Monday Mystery Tour, August 30, 2010

Before I post this story, I want to say a few words about the title of this post. Years ago, when I first started blogging, I wrote about travel adventures, jobs and general life as I lived it. I called these installments the Magical Mystery Tour. This title is directly from the Beatles album of the same name. When my children were very young, Mrs. Spadoman would take them on what she called a Magical Mystery Tour, which usually included towing the three girls through a grocery store and stopping at every free sample cart in existence. In more recent times, I have had the extreme honor of posting comments on and receiving comments from a Blogger that goes by the name of Magical Mystery Teacher. MMT writes Haiku and posts fabulous photos for Shadow Shot Sunday, Ruby Tuesday, Haiku Friday and others. I just want to go on record and tell you to visit the Magical Mystery Teacher Blog, because it is a good one, and that I used this post title years ago and have rejuvenated it on Mondays at Round Circle.

This is a true story. I looked for it in my external hard drive after I read a blog post by rochambeau on her blog today. Her story was about a new bicycle. She ended the post with these words, "Now, please tell me your bike story!"

I urge you to check out both of the blogs I mention here, Magical Mystery Teacher and rochambeau. They can be found on my side bar or by clicking the highlighted links above.

Here it is Constance, my bike story:

So, I’m at home. We were in an apartment back then. Wasn’t all that long ago, what, 1998. I was going to move up to Two Harbors, MN and live in this cabin we bought, but Barb got offered a great job at Macalester College in Saint Paul, so we stayed there and bought a house. I was still on the movie crews. Barb took the new job and was going for a little stability.

My daughter was pregnant with her first child, our first Grandchild. The then boyfriend, now husband, soon to be ex-husband was confused and didn’t seem to want to be a Father again. He had two daughters from wife number one and it was a nightmare when they split up. He took to flight and Barb and I took care of our daughter.

We bought her a mobile home in a rural community out near where we were living at the time. Her man came back into her life. Down deep he showed he cared and did the right thing. They lived in the mobile home and she had Arianna, my first Granddaughter.

During a pretty hard winter, the mobile home roof packed up with ice and collapsed. the furnace went out and the kids were just too poor to fix it. I didn’t have the money or credit to do anything about it either. Barb and I moved out of our own home, the one we had bought when Barb took the job at the college, and we moved in to an apartment a few blocks away. We let the kids move in to our place.

The apartment was situated along the Interstate, I-35, near downtown Saint Paul, MN. In the city, there is a huge wall, maybe 20 feet tall, to keep the noise from the roadway on the roadway and let the neighborhood be a bit quieter. Along this wall, which was right across the street from our apartment, there was a bike path. I liked being close to the bike path.

I walked it and rode it with my bike. If we went left, we went to the Mississippi River and connected with other trails, to the right, we were three blocks from the bus stop and connected to anywhere in the Twin Cities. It was a great urban area in a great big small town. If you had to be in a city, Saint Paul was a good one to be.

One day, it was getting close to dinner. It was summer. I was making some fillings and we were going to just have some tacos. I needed some fresh jalapenos. I jumped on my Schwinn as the grocery was about six blocks away.

The West Seventh neighborhood was unique in that it was blue collar and been very stable over the years. A melting pot of cultures as the years rolled by. The old inhabitants did not move away, the influx of a growing cities population brought new energy to the area. Not all of it good, but not all of it bad either. The neighborhood had some crime and gang activity, but no murders and not too many crack house raids. 

The grocery store was an anthropology lesson played out in real life. Blacks, Hmong and Whites shopped there. Blacks, Hmong and Whites worked there. Multi cultural from the ancient to the modern. If you paid attention when you went shopping there, you might learn something.

I went in and got four fresh jalapeno peppers and put the little plastic bag in my pocket. When I went outside, my bike was gone. I was in there five freaking minutes and some one had taken my bike. It was a blue 21 speed Schwinn Searcher aluminum frame cross breed bike. I paid a lot for it and it was gone.

Usually, if I am a victim, my response is this, “Maybe they needed it more than I did. It was meant to happen to me.” I’ll accept it, because there is little that one can do to change history. It happened. What can I do about it now. I was hungry. Those tacos were waiting and I had the peppers. But now I had to walk six blocks.

