Jack Layton

I cannot believe it has been a year since Eric woke me up to tell me that Jack Layton had died. It was the last morning of three days in San Francisco. Our weather thus far had been beautiful, but that morning the fog that is famous for the City by the Bay had rolled in and sat heavily over the skyline.

Jack’s death wasn’t a surprise. But it was a shock.

The last time I had seen Jack was at the major rally in Montreal. It was an amazing day, full of hope and possibilities. Having lived through the years in which you could count active members of the NDP in Quebec on two hands, the large room full of chanting enthusiasts was nothing short of a miracle.

Then, while I was in Europe last year Eric told me via Skype that Jack had temporarily stepped down as leader while he dealt with a new challenge. At that point I was surprised as well as shocked. Despite some cynical speculation, we did not see this coming. There were no indications that led any of us to believe that Jack was anything less than the picture of health. He was vibrant, he was joyful, he was optimistic.

And so were we all.

I could not see his announcement to step down until I had returned to Canada. I think I knew then that it wasn’t going to end well. But Jack said he intended to return to the House in the fall, and who was I to doubt that?

I have seen Jack rise up against those who claimed that the NDP would never be a major player in Ottawa, I have seen him bring together a sometimes rowdy caucus and lead them through the wilderness, and I have seen him use his dynamic personality to bring people together through fundraising efforts that were nothing short of genius (that man could have auctioned off air if he had put his mind to it!). But that foggy morning in San Francisco proved that even Jack Layton, like all of us, is beholding to the limitations that are placed upon us by circumstance.

Or is it fate? Or destiny? Jack’s death brought upon a conversation about the civility of politics and the need to bring forth hope and optimism into our nation.

When Eric and I walked through Nathan Phillips Square, with all of those messages in chalk, I felt overwhelmed, but I also felt frustrated. Where was this sentiment when he was alive?  But politics is more than just personality and respect, and so it should be.

It took a long time, though, for the people of Canada to really get Jack. They were suspicious of him and his approach. I cannot count the times I have heard my friends and work colleagues saying “There’s just something about him I don’t trust...”, or calling him “Happy Jack” or comparing him to a used car salesman. They called him “Taliban Jack” until it was determined that maybe, just maybe, talking to your foe may be an actual alternative to just trying to kill him.

Politics have made us all cynical, and when Jack came along with his bicycle, and wind power, and positive attitude many just did not know what to do with him. Somewhere along the way we forgot that some politicians, many actually, are sincere in their efforts and work very hard for their constituents.

I know that some of you are reading this and recognising that my personal attachment and my political stripes inform my opinion of Jack Layton. This is true and I not only do not deny it I accept it and own it.

But don’t misunderstand me, I do not claim to know Jack intimately. Nor do I hold him up as some mythical being, perfect in stature and pure in action. He was a man with faults and idiosyncrasies like all of us. In truth, there were times when he drove me nuts.

But I am very grateful for having had him in my life. And in the life of my country.

He made me realise that politics is more than policy and ideas and government. When he made his first speech as leader it really was the first time I ever felt called into action by a politician. He challenged me to recognise that politics is beyond opinion. It is about action, about bringing communities together, and it is about faith.

Yes. Faith.

Faith that what you do today will matter tomorrow. When Jack first said he was applying for the job of Prime Minister those many years ago he meant it. People laughed at first, but then they, too, realised that he meant it. This faith that Jack taught me informs my teaching every single day. It brings me hope when I am most frustrated with my job. I share this faith with others when I involve myself with projects like the Rainbow Youth Forum. This has allowed me to work with and connect with some amazing people whom I now love.

Politics, Jack taught me, is about the life you lead. At our wedding he toasted Eric and I and gave us the gift of a sealed copy of Canada’s Marriage Act along with a letter that read, in part, “Nothing is as personal as the love between two people. Nothing is as political as the laws that govern our society. Nothing is as courageous as forming a new chapter in the life of a country or a couple.”

Politics is personal. The personal is political.

Finally, I am grateful for Jack because he has been very instrumental in other elements of my life. When he hired Eric as what was then called the Federal Secretary I was able to observe a world that I would never have had the chance to see. I met some amazing people and followed along on some great events. Also, the financial stability that this gave us helped us buy our dream home (often fondly referred to by us as “The House That Jack Built”).  Eric’s work with the NDP had also given us lifelong friendships that we cherish.

We lost a great deal when Jack left us, but we didn’t lose everything. He leaves behind a strong party, a sense of civility and hope, and a reminder that we can be a part of the destiny of this great country. “Never let them tell you it can’t be done!” he reminded us over and over again.

