briefly at Texas Tech so Dan could take care of one last thing. As we left campus we coincidentally ran into Russell at a traffic light. Shouting between cars he intimated that he was softening in his resolve to avoid having to drag his carcass up to the dreaded Yankee north for a visit. We stopped for a few minutes at the Prairie Dog Town in Meredith Park on the north side of town. It was a little depressing, maybe four or five acres of barren, pebbly earth surrounded by a knee-high stone wall. We saw one prairie dog who had escaped, scampering about in the matted winter grass outside the wall. We remembered too late that we should have held back some carrots from the garbage disposal for the critters inside. I took some pictures and we continued on our way. Back on the road, we headed north to Amarillo. Claudia was tickled to death to be leaving Texas and I took her picture as she drove, grinning ear to ear. Wes was not as happy to be traveling. He panted and yowled and crawled all around the interior of the car. I found his harness to be very useful for yanking him back whenever he tried to climb down under Claudia's feet or up on the dashboard, which was often. Imagine putting up with this for 2,200 miles. We saw extensive cotton fields, many of them seemingly unharvested. Claudia said there had been a drought that summer. We also saw billboards for the Big Texan Steak Ranch, where we planned to stop for lunch. Many of them featured a fearsome graphic of a huge rattlesnake rearing up and exposing its venomous fangs. "See The Giant Rattler!" the text screamed. We could hardly wait. We arrived in Amarillo at about 2 PM and proceeded forthwith to the Big Texan Steak Ranch, home of the free 72-ounce steak. Dan comment: "HOME OF THE FREE 72-OZ STEAK dinner, if eaten in one hour." You're right, Dan, that's an important distinction. Not only is the "one hour" part important, but so also is the word "dinner," since you are not only required to eat the whole steak, but the "trimmings" that come with it as well. That means an appetizer, salad, potato and roll. Supposedly almost 35,000 people have tried and only about 5,500 have succeeded. According to the Big Texan Steak Ranch website:
"It may sound unbelievable, but lots of folks have met this Texas-sized challenge. Men, women -- and even children -- have been able to wrap themselves around this meal. Why, we've even had a man eat two of them in the one hour time limit. Two busy truck drivers who were in a hurry didn't wait for their steaks to be cooked. Instead, they ate them raw! And one hungry (!!) visitor, Frank Pastore ate the whole meal in 9 minutes! The oldest person to eat the Big Texan's FREE 72-ounce steak was a 69-year old grandmother. The youngest was an 11-year-old boy." Did I mention that this meal will set you back about $60 if you can't manage to choke it down within the time limit? We did not indulge so much, but got meals which we knew we could eat. Claudia claimed she had heard the 72-ounce steak was as tough as shoe leather anyhow. The interior of the restaurant was the height of western kitsch. Stuffed animals of all kinds were everywhere, gazing blankly down upon all of the human carnivores as they enjoyed their afternoon repasts. The billboard-advertised "Giant Rattler" did not look so big. He resided in a large glass tank, coiled up in a pile. He appeared to be sleeping and did not look at all fearsome. Claudia & I tried a couple of rounds of target practice in the electronic firing range. The Texas Tornado Museum out in the parking lot was not open, but I got pictures of the giant fiberglass bull out front. Back on the road, we passed the Western Hemisphere's largest cross somewhere near Groom. It appeared to be about twelve stories tall, all shiny like polished aluminum. In a circle around the base were what appeared to be enormous jacks, but they were probably the stations of the cross. I was driving at this point and Claudia valiantly tried to roll down the window, take a picture and prevent Wes from either getting under my feet or jumping out the window all at the same time. We drove on. It got dark. As we passed through Clinton, Oklahoma, Claudia and I speculated that Dan would soon pass us, as we knew that the Miata's gas tank was smaller than that in the Saab. Sure enough, he roared past, apparently headed for the next exit. Another car passed and got between us. We saw Dan put on his right blinker, then the stranger's car slid over and hid Dan from view. We put on our blinker and took the exit. As we angled away from the highway and the stranger's car continued on straight we were able to see the entire off-ramp as it curved back around to cross the interstate. There were no taillights ahead of us. Dan was