The Decline of St. Louis

There was a progression associated with St. Louis.  People from less fortunate circumstances came to St. Louis to get jobs.  These jobs were in manufacturing enterprises that were numerous in St. Louis.  Whole families worked in the same company because the HR people knew that they were good workers.

They came from smaller towns in the region and even from foreign countries, because this was where the opportunities were.  As life progressed, some rose in the ranks of the company, or found better jobs in other companies.  They received higher wages and found a place in the newer developments, in the city at first and then in the county.

They left the older houses and neighborhoods behind as they were "movin' on up."  Their vacancies were filled by others who came to take the jobs that were opening because of promotions and turnover.  These newcomers came to reside in the houses that were more affordable in the older neighborhoods.

Then they moved on, and a new wave came in.  This cycle was repeating continuously until the jobs went away.  It could have been "globalization" as in the NAFTA, where jobs went to Mexico, China, and other parts of the world.  Manufacturing moved away.  The waves of people stopped coming for work. Now they came for welfare.

Complicit in this scenario are the demands of the workers via their unions.  Higher wages and labor cost made the decision to relocate manufacturing easy to make. Why would I incur the higher cost of labor in St. Louis when I could relocate the work to areas that had significantly lower cost? 

The situation was obscured by the higher paying jobs that the better educated workforce could perform.  The bar was set too high for the entry-level manufacturers.  Older, lower rent houses and areas went without tenants, were not maintained, and became uninhabitable.

At first the void was filled by the welfare seekers, but eventually they, too, vacated the area.  So, now there are about 25,000 vacant lots and houses, and a large number of others on which structures nearing collapse are located.  The stream of new occupants dwindled away.

Could it be possible that the President's tariffs are a way of turning the tide back to where manufacturing will once again be a "draw" for people to come to St. Louis, build or rehabilitate houses that are affordable for working people to get started up the ladder. I say St. Louis but it could be true for all the rust-belt cities in the country, especially those North and East of St. Louis.

Blast from the Past

Just now, sitting here in my recliner, working the AM Sudoku puzzle, into my mind flooded a memory.  It was 8500 Oriole Avenue, Saint Louis, in the early summer. A motorcycle policeman was sitting on his cycle, in the street, off to the side in the shade of our sycamore tree.  

He was big, in uniform, with the addition of black shiny, leather leg protectors that covered his legs from the knees to the ankles.  They had silver buckles on adjusting straps at the top and bottom.

Several of us kids, we were all little, maybe 4 or 5 years old, gathered in a bunch around him.  We may have been asking him questions.  I think we must have been intrigued with this apparition, which none of us had seen before.

He remained there a while, observing the intersection.  Then, probably due to a lack of action, he kick-started his motorcycle and left.  We were impressed.  That was 80 plus years later, never before recalled.

New Year's Eve Hero

 

It was New Year's Eve, some years ago, when Gene and his wife came over from next door to celebrate the coming of the new year.  They'd come over to let their daughter entertain her friends at their home with a party.

We were celebrating with a drink, telling stories, and jokes and generally passing the time in a quiet sort of way, when their daughter came to the back door.  She said, "Dad, can you come home, things are getting out of hand."

Gene got up immediately, didn't ask any questions, and left.  I went with him to back him up if necessary.  

We walked into bedlam; loud music, spilled drinks, knots of kids standing around talking and laughing.  There were many more than their daughter had invited.  I heard one inebriated young fellow say to his buddy, trying to be cool, "This sucks, let's go to Julie's house.  I heard they have lots of beer there."  His buddy said, "We're at Julie's."  To which the first fellow simply nodded.

Anyway, Gene was heroic in his action to save his house and belongings.  He simply walked through the crowd calmly saying, "The party's over." He kept repeating this and, in just a few minutes, the house was empty except for his daughter and us.  

Not one argument from anyone, the crowd got in their cars and left.  I was astounded.  And I was glad I wasn't out on the roads.

Silas Marner Character Sketch and Summary

It is early in the 19th century. My name is Silas Marner, I’m a weaver, and a devout member of a small Calvinist congregation in Lantern Yard, Northern England.

I was falsely accused of stealing the congregation's funds while watching over the very ill deacon. Two pieces of evidence implicated me: a pocket-knife, and the discovery of the bag formerly containing the money in my house. William Dane, framed me, I gave my pocket- knife to William shortly before the crime was committed.

The woman I was to marry broke our engagement and married William instead.  I left Lantern Yard and the city for a rural area where I was unknown and settled near the village of Raveloe, where I lived alone, choosing to have only minimal contact with the residents beyond my work as a linen weaver. I devoted myself to my craft and became addicted to the gold coins I earned and hoarded.