After the state funeral and official evening event, Eric and I walked through the streets of Toronto and took photos of the CN Tower bathed in orange light as a tribute to Jack. We walked by the bike racks that Jack designed and recalled our first ever experience with Jack Layton. It was in the late 1980s and we were trying to get Art Eggleton, Mayor of Toronto at the time, to declare Gay Pride Day. We lost that day. It wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last. Jack walked up to our group and told us he was sorry it didn’t happen. “But don’t worry,” he smiled as he tapped his hand on the railing between the public seating and the council desk “we’ll get it done eventually. Soon.”

And we believed him.

“My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world.”

                                                                                                                        - Jack Layton

Lucky

Greetings from Hagerstown, Maryland! We are about nine driving hours away from home. While I don’t usually have two blog posts so close together I wanted to sum up this particular road trip before I got home.

First off, let me make it absolutely clear that I am very much aware that The Grand Ole Opry is in Nashville and not Memphis as I had indicated in my previous entry. I was up at 5:30 after very little sleep and spent all of my energies on making sure I had spelled Tallahatchie correctly. I hereby commit to avoiding writing my blog entries when I first get up in the morning from now on!

I did learn two things though: 1) I think it is clear that six weeks minus five days of continuous travel is beginning to take its toll on me, and 2) people are actually reading this blog! Thank you to those of you who gently reminded me of the geography of Tennessee so kindly and sweetly. While I occasionally receive some feedback (thank you Celina, Andrea, Marie-Claire, Lise , a few others and especially Lee!) sometimes doing this blog can be an act of faith that there is someone actually opening reading this. No complaints, it’s the nature of this style of writing.

After Eric told me that I moved the Opry to Memphis we headed off to Dollywood. This is an amusement park, much like Canada’s Wonderland, in which Dolly Parton obviously plays a key role being the owner and all. Eric really wanted to see her museum so off we went.

We took in a show that consisted of some of Dolly’s relatives, including her Uncle Bill who helped get her first break, singing her songs for about thirty minutes. It was...interesting. You know when you go to someone’s house and they show off their kid’s incredible talent in singing or acting or painting or whatever and the kid actually sucks so you have to sit there and try to keep your breakfast down and not wince in pain? It was kind of like that but at fifty-four bucks a person. Alvin and the Chipmunks would have done “I Will Always Love You” better.

The museum was your typical collection of posters, awards, costumes and personal mementos that we have seen elsewhere, most notably at the grossly overpriced Loretta Lynn Dude Ranch (that’s right...Dude Ranch!), but it began in an attic set with her entire career piled up around you. A film has Dolly welcoming you in and giving you a brief introduction to her museum. She is the bubbly, laughing, self-deprecating person you all know well on television. She jokes about herself when she talks about trying to lose weight by using a “personal sauna” that was popular in the 1970s. “It made some of me shrink...but as you can tell not all of me.” She ends the video by hooking herself up on one of those old time vibrating belt fat busters that you wrapped around your butt as you stood there and shook and saying “Some people thought I had a great vibrato voice but...” and then singing “I Will Always Love You” in a shaky voice.

You can love or hate Dolly Parton’s music, career or even talent, but anyone who finds her public persona anything but charming and playful is one bitter pill. Of all the country and western personalities we have regarded during these past few days, Dolly Parton is the only one who has consistently and publicly supported the rights of gays and lesbians. She embraces diversity while honouring and proudly referring to her rural Tennessee background. She is an incarnation of the possibility of bridging the progressive and conservative elements in our North American society.

And Eric has admitted to having a girl crush on her. Watching him slowly wander through this building was worth ten times the ticket price.

After Dollywood we headed north to home. Today we drove through a bit of North Carolina and West Virginia, through the state of Virginia, and have stopped half way through the sliver of Maryland that is on our path. Tomorrow we go through Pennsylvania, New York, Ontario and home.

It has been an amazing trip! So many things I haven’t even had the chance to tell you.

Like explaining to the staff at The Acadian Village in Lafayette, Louisiana that there should be a crucifix at the front of the  refurbished church instead of a Protestant cross (“The Acadians were Catholics? Really?”), or how everyone in New Orleans warned us not to go into certain areas to avoid getting robbed or killed (including a charming young woman at the Jason Mraz concert who offered us her phone number in case something bad happened), or how we visited a replica of the Parthenon in Nashville (it was built for the World Exposition of 1897). We visited the site where Patsy Cline’s plane crashed, saw the Church that Martin Luther King, Jr. preached in, and visited the grave of a voodoo Queen in New Orleans.

We ate crawfish, crawfish chowder, jumbo shrimp, shrimp po’boys, blackened catfish, old style chocolate malts, and as much local cuisine as humanly possible. We drank alcohol before noon, got drenched in the remnants of a tropical storm, and walked Beale Street in Memphis, Bourban Street in New Orleans and Music Row in Nashville.