nowhere in sight. We continued on hopefully to the closest service station anyway. We both knew the Miata was pretty powerful and it was not inconceivable that Dan had decided to floor it. It wasn't a likely explanation, but we were trying to be optimistic. He wasn't there, of course. Claudia decided that the best strategy would be to try the next few exits on the assumption that when he realized he had lost us, Dan would hunker down and wait for us to appear. She hoped he had overheard her discussing with someone a few weeks before a similar strategy in relation to traveling by subway, but she wasn't sure that he had. We searched up and down the highway for about an half-hour, by which point we found ourselves at the Big Cherokee Trading Post. We decided to hang out there for awhile, figuring that if you're ever looking for Dan, the best place to look is someplace dumb. At one point we even contemplated enlisting the help of a sheriff who was dining at the trading post. But he seemed to be enjoying his meal with his family so we didn't want to disturb them. Besides, what would he have been able to do? Claudia couldn't even remember the Miata's license plate number. After another 25 minutes or so, nothing was happening at the trading post, so we decided to return to the point where we'd lost Dan and try again. And there he was, back at the first service station we had checked. No blows were exchanged and they were actually able to laugh about it. That's a pretty amazing relationship. I've had girlfriends who would have chewed me out good and then refused to speak to me for the rest of the trip. We arrived in Oklahoma City at about 8:30. Dinner was at Bennigans, and we stayed at a Days Inn. Saturday, December 12 We left Oklahoma City at about 10 AM, deciding not to try to see the bombing site and opting instead to see Enterprise City, USA, to the north of the city, because it was more on our way and Dan was up to get "I Love Capitalism" bumper stickers. We found it easily enough and it was even open. Dan ran in to find out if we could bring Wes in. Receiving an affirmative response from the perky blonde at the ticket counter, we bundled Wes into his box and went in. The perky blonde sold us tickets and directed us into a large glass elevator. We stepped inside, the door closed, and then... nothing. The elevator didn't move. Nothing happened outside the glass, where we could see maybe two-dozen square screens on the semi-circular, three-story wall. I began pushing buttons to see if I could get the elevator to move. Dan comment: "All the while, Wes yowling in his carrier." I don't remember that so much, but then I wasn't carrying him and I was concerned about how long we were going to be stuck. I finally pressed the "door open" button and the doors slid apart to show the blonde standing on tip-toe trying to manipulate some controls set into a small cabinet in the wall. "Sorry! I'll have you going in a minute!" she said over her shoulder as the doors closed again. Finally the elevator began to move and we were treated to a slow motion ride to the top while being presented with static slide images of capitalism 80s-style on the wall outside. Disembodied voices said things like, "I'm going to save my money and buy that new skateboard," and "But I just replaced that water pump three months ago!" At one point multiple voices admonished us to "Spend!" "Save!" and "Buy!" When the elevator arrived at the top we were met by Dave, a laid-back business major who would be our guide. It soon became apparent that we were the only customers in the entire building. He led us through the Hall of Statistics where we could see the rate at which the world population was rising, how many babies were being born, how many people were dying, how large the gross national debt was, and how much of that we were each responsible for. The whole museum is like a trip back to the early eighties, since almost nothing has been updated since then. All the photo montages, all the videos, even the color schemes are very dated. Many of the exhibits don't work properly either, which of course just adds to the positive cheese factor. At the end of the Hall of Statistics was a little shrine which contained the puppet bodies of the two space aliens who were mentioned in Roadside America as being the device through whom we learn about Capitalism. They've apparently been retired, perhaps because Enterprise City can no longer afford to employ a full time puppeteer. Next we had the chance to see ourselves in the place of workers performing various jobs -- a policeman chasing down a criminal, a crane operator demolishing a building, a pilot landing a jumbo jet - all through the miracle of blue-screen technology. Then on to the