Walking was hard for me those days. It still is to some extent, but back then, I didn’t know I was just months away from another heart attack. I didn’t feel like walking home.  I went back into the store and told the manager that my bike had been stolen and asked if I could use the phone.

“To call the police?” she asked.

“No, to call my wife to pick me up and take me home.” I said

She offered to drive me home as she was leaving right then anyway. I accepted the ride and got home and told Barb what had happened. As we were chopping the japalenos, (not a spelling error, that’s what we call ‘em), and filling our taco shells with all the fragrant spiced chicken, cheese, tomato, lettuce, onion, sour cream, olives and peppers, (man that sounds good), we looked outside and lo and behold. My bike goes whizzing by on the bike trail with a youthful rider mounted and pedaling.

I raced out the door, jumped in to the Oldsmobile and took off. The Oldsmobile was a great automobile. 1984 Custom Cruiser station wagon, the big full-size wagon, not the little Cutlass. I has always done what I have asked of it. Now, it was squealing around the corner and out onto Harrison Avenue and after that blue Schwinn being ridden by the thief.

The street ran alongside the bike trail. At the end of the block, the street took a hard left and headed away from the interstate and that big sound barrier wall. The bike trail continued straight along the wall to the south.

I had the pedal down to the floor. The Olds was making revs. The kid was pedaling regular until I yelled, “Hey, that’s my bike.”

He started to pedal faster, I was still some ways behind him and I was running out of street fast. I pulled the wheel a little down on the right and jumped the curb, the bike was close. I went between a tree and a fire hydrant. The Olds hopped the curb with delight. The chase was on.

I reached back and grabbed a golf club. yes, the driver. I had been golfing earlier and they were still back there, on the seat. A stroke of luck to be lazy and not put my toys away when I’m through with them.

Grabbing the shaft like a spear, I pulled along side the bike and thrust the club. It made the spokes of the front wheel and the rider went head over into the embankment alongside the trail. The bike went down. I put on the brakes before I ran out of real estate as the trail narrowed to go into a wooded portion.

The kid got up and ran like hell. I got out, picked up my three wood and my bike and put them into the car. I backed out of the corridor and went home. Barb saw me coming home. I hoped she hadn’t eaten all the tacos! I looked at the bike and saw that I would need a new front wheel. A small price to pay to get my bike back.

Later, I was in the back of the apartment building. Across the alley and a house down, some boys were shooting hoops by the garage. I looked over there and I saw a familiar face. It was the bike thief. I hadn’t lived in the apartment very long and the nature of apartment living in the city is that the home owners don’t come over with the welcome wagon. I didn’t know this kid, but only recognized him from the episode on the bike trail.

He went around the garage and out of site when he saw me. I waited around and when he peeked out to see if I was gone, I looked at him and gave him a look as if to say, “I know who you are.” as I pointed my finger at him and cocked it up and down a little.

I’m sure he had a watchful eye on me from then on. I hope he told his friends, “That’s a crazy sonnabitch over there, stay away from him.”

After a time, we left the apartment and went back to the house. Years later, I am in Ashland, Wisconsin. I still had my bike, but one morning, I went out and it was gone. I guess I figured that someone needed it more than I did.

Epilogue:

I guess it would be easy for you to have an opinion about me chasing down this kid on my stolen bike, you, my friend and casual reader, would say, “This Spado guy is an asshole”

Just know that I have other emotions as well. This week, we will lay to rest a dear friend that passed. My adrenaline will flow in a different direction.

I accept the assessment. Guilty as charged. But it is what happened. I cannot turn back the clock and I won’t deny my past. Thank you for accepting me as I am. 

Peace

To the Road Again

Today is Wednesday and we'll be getting on the road a little later in the day. Mrs. Spadoman and I will be taking the Grand children on a last gasp trip before the end of Summer vacation. (They return to school one week from today on September 1st).

We'll be going HERE for a couple of days, then traveling down towards Chicago to visit my sister and going HERE.

While we're down in the Chicago area, I'm sure we'll eat HERE for at least one meal, it's a tradition. I'll also pick up some regional staples from the Italian grocery while I'm down there.

We'll return sometime next Sunday. I'll be away from the computer, so, I guess that means I'll check in on Monday sometime. Who knows, maybe I'll have another Monday Mystery Tour post. We'll see.