We were startled at how much the Civil Rights Movement came to be a part of our trip at first but have now come to the conclusion that it really was inevitable. We thought people walked slowly in the south because of the humidity, but we now think it is also so that they can get brief gusts of air conditioning from open doors. We learned that it is physically impossible to walk through the French Quarter of New Orleans and not hear music. A train goes through the main street of a small Kentucky town many times throughout the day bringing vehicular and pedestrian to a standstill. Kudzu is an vine originally from Asia that is threatening the ecosystem of many of the southern states. It is aggressive and covers other plants, cars, houses and telephone poles and wires if given half the chance. It is damn creepy too.

All in all, a pretty awesome road trip.

Up next, Eric and I have some family coming in for  a few days and then some prepping for the fall. This Labour Day Weekend we are back on the road to Nova Scotia to bring an end to an era in our lives and help start a new one. More on that later.

For now, I will head off to bed and get some rest in order to prepare for the final leg of this journal. 

Eric was saying today how lucky it was that we can take these kinds of trips. Indeed. And how lucky I am to be able to take these trips with him.

Like the song says...

“Lucky I’m in love with my best friend/Lucky to have been where I have been/Lucky to be coming home again...”

Going to Graceland...Graceland...Graceland, Tennessee

First, some corrections from my last post. We went to Monroeville, Alabama to check out the museum about Truman Capote and Harper Lee and we drove through Biloxi, Mississippi, not Brixton. Brixton is in England and would have made for an interesting road trip from the U.S. to be sure. This is why you should not do blog entries at 5am in the morning (which, incidentally, I am doing at this very moment).

If you have been keeping up with our journey via facebook and twitter you will have seen the photo of the “new” Tallahatchie bridge (build in the early 70s after the original collapsed) which gained fame for the southern gothic song “Ode to Billy Joe”. We spend the better part of two hours searching for this bridge and wandering through the back roads of Mississippi in and around the small town of Money.

What happened next is one of the key reasons why Eric and I do these road trips in the way that we do. A Jason Mraz concert gave us an excuse to go to New Orleans. A road trip there and back provided us an opportunity to explore the country. A song inspired us to explore a specific area and then we stumbled upon history.

As we were tracing the Tallahatchie River we passed an abandoned store with an historic plaque out front. We turned around and read about the Bryant Grocery and Meat Market.

At this place in 1955 Emmet Till, a black 14 year old from Chicago was visiting his family in Money, Mississippi. Knowing that race relations were tense but not having experienced it to the same degree in the north the young boy dared to say “Thanks, Baby.” To the wife of the store owner on his way out. That night he was abducted from the home in which he was staying brutally beaten, killed and his body was dumped in the Tallahatchie River where it was found days later. There was no doubt who had done it and the accused was found innocent within a few hours of deliberation. A member of the jury said that it would have taken less time but they members of the jury had stopped to have some soda. A few years, within the safety of double jeopardy laws in the U.S., the accused would openly admitted to having killed the young boy.

Emmett’s mother insisted on two things: that her son’s body be returned to her in Chicago and that he have an open casket at his funeral so that all can see the results of racial violence. The pictures disgusted and angered the nation and the case became another flashpoint of the Civil Rights Movement.

Today, however, it is almost forgotten. But if you go to Money, Mississippi you will find plaques marking where the story begins and where Emmett’s body was found. The County of Tallatchie issued a formal apology to the Till family in 2007.

It was sobering, sitting in the car as the cicadas buzzed about us and looking at this unassuming abandoned building that had witnessed the start of such violence and upheaval. We drove away feeling as if we had experienced an accidental pilgrimage of sorts. We had made a last minute decision to go to the Rosa Parks Museum and had visited many sites by this time with racism and the Civil Rights Movement as a backdrop.

Then we headed off to Memphis and the National Civil Rights Museum.

Built around the Lorraine Motel in which Martin Luther King Jr. had been assassinated, this museum traces the experience of the black community in the United States from slavery up until the assassination. Rosa Parks, Emmett Till, the March on Washington, the March from Selma to Montgomery and other people and events were all there. Every story you have ever heard about this movement, and many others you haven’t, are clearly articulated here. It begins with a 30 minute video about the last weeks up to the assassination that I found to be incredibly powerful. So much so that I bought a copy that I will make available for Glebe Collegiate when I return this fall. Afterwards, you follow the path through all of the different narratives as you make your way to the final portion of the museum. The preserved motel room of Martin Luther King, Jr. and a window that allowed you to look out onto the spot where he was assassinated. Having seen the photos of that day throughout my life, I was unprepared for the power of being present in this spot. They have replace the pavement slab in which his blood had stained so it was not gruesome, but it was as if time had stood still in this place.

Afterwards, we went across the street to where they had preserved portions of James Earl Ray’s apartment and outlined the bringing of justice to the assassin. The rifle is there as are the binoculars and other important pieces of evidence.

Upon our arrival in Memphis we were startled by the question that the desk clerk asked of us. “Are y’all here for Elvis Week?”