hall of giant heads, a room celebrating token American inventors and entrepreneurs. Henry Ford, Thomas Edison, George Washington Carver and a woman who I can't remember [Claudia comment: Helene Rubenstein, the makeup chick ‚ figures, right?] were all celebrated there. Sam Walton, founder of Wal-Mart was there as well. Each head contained a small exhibit covering the life and exploits of each person. Ironically, the lights inside Thomas Edison would not work. Next we entered a mock donut shop where Dave showed off the only exhibit in the place that had been updated since 1983. Dave let us know that he and his roommate, also a business major, were working on securing corporate sponsorship for Enterprise City. He said that with that kind of financial backing, they expected to be able to put the attraction back on a secure footing. Let's hope they don't lose any of that cheesy charm along the way. In the donut shop, we used desks with buttons built in to say how much we would be willing to pay for a donut, and how many donuts we would make if we could sell them for a certain price. This was to teach us about supply and demand. The talking robot (who called Dave "Johnny" (does he have an alternate soundtrack, or can't women be tour guides at Enterprise City?)) seemed kind of disappointed that it would end up making only 3 cents on each donut. As we left the donut shop, Dave offered us candy from jars along the wall. He said that normally they don't give it out, but since there were only the three of us, he'd make an exception. We demurred at first, but acquiesced when he assured us the candy was fresh and did not date from the 80s. The next exhibit was a display of papier m’che people which depicted the Oklahoma City bombing, and which included actual pieces of the demolished Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building. The centerpiece was an interpretation of the famous photograph of the firefighter cradling a dead child. What it had to do with capitalism, we weren't sure. Dave said it had toured around the state before finally finding a permanent home at Enterprise City. Dave left us at this point, having ushered us into a small amphitheater lined with giant cans of tuna, asparagus and Campbell's soup. It also contained giant pieces of currency, which sang in barbershop harmony, and what is alleged to be the world's largest cash register. Dave assured us it really worked, but we never saw it do anything. We were shown a slide show about how the free market works by balancing the needs and desires of the consumer against those of the seller. Having been further indoctrinated into the mysteries of Capitalism, we moved to another room to see the giant face of government which was, well, a giant head with television screens instead of features. It showed how government regulates commerce and what can happen if there are not enough controls, or if there are too many. The presentation was boring at first, until I tuned out what the thing was saying and concentrated instead on the many shifting features displayed on the screens. So many mustaches. Couldn't that person have checked the corners of his mouth for food particles before going on camera? My attention was brought back to the words streaming forth from hidden speakers as they rushed out faster and faster, as increased government regulation led to stress in the marketplace which led to unethical business practices which led to more government regulation. Then the head just stopped. The point was once again that a free market economy only works when in balance. It was scary in a Big Brother sort of way. Next we entered a hallway which had various pieces of sports equipment painted monochromatically and mounted on plaques on the walls. I suppose they were supposed to represent consumer goods or leisure activities which can be paid for with money. We were left to assume that Communists don't have golf clubs or tennis rackets. Next was the hall of outdated computer games. They all featured chunky graphics and had some sort of financial point, but we didn't really learn what that might be because we didn't have the patience to play them. A sign assured us that the games could be purchased in Apple II format in the gift shop. Hey, I've got an Apple II! Cool! The gift shop was our last stop. It looked like it had been looted. The blonde was behind the counter, filling in for someone else. She said the Apple II games had not been available for some time. I wasn't too disappointed. It's not like I would have bought one, I was just hyped up on the idea that someone was still selling software for a 16-year-old machine. Dan found his bumper stickers, and I got a magnet that showed the (retired) space aliens and their spaceship. Dan