In the meantime, I hope your days are good.

Peace

Monday Magical Mystery Tour, August 23, 2010

Grand daughter Lilly walking along Friendly Valley Beach North of Washburn, WI.


This past weekend was spent on a short road trip up to the South shore of the Great Lake Superior. We went to visit friends, attend a Pow Wow at Odanah and pick up a few items that are only found in that particular local area. We had left River Falls on Friday morning and stayed overnight in Ashland. We returned home late Saturday.

Earlier in the week,I announced the trip and there seemed to be an exuberance by many to travel with me. By Friday morning, everyone had bowed out except for my six year old Granddaughter Lilly. So, it was the two of us, traveling together.

The trip, if expedited, takes about four hours. I didn’t expedite this journey at all, but rather took a longer more scenic route. We did run into some rain, but the skies were pretty much clear of clouds when we arrived in Ashland. After the storms had moved through, the weather was downright cool as we donned sweatshirts and long pants.

We stopped at Louie’s Finer Meats in Cumberland, WI. There, we picked up some Italian sausage, great tasting made-on-site summer sausage and some cheese from the local Burnett County Creamery. One of the jobs I held over the years was driving a bulk milk transport to this creamery. That’s where I discovered their cheese. Some of the best Wisconsin, The Dairy State, has to offer.

After Louie’s, we traveled via local county roads to Iron River where we went to an A&W for lunch. A&W is one of Lilly’s favorite places. It was a small drive-in with car hops and everything. We traveled straight North from there to Port Wing and the Johnson Store where we bought fresh lake trout fillets. All the perishables went into an ice laden cooler for safe transport home. Lake trout, fresh from Lake Superior, is great, and bought from local fisheries, the price is fantastic! Much lower than grocery store prices around where I live.

We made it to Ashland and thought we’d find a motel room as we planned on spending the night. Our favorite place, the Crest Motel, had the “Vacancy” sign lit. I went in and got the last room. These places stay busy on Summer and Fall weekends despite an ailing economy.

We secured our lodging and proceeded to check out town. Lilly had lived in Ashland, but moved away from there when she was but three years old. One of the places I used to take her to when she was just a tad over a year old was the Black Cat Coffeehouse, a place I have mentioned in my blog posts over the years. Sitting in front of the Black Cat was a very good friend of mine, and inside, there were four more people I know. I was glad to see them and catch up on the happenings in each others’ lives.

The Black Cat in Ashland, WI

Lilly had a cold beverage and I drank coffee. We wandered over to yet another friends house and spent the rest of the afternoon visiting. For dinner, we went to Odanah on the Bad River Indian Reservation, and attended the Grand Entry of their Annual Traditional Pow Wow.

We spent the evening listening to the drums and the songs as we watched the dancers in colorful regalia twirling and stepping it out in style. We were tired from our journey and retreated to the motel room. It didn’t take us long to slip into oblivious slumber. I woke up first just as the sun was breaking through over the lake. Lilly followed not long after and we got dressed, organized our stuff and took off from the Crest to the town of Washburn and breakfast at the Time Out Cafe.

The next stop was to be the Garden Harvest Store, owned by a friend of mine, and featuring fresh locally grown organic produce and bulk spices at great prices. Garden Harvest was closed, so we went a little further North along the shore of Chequamegon Bay and the beach at Friendly Valley. Lilly and her siblings have been here before and remembered swimming from a sand beach in the hot sun.

No such sun was to be found this day, as the North wind had the temperatures down into the 50’s. We donned our sweatshirts again and walked around the beach a while and looked for rocks and shells.

Madeline Island. The center of the universe and homeland of the Anishanabe people


The most amazing thing happened then. I had pulled out a lawn chair and sat down, facing the water and the beautiful sight of Madeline Island, part of the Apostle Islands that appear on the Northwest side of the bay. Lilly was standing there, looking in Southerly direction. This discussion was exchanged:

“Papa, I saw an eagle”, Lilly exclaimed.

“That’s great! It’s always a good day when you see an eagle.” I said enthusiastically.