Elvis Week?

Eric and I had managed to book trip to Memphis at the 35^th Anniversary of the death of Elvis without knowing it. Do your research, ladies and gentlemen! We went to Graceland as early as possible on Monday morning in order to avoid most of the crowds. And we did.

I have to say that the audio tour to Graceland is probably the best I have ever experienced. There is the typical neutral narrator voice, but it is interspersed with archival recordings, Elvis’ and Lisa Marie’s recollections and feelings about the place and, of course, his music. For instance, we hear a recording of Elvis and his parents singing around the piano while visiting the living room. I admit I was a little sceptical when we drove through the gates of Graceland with “Welcome To My World” playing in my ear, but by the time I left the Meditation Garden in which Elvis is buried I found myself moved by the experience.  I saw the room with the three televisions, the racquetball room and, of course, the famous jungle room. It was all very impressive and pure 1970s. You are not allowed upstairs. They say it is because it was private and they want to respect that in Elvis’s memory, but I suspect it is because he apparently died in the bathroom and they don’t want it to become a shrine.

Next we visited his two planes and the vast collections of costumes, memorabilia and artefacts. It was definitely a full day at Graceland. By the time we left, Elvis Week was in full swing and you couldn’t wave your arm without hitting an impersonator.

Afterwards, we went to Sun Records where the incredibly preserved recording studio is still in use. I stood where Elvis stood when he first recorded his version of “That’s All Right and touched the microphone he used.

I have never been an Elvis fan. As I indicated in an earlier blog I am of the generation that remembers his death and the aftermath of Elvis sightings and over use of impersonators. He became a bit of cartoon as I entered into my teens. As I grew older I appreciated his talent, but not much more. While I won’t be purchasing his entire library anytime soon I can safely say that Eric and I have achieved a whole new level of respect for the man, his talent and his achievements. Putting aside the excess and the seventies costumes for Las Vegas, what Elvis did for music, the blending of country and gospel and the defining of rock and roll is nothing short of genius.

He is also a tragic figure. It seems that by the end he was a very lonely man trapped within the confines of his own successes and failures.

After Memphis we made our way to Nashville. Our first night was spent at the world famous Grand Ole Opry! After the  prerequisite photo taken with a Minnie Pearl impersonator we grabbed our seats and sat down for a show that was designed for everyone. The Minnie Pearl lookalike warmed up the crowd and then we saw a video of the history of the Opry. Then we had a line up that included 91 year old Little Jimmy Dickens who has been with the show for 64 years. He was hysterical, bringing a vaudeville act that has all but disappeared. Some gems include: “My neck is really sore. I was putting toilet water in behind my ears and then the toilet seat fell on me.” “Another reason why my neck is stiff is because of the medication that doctors now give men my age. You gotta make sure you swallow those blue pills fast!”

After the old country portion, the cheesy country portion and the funny country portion came the new country portion. This was Eric Church, who is apparently famous and a hit with the ladies despite being hidden behind dark glasses and a cap. There was great deal of screaming, guitars, and twang and then it was over.

While not a country fan, I had a great time. The Opry really is a must-do in Memphis.

The next day we visited the Country Music Hall of Fame. This is a great museum that covers the history of the genre from its origins in the back roads and mountain tops of the south to the current day. Old video footage from the 1920s was particularly cool. I realised that I actually like some of the older stuff from Hank Williams to the late 1970s.

Country music ruled in my house. My father did not allow any changes to the radio station so I had to wait until I had my own radio, and Kamloops to have a rock radio station, for me to listen to what I thought I should be hearing. I grew up with a steady diet of Dolly Parton, Kenny Rogers, Marty Robbins, Tammy Wynette and Loretta Lynn among others. When I got older I rejected the music as part of the teen rebellion that we all go through. Later on I would discover Patsy Cline and others and like them, but I never connected with the “new country” that has since developed.

This became clear as we watched a video that outlined country music’s development through media. After about forty-five minutes of early Hank Williams and Carter Family, various variety shows and Hee Haw, Eric and I both turned away as soon as Garth Brooks came in dancing.

That night we had dinner at the world-famous Blue Bird Cafe where we saw Australia’s new hit maker O’Shea and a new duo called Troubled Annie.  It was very intimate. The performers sat in a circle in among the tables. We sat maybe five feet away. I kept making eye contact with the female member of O’Shea who later thanked Eric and I for our high level of energy. Also in the audience was Conway Twitty’s son who was called upon to tell a story or two.

We left Nashville the next day feeling we had taken full advantage of our time there.

Yesterday we drove through the incredible sights of the Smoky Mountains. This brought us briefly through Georgia and North Carolina and then back into Tennessee. For a trip that was ostensibly a journey to New Orleans and back, we have managed to spend the most time in Tennessee.