comment: "Don't forget that she was a crap capitalist." Claudia comment: "Boy, is that the truth. Dan asked the chick how much the bumper stickers were, and she said she didn't know. He said he'd give her a dollar each (though, honestly, he'd probably have been willing to pay $5 per sticker, easy), and she said, and I quote, 'Oh, that's too much. Give me seventy-five cents for the three.'" I asked her how much the magnet was and she replied, "How much do you think it's worth?" I said fifty cents. She rang it up. Then she realized she had not charged either of us for tax, so she asked Dan for more money. In fairness, she had said she didn't usually work in the shop. All in all a satisfying experience. We had come in search of cheesiness and had found it in spades. We said goodbye to the perky feem and headed out for Tulsa and Oral Roberts University. At ORU, I took some pictures of the giant praying hands which stand at the main entrance to the campus. They are about 40 feet tall and well-detailed with bulging veins and tendons. Dan comment: "Tell how they were set up high and cordoned off, so no one could rub up against them." Up high, yes. Cordoned off, no. If Dan had gotten out of the car I could have given him a boost and he could have rubbed against them all he liked. I also would have liked to have checked out the Prayer Tower and the presentation on Oral's life but D&C were anxious to get going. We ate lunch at a Grandy's restaurant down the street and then continued on through Little Rock, Arkansas. We had wanted to stop there at a park made entirely of concrete, but it was dark and raining so we didn't. We stopped for the night in West Memphis, Arkansas, where we stayed at an Econo Lodge. We had tried a few other hotels, but none of them would take pets. For dinner, we agreed that nothing less than Waffle House would do. The place seemed kind of skanky, but the waffles were good and the wait staff were friendly and cheerful in spite of the establishment's intense fluorescent lighting. Sunday, December 13 Thankfully, despite Elvis' reported piousness, Graceland was open on Sunday. Graceland doesn't allow pets, even in carriers, so Wes had to remain in the car. D&C didn't want to go on the mansion tour at first, but they acquiesced when they realized they would have to wait for me in the gift shops, surrounded by Elvis merchandise. Tickets for the mansion tour were $10. For additional fees we could have seen Elvis' airplanes (a small jet and what looked like a 727), Elvis' cars, Elvis' personal belongings and some sort of presentation on Elvis' life. The experience began as scads of black, high school-aged attendants descended upon us. A pair of them insisted on taking my picture in front of a faux backdrop of Graceland's gates, even though I assured them I would not be buying a copy later. D&C flatly refused to have their pictures taken. Portable tape players and headphones were thrust upon us and we were herded abroad a small shuttle bus. The bus took us on the long journey across the road, through the famous gates, and up to the front door of Graceland Mansion. I didn't know they made mansions so small. I've been in friends' houses that were comparable. D&C's former Texas abode was only a little smaller, the real difference being that Elvis' residence could properly be called an estate since it contained several outbuildings and copious amounts of "yard." First, to the right of the front door, we saw the living room, shown "as it looked" in the 1960s when the King first lived there. Decorations for Christmas were up, with heavy red curtains on the windows and a profusion of poinsettias climbing the front stairway. The end of the room was partly partitioned and contained a grand piano. Ahead of us, past the living room and next to the stairs, was Elvis' mother's room. If you stood right up against the velvet rope and stretched out as far as you could without falling over, you could just see the front edge of Elvis' mother's toilet in her pink and violet bathroom. Unfortunately, flash pictures were not allowed in the house, otherwise I definitely would have gotten pictures of that. To the left of the front entrance was the dining room, then the kitchen. Televisions were everywhere (there are eleven in the house). The walls and ceiling of the stairway down to the basement were lined with mirrors, which was a little disorienting. We went left into the TV room, which also featured a mirrored ceiling. Three televisions were running simultaneously, showing The Johnny Carson Show and old movies. I eyed Elvis' record collection enviously. You know, I've been to a lot of museums. I've seen plenty of re-creations and dioramas depicting daily life and tons of displays of everyday items