One foggy night, my two bags of gold were stolen by Dunstan ("Dunsey") Cass, a dissolute younger son of Squire Cass, the town's leading landowner. On discovering the theft, I became deeply depressed.  Dunsey immediately disappeared, but the community took little notice of this disappearance since he vanished several times before.

Godfrey Cass, Dunsey's elder brother, also harbors a secret past. He is married to, but estranged from, Molly Farren, an Opium addict, working-class woman living in another town. This secret prevents Godfrey from marrying Nancy Lammeter, a young middle-class woman.

On a winter's night, Molly tried to make her way to Squire Cass’s New Year's Eve party with her two-year-old girl to announce that she is Godfrey's wife. On the way, she collapsed in the snow and lost consciousness.

The child wandered to my house. I followed the child's tracks in the snow and discovered the woman, dead. I went to the party for help, Godfrey headed outdoors to the scene of the accident, but didn’t tell anyone that Molly was his wife. Molly's death was convenient for Godfrey and Nancy.

I kept the child and named her Eppie, after my deceased mother and sister, both were named Hephzibah. Eppie changed my life completely. I was robbed of my gold but think that it was returned to me symbolically in the form of the golden-haired child.

Godfrey Cass is now free to marry Nancy but continues to conceal the fact of his previous marriage—and child—from her. However, he aided me in caring for Eppie with occasional financial gifts. More practical help and support in bringing up the child was provided by Dolly Winthrop, my kindly neighbor.

Sixteen years passed, and Eppie grew up to be the pride of the village. She has a strong bond with me, I found a place in rural society and a purpose in life. Meanwhile, Godfrey and Nancy mourn their own childless state, after the death of their baby.

Eventually, the skeleton of Dunstan Cass—still clutching my gold—was found at the bottom of the stone quarry near my home, and the gold was duly returned to me.

Godfrey confessed to Nancy that Molly was his first wife and that Eppie is his child. They offered to raise her, but Eppie refused, saying, "I can't think o' no happiness without him."

(Credit a Web Sites for basic information)

Once Upon an Eclipse

 

We four, Maggie, Andrea, Theresa, and I, arrived at the Jackson County Indiana Fairgrounds at about 1PM on April 8, 2024, in plenty of time to get settled before the moon began its eclipse of the sun.  

The day was perfect for viewing, very few clouds in the sky and the temperature was about 68 degrees Fahrenheit.  We found a good spot and sat in the grass looking up through proper viewing glasses.

The fairground unfolds off IN250, just southeast of Brownstown Indiana, a relatively short distance south of Indianapolis.  The place is a sprawling complex complete with a dirt track speedway for auto racing.  There are numerous buildings and shelters, plus a series of paved lanes that provide access to temporary booths during events, the major one being the county fair.  

We opted to park along one of these lanes just off of, and parallel to, the highway.  There were scant few others who had the same idea.  Perhaps four other vehicles all parked apart from each other with a lot of space in between.  We were in the sunshine, the others picked shady spots in groves of trees.

Along with we few spectators were a couple of tractors mowing the grass of the fairground’s areas adjacent to us, but further off the highway.  The drone of these tractors was an undercurrent of noise on an otherwise very quiet afternoon.  Interestingly, they only shut off for a few minutes at totality.  The traffic on the highway was minimal, almost non-existent.  It was as if we were alone.

At a little before 2PM the moon began crossing between us and the sun. The change in light was hardly noticeable.  Then, over the next hour or so, it was as if an entire day was passing, as we were nearing totality.

It was about 2:30 when the first of us, Andrea, noticed the change.  She saw it and without saying anything out loud, made sure we all looked to see it.  

Down in a grove of trees, in which no cars were parked, a fog had begun swirling.  Not tightly gathered like a tornado, more like a lazy fog rolling in from the ocean in San Francisco, and as the daylight dimmed in the eclipse, the area enclosed by fog grew and the fog became denser, until at 3PM, precisely the time of totality, it parted.  

The sun disappeared, seemingly suddenly, and it grew dark, as dark as a late evening sky.  Around the horizon for 360 degrees, it was lighted, as if it was dawn.

The fog didn’t disappear but opened to reveal a group of picnickers seated on blankets on the ground, enjoying each other’s company.  There were horse-drawn wagons standing nearby, the horses still hitched in harness to the wagons, were just standing there, patiently, or stretching their necks down to nibble the grass.

There were, maybe, twelve or so individuals plus a few excited kids who were running around chasing each other.  The adults were casually seated or standing, holding plates of food or containers of drinks.  They were in the middle of a picnic to celebrate the day.  Their actions were animated, they seemed to be enjoying the event. 

Without warning, two of the male picnickers faced off aggressively.  They were obviously confronting each other, and their agitation was growing.  One pulled a pistol out of his pocket and shot the other at point blank range!  