Last night we spent the night in Gatlinburg, which is a touristy place to say the least. This “Gateway to the Smoky Mountains” consists of Ripley’s Believe It Or Not attractions, funhouses, overpriced restaurants and overpriced parking lots. It’s like Niagara Falls but with less culture! Because nothing says welcome to the glory of mother earth quite like overindulgence and high-priced amusements.

Today, we are off to Dollywood. We are going to pay an amusement park entrance fee so we can visit the Dolly Parton museum and then leave. If you are experiencing disbelief that Eric and I, two well educated professional men, could make such a ridiculous decision, then may I take this opportunity to remind you that we did the same thing last year at Universal Studios. This time we won’t be going through our primary interest at breakneck speed like last year!

After Dollywood it’s the beginning of the long journey home.

Riding the Bus, Seeing the French Quarter, and Looking for Lucy.

Eric wanted to see Mammoth Caves, so we stopped at Cave City, Kentucky at spent the night in a community that came together as a tourist trap to surround nature’s glory. It’s the American Way!

In the interest of full self disclosure I will confess at this point that I have a slight case of claustrophobia.  Not the serious kind where you break out into a sweat whenever you are in any kind of closed in spaces, but I don’t like feeling trapped and I don’t like having to crawl through tight spaces. I agreed to go because Eric really wanted to go with me and with a name like Mammoth Caves the place has to be pretty big, right?

Somewhat right. Mammoth, you see, refers to the fact that there are so many caves under the ground in this area. It does refer to height or grandeur. This is too bad as height and grandeur were pretty much what I was counting on.

It wasn’t an onerous hike by any stretch of the imagination. Between the metal door that marks the “New Entrance” of the caves (built in the 1920s) and the metal stairs and walkways that you must stay on throughout the visit you are pretty far removed from any true spelunking experience. Nevertheless, there were times when I had to bend over in order to get through a very low ceiling or bend around a rock outcropping. It was during these times that I reminded myself that I survived the Christian catacombs of Rome and the underground cistern at Mycenae in Greece. I also reminded myself to breathe...and not poop. Every time Eric looked behind to make sure I was okay I would smile and say “Isn’t this fun?”

After Kentucky, we found ourselves in Alabama and the small town of Wetumpka. It is here that they filmed many of the scenes in one of our favourite movies, Big Fish. It is no secret that I enjoy visiting the sites of television programs and movies. I will often punctuate my blogs with these visits and post them on facebook or on twitter. But, while they do interest me, these are mere excuses to get off the main highway and explore the country side. As Eric and I went in search of Wetumpka, we enjoyed a very unique countryside where ramshackle trailers share the lush scenery with old plantation houses. Some places are abandoned and others probably should be soon. Still others are in pristine condition and it is obvious that the owner, whether low or high income, has taken great pride in their home. Lush pastures are interrupted by marshland and punctuated by lone trees that spread their limbs far and wide.

By the time we arrived in Alabama the humidity was something we had never experienced before. It is all encompassing. When I took the photo of the house in Wetumpka I thought it was blurry, but the humidity had fogged up the lens on my camera.

We moved on to Montgomery and visited the Rosa Parks Museum. This was an incredible experience. You know the story just like we did when we walked in the front door, but this museum took great pains to contextualise the situation for us. It told us that, while segregation was an overarching issue, nothing humiliated the black community more than the segregation policy on the busses in Montgomery. A black person was required to sit or stand in the back. If they were sitting in the front section of the bus and no seats were left available, a black person was required to give up his or her seat to a white person and move to the back of the bus.  Of all the racist policies in this city, this one galled the most.

The museum is situated at the spot where Rosa Parks got on the bus. After a brief film we were led into a room with a bus in it. As we stood outside the bus, we watched as the events unfolded on the bus in an brilliant use of film being shown out the windows. We watch, in real time as Rosa Parks enters the bus, sits, refuses to give up her seat and is eventually arrested. We watch the tension rise, we experience the awkwardness of waiting for the police to arrive, and we bear witness as she is led off the bus.

There were other aspects to this museum, but I must say that this part is the one that I carry with me.

After Montgomery we headed over to Monroe, Alabama, birthplace of Harper Lee and where Truman Capote spent part of his childhood. The two were friends and used each other as inspirations for characters in their novels.  Lee was the basis for Idabel in Other Voices, Other Rooms while Capote was Dill in To Kill A Mockingbird. The highlight of this place was the county courthouse from which the set form the movie of Mockingbird was based. In fact, it is identical. I have to admit, as an English teacher, this was like a sacred space for me. At one point I turned away from the witness box and looked up into the second floor gallery and could almost see Jem and Scout looking through the banister.