I went on and told Lilly that sometimes when we see animals like eagles or hawks, or even a mouse or a dragonfly, it might be a spirit coming to visit us. Maybe this eagle was someone we knew who used to be with us. I suggested it might be her Auntie Maggie or her Great Grandma Carm.

I pondered a moment, then added, “I miss my Mom.”

I started to cry. I made some weeping noises and tears streamed down my face. Lilly turned and looked at me and came over to my side. She placed her hand over my heart and her other wrapped around my neck. She stroked my back in an effort to comfort me and told me, “It’s okay Papa”.

After recovering and wiping the tears with my bandana, Lilly spoke again. She told me that my Mom wasn’t really gone and that she is all around me. She pointed to the land, the sandy beach, and the water, Lake Superior. I cried a little more. We got up, packed up my chair and left to see if my friends store was open for business.

We visited the Farmer’s Market in Ashland where they celebrated “Kids Day” and Lilly got a great face painting. I introduced her, as we ran into old acquaintances, and told everyone she wasn’t my Grand daughter but my new little kitty cat.

My little Kitty Cat. I picked her up wandering around Ashland. Can I keep her?


The ride home included a stop for something to eat and a potty break. It was a wonderful way to spend a couple of days. Traveling one on one with Lilly.

I used to tell Lilly she was magic. As she got older, I would explain to her that if she rested her hand on my head, she could make me feel better. I told her that she had power to take all the bad out of me and wipe it away. I showed her how to swipe over me and fling the bad energy away.

She does this when she hears me mention an ache or pain. She did this with her words on Friendly Valley Beach. She may or may not be a bona fide healer, but she heals me. I spent the time, while sitting in that lawn chair on the beach, blocking out all thoughts of anything and practiced mindfulness of the moment.

I absorbed the cold North wind and listened to the noises it made in the water, the trees and over the land. I watched birds, listened to them chirping and the flap of their wings. Watched my Grand daughter Lilly walking around on the sand. I observed the leaves and how some had changed colors already ahead of the upcoming season and let my shoulders slack, releasing all tension in my muscles. Even my breathing was slow, deep and even.

Summer's greenery changing to Autumn red. The scene "Up North" this past weekend.


Healer indeed. What a gift. What a place to be and what a glorious soul to be there with.

My hope is for Peace for all of you.

Haiku My Heart Fridays, August 20, 2010

Haiku My Heart Fridays is a meme started by Rebecca who pens the recuerdo mi corazon blog. To see more photos, or to read more haiku and participate, Click This Link.

Riders in the wind

Memories of ancestors

Mitakwe Oyasin

It was in 2006 that the idea of a commemorative motorcycle ride for the people of the Crow Creek Indian Reservation in Fort Thompson, South Dakota became a reality. These people were removed from their ancestral home in Minnesota and sent on an unbelievable journey to a place so foreign, they might as well have been sent to China.

I made this ride four years in a row. The number four, for the four directions, the four winds, the four stations of the life cycle and the four elements, has strong meaning. I made four years and did not make it another time.

The story below was written after the first ride. It will tell the story of what this is all about in more detail than the Haiku. In fact, it will make sense of the haiku. I still can’t get my mind around the idea that you will know what I’m talking about with the simple count of syllables. 

The pictures are from that first year. The motorcycles circling the dance arbor and the teepees set up for our lodging if we so desired to use them. The children, recipients of the funds raised, dancing for us, dancing in our honor.

Buffalo County South Dakota, where the Crow Creek Reservation is located, is one of the poorest in the nation. The people there still suffer from poverty and an eighty percent unemployment rate. And that rate isn’t because of the so called poor economy that experts say our country is in the midst of, it is a constant, and the strife of the Dakota people who live there doesn’t seem to show any hope of changing any time soon.

Yet, as this story will tell you, these people still have hope and are generous to strangers. They still honor their traditions and respect the Elders, the Veterans and the Children. By the way, the last line of the Haiku is in the Dakota language and means, "We are all related". It is often pronounced, (mi-tok'-way  Ah'-sin).

What a dream. I was riding my motorcycle through the summertime breeze with a bunch of friends. Some I knew, some were new friends. We were along the river. The vistas were fantastic. Through woods and prairies, corn and beans, the river flowing at our side throughout the journey. Together, as one, we rode for days. Our stops at night for rest and food were at beautiful wooded campsites. It was hot and muggy, cool and rainy, calm and windy.