The victim was thrown backwards by the impact of the bullet and lay motionless on the ground.  The others ran to him to attend to him, but it was made obvious by their reactions that the bullet had inflicted a mortal wound.  As they knelt by the victim, or stood in silent sadness, the fog re-enveloped the group, and hid them from view.

It was Theresa's first instinct to run over there and try to help but as she stirred to get up, Maggie gave her a disapproving look that stopped her.  I think Maggie understood that it was shades we were seeing, not real people.

As the moon passed the sun and the day became brighter, the fog slowly dissipated and was gone, along with the picnickers, the victim, and the shooter.  There was no trace of them.  We went over and looked.  Not a napkin, chicken bone, crust of bread, nothing remained.  The grass, however, was matted as if a blanket had been on it.

All the way home we tried to talk about what we saw but none of it made any sense.  We were mostly quiet in the car, each dealing with the apparition as best they could.  The odd thing was it stifled our conversation about the eclipse as well.   In fact, we never really discussed and admitted to each other what we'd seen.  What we think we saw was more profound than the eclipse itself.   

When we got back to Louisville, I researched the news from the date of the last eclipse to occur in that area.  It was in 1900, there was nothing in the Louisville paper about it.  My curiosity, however, was piqued.  A few days later I went to the Indiana State Capital archives in Indianapolis and did some more research.

There was an article in the now defunct Jackson County Dispatch, just a small piece, reporting a killing at a picnic at the Jackson County Fairgrounds during the eclipse of 1900.  The shooting took place, and the victim identified as John Brown of Brownstown, (no relation.) Interestingly, none of the witnesses would identify the shooter.  That was the only reference. 

An old man, who had noticed my rummaging of old news articles, was looking over my shoulder.  Although he was not trying to be impolite, I cleared my throat and stirred impatiently.

He said, “I’m sorry, but I see you're interested in John Brown’s shooting.  I was nowhere near it, never knew the man, nor any of the others at the picnic.  No one was charged with it.  One man went about town, pestering a lot of others with what he said was his side of the story.  He never really confessed but everyone who was at that picnic knew what happened. They say that John Brown’s body may be moldering in the grave, but he brings them all back to the fairgrounds from time to time, to remind them of what happened.  He does it when there’s an unusual event going on, like an eclipse.  And anyone who sees the picnic just may see it again.” I hope not.

 And now, as I think about the old man at the archive, and his strong denial of any involvement, I can’t help but wonder if he was involved in some way.  He certainly wanted to tell me that he had nothing to do with it.  Maybe that was he.

The Revelations of Manhunt (S,IAS)

 

The series, Manhunt, is an excellent telling of what happened to the perpetrators of the assassination of Abraham Lincoln.  Previously, I had the opinion that Jefferson Davis was a penitent fugitive but now I see the possibility of a totally different scenario.  One that makes him, and others, defiant and plotting the continuation of the conflict.  He was one of many who did not admit defeat at Appomattox.

“The South” was an incredibly large agricultural complex, which was made even more profitable by using slave labor.  Slaves, as a source of low-cost labor, were embedded into the cost structure of that industry and they were also dominated by whites.  The prevailing attitude was to make sure that slaves remain subjugated and powerless.  

The excesses of profits from agriculture and social dominance over the slaves were deeply embedded in the psychology of those in power.  It would take incredible force to take this structure down, and it did.  The Civil War lasted four years and cost both sides a great deal in terms of casualties, not to mention the cost of war in terms of munitions and supplies.

Ending the war and subsequently abolishing the social structure of the South should have been the path of Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of happiness for all.  But the entire enterprise was wasted and diminished by the influence the politicos of the south had over Andrew Johnson.  His refusal to reconstruct the South under the spirit of liberty put the former slaves right back where they were without the formality of slavery.  They were free but violently kept subordinated.

Andrew Johnson’s life experiences made it important for him to maintain his feelings of superiority over the next lower class of society.  In fact, he was only one rung from the bottom of the class ladder.  Because of this, he was influenced by the “aristocracy” of the South and acceded to their plot to continue to subjugate the negro even after slavery was abolished by amendment to the Constitution of the United States.  And it remained that way for another 100 years, until the Civil Rights movement of the 1960’s, which tells us that there were many whites in the South that felt as did Andrew Johnson.  It’s just that his being in office put the official stamp on it all.

We are now more than halfway through the second hundred years and there are still latent fear and hatred of blacks.  Yet those who are going through, living in this era of more equality, are much better off than previous generations.  Slowly we are becoming color-blind.

Tolerance (Haiku)

 

We are what we are

People see us in that way

And tolerate us

Or not