I did have one complaint as I left Montgomery. There were so many details about the private and professional lives of Harper Lee and Truman Capote, but absolutely nothing about Capote’s homosexuality. Nothing about his partner of many decades. Nothing about the other loves of his life. While this did not necessarily surprise me, I was still disappointed in such blatant...editing...in 2012.

Knowing we were going to be spending a more time in Tennessee, we sped through that state and into Louisiana. We took the scenic route through Brixton and enjoyed the Gulf Coast, along with its palm trees, fine old homes, and casinos.

New Orleans is a place unto itself. It really is. With its Spanish, French and Southern history it is truly one of the most unique cities I have ever visited. The French Quarter is beautiful, to be sure, but this is not why people go there. They go there to party. Every night Bourbon Street is closed off and it looks like on of those crappy teen party movies from the eighties. Drunk young people being stupid. Eric and I were not fans. We have no issue with drinking, or being young, or even being stupid. But having all three at the same time and involving about five hundred people at every city block it was just too intense.

During the day, though, we enjoyed a tour of St. Louis Cemetery #1 and wandering through the streets full of antique stores, art galleries, and wrought iron balconies. We found the St. Louis New Orleans Cathedral to be quite unique and found the people to be incredibly polite and welcoming. We had beignets and frozen coffee at Cafe du Monde, ate gumbo and crawfish, and dined at the premiere jazz club Snug Harbor on Frenchman Street.  We also had a great time at the Jason Mraz concert. You may recall that this concert was the excuse we used to have this road trip.

My only real disappointment with New Orleans was the fact that the St. Charles Streetcar was not in service and was replaced by a bus. Ugh.

We left New Orleans and headed towards Mississippi, but not before visiting the Destrehan Plantation. This is very well preserved and Interview with a Vampire did some filming here.  What was most interesting about this place was the garconniere. A garconniere, we learned, was where the plantation owner placed his sons when they reached the age of 14. Now considered a man, these garcons would have a place of their own to whatever they pleased just outside of the family home.

Something for you parents out there to consider.

We made our way to Natchez, Mississippi where we stayed the night at a beautiful bed and breakfast called The Burn.

Natchez was a picturesque little town on the shores of the Mississippi River. We ate at Biscuit and Blues where we had the best biscuits known to man. Sweet Alabama and Succulent Gerogia Peach Juice, it was a biscuit truly worthy of God! I had something else to eat but I cannot for the life of me remember what it was because it only interrupted my serious attempt at eating six biscuits in a row. 

Unfortunately, Eric was in the way so I only had three.

A wierd thing happened while we stayed at The Burn. We checked in and found our room in the converted garconniere (!) and settled in. While doing this I happened to look out the window and see a small girl walk through the garden out back. When we left a moment later she was gone but I didn’t really think much of it. That night I had a terrible sleep. I was restless and woke up often feeling anxious. I kept dreaming of being under mosquito netting. I had seen a lot of netting at Destrehan which was used to protect against Malaria and Yellow Fever so I figured it had gotten stuck in my brain somehow. At one point I woke myself up, along with Eric, by calling out “Where’s Lucy? What happened to Lucy?”. Eric told me to go back to sleep.

The next morning we went to the main house for breakfast. While waiting for it to be served we looked around the house and admired the antique furniture, the photos and the books. One photo held the picture of a little girl whose name was Lucy Walworth and who died of Yellow Fever.

Now...

Any girl could have wandered into that garden. The back yard was quite large so it is not impossible that she was simply out of sight when I left the room shortly after seeing her.

I have a vivid imagination so the netting dreams could very well be about seeing the mosquito netting earlier in the day.

And...I suppose the Lucy call out could have been about Lucille Ball. But I gotta say that that just doesn’t feel right.

I don’t know for sure what happened, or if it is just a weird set of circumstances. What I do know is that Eric just dropped the subject and didn’t encourage further conversation so I know that, at the very least, it was odd.

You decide.

We left Natchez, and Lucy, and headed north to Tennessee. We had a date with the Grand Ole Opry, but first we needed to seek out a famous bridge, stumble across an historic gas station, and bear witness to an assassination.

Baby, If You’ve Ever Wondered...Wondered Whatever Became of Me.

So much has happened since I last wrote a blog I find it hard to believe it has only been a week!

Andrea and I had an amazing time on our last day at Lucy Fest. We did a cemetery tour where we learned about the past denizens of Jamestown, we attended a live taping of three shows for National Public Radio and we partook in Olympic glory during the Lucylympics!

But the day started out with a latté, an LA Cinnamon Bread (two slices of cinnamon toast cooked liked French toast with a heavy covering of butter, maple glaze, and two bullets to shoot yourself in the head if the breakfast doesn’t kill you), and another encounter with Big Ass Poster Lady.