When we got to a place in South Dakota, there was a car parked on the side of the road. A man was holding a camera, an arm waved from the front seat, little arms, those of children, waved from the rear. Then another car, and another, then a bunch all parked near an old cemetery, all with arms waving as we rode by.

We arrived at an overlook. A promontory with a view of a great river. We gathered there and people spoke. We rode again and after a short distance, two riders on horseback came out in front of us and led us into a grassy circle. The circle was full of teepee lodges with a great fire pit in the center. Over the pit was hanging meat from Tatanka, the bison. We were along the river once more. Spirits were all around us. Spirits of long ago and spirits of not so distant past. People were around the circle, standing around, some in their cars, some in lawn chairs in the shade of large cottonwood trees.

The mounted riders led us and we lined up one after another in the circle and got off of our iron horses. The people gathered and formed a line and came by each of us and shook our hands, Some were crying. Some hugged us. Some shook our hands holding ours with both of theirs. The children were there as well in great numbers and their shyness made them choosy about who they offered their little hands to.

A man played a small hand drum and sang a song in Dakota language. He told us the words to his song. He told us he wrote this song especially for us. The song sang the praises of a group of riders on iron horses that came to give him hope, give hope to all his people.

An old woman, an Elder, sat in a lawn chair. She held a feather of an Eagle upright in her hand. The small children were gathered about her like a magnet would gather paperclips. A younger man held an umbrella over her to shield her from the hot South Dakota Summertime sun. She brushed him aside and got up, and she sang and old song. An honor song, for us, the iron horse riders.

She beckoned, and each of us walked up to her one at a time. She sat there. Her eyes ahead, vacant, holding the feather. We put our hand in hers and she prayed, in a mumbled silence. Tears streamed down our cheeks as they have been since we saw the first car along the side of the road.

The people came by and shook our hands again. The children now less choosy, and more were crying, more people grasped our hands with two of theirs. Food was prepared and served. People, poor in terms of money, giving what they could to us.

This was a dream. A dream I lived. A feeling so incomprehensible. A feeling of pride, honor, struggle, sorrow and peacefulness.

The removal occurred during the spring of 1863 and moving over 1,700 Indian people by riverboat and trains accomplished it. This dark chapter in American history is scarcely a footnote in American history textbooks. The reasons for the Dakota Conflict were that the Dakota people were near starvation due to corrupt Indian agents who were swindling and denying the Dakota their food rations and annuity payments as guaranteed by the previous Treaties of 1851 and 1858. 

The federal government often overlooked this pernicious behavior on the part of its Indian agents and these transgressions were often the primary causes of Indian wars. The media vilified the Dakota for their actions and 303 Dakota men were sentenced to death by hanging by a hastily organized United States Military Tribunal. The largest public mass execution occurred in American history with the simultaneous hanging of 38 Dakota warriors at Mankato, Minnesota on December 26, 1862. 

Over 1,700 Dakota men, women and children were forcibly interned at Fort Snelling during the winter of 1863. No accounting of how many Dakota Indian men, women and children perished during the brutal internment has ever been documented. In 1863, Congress, at the insistence of Minnesota territorial governor Alexander Ramsey, enacted a law to forcibly remove all of the Dakota from Minnesota to Crow Creek, South Dakota. 

The first leg of their removal by riverboat ended at Camp McClellan in Davenport, Iowa, prior to proceeding down the Mississippi River to a place near current day Hannibal, MO. Across Missouri by rail cars to St. Joseph, then again by riverboat North on the Missouri River to end at Fort Thompson, South Dakota. 

The commemorative motorcycle route follows the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers and the overland trail from Hannibal to St. Joseph.

After we left the circle we ate a great feast of buffalo and cake, stew, soup, fry bread, lemonade. We talked and made new friends. Some came up again to talk and say thank you. Thank you for remembering us. Thank you for giving us hope.

I told them that I was the one to be thankful. I gave them nothing, they gave me the greatest gift. A smile at the end of my ride. They allowed me to honor them, the survivors, the self determined few.

This was the scene at the end of the first year Commemorative Motorcycle Ride for the Crow Creek Dakota and the Winnebago people who were transported by river barge down the Mississippi and up the Missouri River in 1863. 