from throughout the centuries. But visiting Elvis' house was truly bizarre. After all, almost everyone I know has a television; the kitchens of some of my friends' houses are not much different from Elvis'. And who among my contemporaries is not intimately acquainted with the colors Harvest Gold, Avocado Green and Burnt Orange? Elvis' house, under some of its odder trappings, is unsettlingly familiar. To the right of the stairs was the pool room, done up in pleated earth-toned fabric on the ceiling as well as on the walls. Tacky doesn't begin to describe it. Matching earth-toned couches surrounded a standard billiard table, complete with an original tear which one of Elvis' friends had made while trying to perform a trick shot. Then through a hallway to the Jungle Room, which was once a patio before Elvis had it enclosed and redecorated around some chunky primitive-themed furniture he'd spotted in a department store window. The room was tricked out with grass skirts around the wet bar and bar stools and with an indoor "waterfall" which was really no more than a trickle. It looked like one of those theme rooms you hear about at hotels that cater to honeymooners. Then outside to check out Elvis' dad's office, the shed Elvis used for target shooting, the corral for Elvis' horses, Elvis' trophy room (which housed a small museum of Elvisiana) and Elvis' racquetball court, where he played a few games mere hours before he died. Last was the meditation garden and the graves of Elvis, his twin brother Jesse, his mother and his father. There was hardly time to work up a tear before we were back on the shuttle for the long ride back across the road to spend some money in the gift shop. After careful consideration, I chose some postcards of mansion rooms I wasn't allowed to take pictures of (they didn't have any of Elvis' mother's bathroom) and an enamel refrigerator magnet of the Graceland gates. Leaving Graceland, we drove pretty much straight to Greeneville, Tennessee, only stopping for lunch somewhere in between at an Uncle Bud's Catfish Fry franchise. The catfish was quite tasty, but I wish I had sampled the frogs' legs too. We reached Greeneville via a twisty-turny country road from Rt. 81 which was a lot of fun to drive on. The hotel was a Holiday Inn, dinner was McDonald's. We could have driven farther that night, but we wanted to watch The X-Files. Monday, December 14 Not much went on today. We agreed to drive through the day and not stop anywhere other than to eat because time was getting tight. We had lunch at a Burger King somewhere in Virginia and arrived in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania around 8 PM. Our hotel was a Holiday Inn, dinner was TGIFridays. Tuesday, December 15 We got a late start today because Claudia needed to deal with a work-related matter via fax. We left around 12:30 PM and took a small detour to find the Archibald Pothole, a natural formation which Dan had been taken to see many times as a youth attending summer camp. It was formed by glacial meltwater and is supposed to be about 30 feet deep. After getting lost and asking a mumbling local for directions we found the entrance to the park. It was closed. So much for that, and I had so been looking forward to seeing it. Really. We found our way back to the main highway and drove on to Port Jervis, New York, where we celebrated our return to civilization with lunch at KFC. From there we drove straight through Connecticut, up the Mass Pike and right into Boston. I was leading at this point, having claimed that I could get us to Harvard Square, from which Claudia was sure she could find the apartment she'd rented. Unfortunately I'd failed to remember that there is a confusing split on Storrow Drive, and that I almost always take the wrong exit. I did it again this time, Dan barely managing to avoid being crushed by larger vehicles as he struggled to follow in the Miata. We spent about 45 minutes wandering around trying to get to Somerville, which we eventually managed. Claudia comment: "The highlight of this part was when you accelerated rather sharply at a stoplight and the glove compartment fell open, dumping about 20 cassette tapes all over me and the ever-yowling Wes. Fortunately, I thought this was so bad it was funny, so I just laughed. Wes, of course, just yowled more." D&C's apartment is on a narrow one-way street with a bend in the middle and parking on both sides. I'm sure Steve, the moving guy, was ever so pleased about that when he arrived later in the week. We unloaded the cars and Claudia talked her way out of a parking ticket. Since there was really nothing more to do, Dan & Claudia dropped me back at my car in Dedham and I drove home to Providence to sleep.
revised 19990422 |