You may recall our past adventure with Big Ass Poster Lady when she disapproved of our rendition of “Friendship” as sung by Lucy and Ethel. Anyways, she comes up to Andrea and says something like “I feel I may have misrepresented myself to you yesterday and came across in the wrong manner blah, blah, blah and I want to apologise for that yadda yadda yadda I want to represent Lucy well and I just ever so love everybody yak yak yak can we now just be sister friends for the rest of our very lives now?”

I admit I am paraphrasing a bit here. I didn’t hear all of it because she wasn’t including me in her apology. In fact, I wasn’t even acknowledged during this oh-so-precious Big Ass Poster Lady moment. Andrea, bless her, was gracious and kind and gave her a hug and said not to worry about it.

Call me a cynic, but here is what I think happened. At the end of the workshop we told the lovely teenager in charge that we had some fun and she admitted that it probably could have been better. It was mentioned that her “helper” (BAPL) wasn’t all that helpful and we recounted our experience. I think the lovely teenager (who has a name, I swear, but cannot remember it) told Big Ass Poster Lady (who has a name, I swear, but I don’t give a crap) that the blonde lady was unimpressed. Worried that Andrea was going to talk to an organisor she made sure that little bonding moment happened. I think it was about as sincere as William Shatner’s version of “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds”.

Think I am being cynical? Wait. The story is not quite over.

After the Beautiful Apology Moment was over and Andrea and I sat at our table wondering if my breakfast was going to kill me, our new friend (BAPL) comes up to us and asks Andrea (I had, by this time, accepted my obvious invisibility) if she could bum a ride to Buffalo.

Andrea said no and we left.

I cannot tell you how much of a hoot it was to partake in the chocolate wrapping and grape stomping competitions. We had had a chance to speak with the president of the organisation that organises this event and we recognised him as the guy in charge of cranking the wheel that kept the conveyor belt going on the chocolate factory set. No job too small, no person too important in this group. I suspect he is now walking around Jamestown with one arm twice the size of the others.

We did not win the chocolate wrapping competition, despite the fact that I cheated at least twice, but that was okay. I am not known for my quiet disposition, and Andrea and I share similar attributes in this department, so it can be safe to say that we were...well...loud. I believe we became a bona fide hit with the crowd when I started throwing the chocolates overhand towards the end of the conveyor belt.

The team in charge of the chocolate factory, after hundreds of teams with either serious competition in mind or just giggling and posing for pictures, found us to be, in their words, refreshing. The president said “You’re coming back next year, right?”

Not next year...but I shall one day return. Someday.

After that we headed over to the grape stomping. There were three of us in competition. One uber-fan young lady who had her own costume and a serious approach to grape stomping. I felt bad for her because she was in competition with Andrea, the Great Dane, and Scott , The Great Gutsby.  Also, our feet were bigger than hers and she desperately needed a cookie or something or light would soon shine through her.

Well, she won. Andrea came in second and I looked freaking awesome. I believe I was the only one to stick out his tongue just like Lucy did and Andrea and I, without any prior practice, hiked up our skirts and did the dance in tandem. We were a sight to behold. Kind of like Riverdance but without the talent...or the shoes.

If you want to see our escapades you can check out the pictures and video on my facebook page and there are some photos on my twitter feed.

We eventually met up with Eric and Carlos and the girls and had a nice dinner together before heading off to bed.

Laugh all you will and call me a geek if you want to, but I truly believe that if she were alive today, Lucille Ball would have been proud of Andrea and I. Then she would have politely asked us to leave.

The next day Erica and I packed up the car, said goodbye to the family, and headed west. We had no real plan of where we would go but we ended up in Cleveland.

Yes. Cleveland.

Why you might ask? Because that is where Scott wanted to see the house from A Christmas Story.

Starring Peter Billingsly and Gavin Macleod as The Old Man, this is my favourite Christmas movie 

ever. Every year I have to watch the Alistair Sim version of “A Christmas Carol” and this movie. It is also what I show my English classes each year.

A guy found out the house was up for sale and bought it, refurbished it and made it out to look just like the way it was in the movie. Some scenes were shot on a soundstage and others in Hamilton and Toronto, but many scenes were shot on this house. Most of the exteriors were shot in Cleveland too. The woman who was our guide was just as enthusiastic as I was and the house was quite interactive. You could wander about and check out the lifebuoy soap in the bathroom next to the Little Orphan Annie decoder pin, the boys’ bedroom, and the infamous leg lamp in the front living room window.

If you have not seen the movie yet, you now know what you need to look for when you finally do see it this year.

Eric was very patient with me (as usual), but he did draw the line at putting on the bunny outfit despite my repeated pleas. I found this to be somewhat unreasonable as I could not obviously fit into the suit myself. I mean...it eventually became obvious.

After Cleveland we found ourselves in Cincinnati where we immediately made our way to the now abandoned Cincinnati Enquirer Building. This building became famous as the Flynn Building which housed the offices of WKRP in Cincinnati. It was one of the rare times when Eric was as interested in a tv sight as I was. We giggled as we remembered, masking tape as walls, an upbeat jingle for a funeral home (“Ferryman! Ferrymen! He’s the man with the plot! The man with the plan!”), and turkeys that couldn’t fly.

The old building is going to find a new life as a hotel that will serve the new casino being built. I wonder if Eric and I will ever stay there?

Eric and I moved on from WKRP and Ohio and entered into Kentucky. We were well on our way to New Orleans, but before that we had to deal with Mammoth Caves, a Big Fish, and another great movie.

I Love Lucy

Greetings from Jamestown, New York and the Lucille Ball Comedy Festival!

After a few days of rest and relaxation on my porch I packed up my suitcase again and headed south of the border with my good friend Andrea.  After a brief but dramatic moment involving red peppers at customs we gleefully headed towards the birthplace and childhood home of Lucille Ball.

Yes, we had shirts made. They were black and sexy and had “Lucy, multum habetis ut explicandis!” written on it. Any true Lucy fan will recognise Ricky’s most quoted line in there somewhere.

Today we did a bus tour of the town, a lunch with Greg Oppenheimer (son of the creator of I Love Lucy) in which we heard about some of the backstage stories of the series, an acting workshop where we re-enacted the Lucy and Ethel scene where they sing their famous song about friendship while tearing each other’s dresses apart, and had a great dinner while watching an originally scripted show that highlighted some of the most famous scenes from the series.

To say that we had a great time is a gross understatement. I think we giggled constantly from when I parked the car to when I opened up my laptop to write this.

During our rehearsal in “Comedy College” Andrea and I may have gotten into a little bit of trouble. Neither of us actually remembered the scene all that well so we decided to block it our own way. The lovely teenager who seemed to be in charge was fine with this, but T. Faye Griffin, an actress who has a brief IMDB profile and a creative web page, was not impressed. Not at all. She introduced herself by saying that she had run a series of classes for the past week and “boy did we miss something”.  She then explained that she was here to help the teenager and that was it.

When she came up to us and saw our work she first told us it was wrong. We knew that, and we told her it was because we could only remember fragments of the original scene. So...here we were making some decisions and hoping for the best! Isn’t that peppy? Isn’t that swell? Isn’t that just the very spirit of performance?

No. According to T. Fay Griffin it was wrong. “Don’t mind me,” she says to us. “There is a big picture of my face on the outside of the street because they hired me to come here.” I suppose, with Andrea and I having had some experience on stage and in front of the camera, we had a look that made her feel like we didn’t really give a crap about her big-ass picture out on a street in Jamestown, New York. “But you two just go ahead and do your post-modern deconstruction,” she said as she backed away from us. Then she started doing that jazz hands thing people do when they are trying to tell you something doesn’t matter to them when it is clearly pissing them off. “I love what you’re doing! I love it!”

So we did what we wanted, everybody else loved it, and the teenager asked us twice if we could perform our version for the closing ceremonies on Sunday afternoon. By this time Miss Big Ass Picture was nowhere to be seen. So much for being helpful. Maybe being helpful was answering her phone yet again while people were performing their scenes.

I still feel back for the teen ager. She was lovely and was obviously a volunteer working her dear little heart out and being saddled with Miss Big Ass Picture because the organisers wanted their money’s worth.

After a dinner where we watched some pretty good impersonators act (the actress playing Ethel seemed to channel Vivian Vance!), we took part in the Opening Ceremonies of the Lucy Olympics.  I have decided that I shall one day return to this event with a team and own the Lucy Podium. Let’s face it, with events like grape stomping and chocolate wrapping, this is the only kind of Olympics I have half a chance at winning!

Who is signing up for my team?

All pop culture cheesiness aside, I have to say that this festival is very important to the fair city of Jamestown. Certainly it is a money maker, but I really do think it is more than this. As I watched the torch go down the major street in town with a police escort, as I toured the city and saw the murals (one in progress), and as I spoke with locals about having an invasion of Lucy-lovers come to town,  there was a sense of pride of their favourite daughter and her husband. But there also seemed to be a sense of history, of a very famous person who became a touchstone for the time in which she lived. She was not just a star, she was the teenager that danced at the ballroom that was destroyed by fire when she was twenty. She used to go to the amusement park that was attended by ten thousand people annually at one time but was eventually lost to a tornado. She was a girl who started a drama club in her high school.

Lucy is an icon, a product, and a tourist attraction, this is absolutely true. But she is also personal for these people.

Tomorrow we have a cemetery tour, more Lucy Games, and a live radio show featuring original work showcasing the series and My Favourite Husband, the radio show that inspired it.

Then Eric and Andrea’s family (Carlos, Sofie and Kipi) join us in Jamestown. On Sunday we go our separate ways as Eric and I begin our road trip south.