They arrived in Fort Thompson on June 24th, 1863 and started their life there. They lived in spite of the horror cast upon them by some of the soldiers. In spite of the rocks and stones thrown at them from the banks of the great rivers. The rape, beatings, the separation and killing of their loved ones.

We rode to remember. We wanted to call attention to this event. We wanted to remember what happened in hopes we would reach an ear of someone, anyone, anywhere, that would say this should never happen again.

The people of Crow Creek were happy, happy with tears that anyone remembered that they were there, remembered their ancestors from the boat rides in 1863. Remembered that they are a proud Nation of poor but forgiving people. People who were happy this day as the riders on the iron horses came to say we know you are here.

Ruby Tuesday 08/17/2010

Ruby Tuesday is the creation of Mary T/The Teach, who pens the Work of the Poet blog. For more Ruby Tuesday photos or to participate, go HERE.

In 2005 we moved from Saint Paul in Minnesota to the smaller town of Ashland, Wisconsin on the shores of the Great Lake Superior. Having been from Chicago and lived in the upper Midwest all our lives, we are very fond of the Great Lakes. When the chance arose to live near the water's edge, we jumped. If you're counting, this was move number 50, from our extensive list of places we called home.

I had been looking for a pace to rent. I had my eye on this store front just off Main Street. It had been empty for quite some time. When I finally got a hold of the real estate agent that was to be the contact for the owner, I found the accommodations to be quite substantial. There was a full size one bedroom apartment, complete with kitchen and appliances, attached to the workshop and retail sales areas. It needed a shower, but I quickly saw how one could be installed. 

The place had been empty for years, so the deal I made was for an open ended rental agreement. I'd rent the place for the agreed upon amount and be allowed to install the shower and do other of what I deemed to be improvements, like entry doors with glass, for added light. We shook hands and I slept there from day one. 

I set up the workshop area with my tools and materials for making the Native American influenced folk art and hand made snowshoes that were part of my repertoire. I did other projects as well as people found out I would be willing to try to fix and make things in my shop. I named the place The Westside Workshop, as we were on the West edge of downtown Ashland.

Today's Ruby shot is of the humble front window of the shop and a sign I made using a Dream Catcher as a centerpiece. 

These other shots are of the interior, one of the Southern wall, with snowshoes I had made and leather shields made by a friend and consigned at the Westside Workshop. The second shot of the interior is looking out the window, with drums lined up at the window's bottom. The Star Quilt was a gift from friends out in Wyoming and has significant meaning to many people.

We stayed living in the workshop until December of 2007 and moved into a place we dearly call The Cabinette. More about this unique dwelling in the future.

Hope you enjoy the day today and everyday, and Peace finds a place in your heart.

Peace

Monday Mystery Tour Revisited

I wrote this story some time ago and it first appeared as an original feature as part of my Monday Mystery Tour series. I have written about the jobs I have had over the years, over 80 of them, and this one in particular was listed as number 39.

The Waterfront Diner

Duluth, MN

THIS PLACE OF BUSINESS WASN’T ONE THAT YOU WOULD RECOGNIZE FROM STREET LEVEL. IF YOU DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS INSIDE THE MAURER OFFICE BUILDING ON LAKE STREET IN DULUTH, YOU WOULDN’T KNOW IT WAS THERE. IN FACT, WHEN FOLKS TOLD FOLKS ABOUT THE WATERFRONT, THEY HAD TO EXPLAIN HOW TO FIND IT AND EVEN THEN, MANY PEOPLE HAD A HARD TIME OR GAVE UP AND WENT SOMEWHERE ELSE.

TOM, THE OWNER, WORKED EVERY DAY ALONG WITH THE HIRED HELP. HE OCCASIONALLY SHOUTED OUT SOME INSTRUCTIONS, BUT NEVER REALLY ACTED LIKE A BOSS. HIS DREAM WAS TO OPEN  UP AN OLD FASHIONED DINING CAR LIKE THE OLD ONES OUT EAST. BUT FOR NOW, IN THE MEANTIME, HE WAS OPERATING A BREAKFAST/LUNCH  MONDAY THROUGH FRIDAY PLACE FOR THE OFFICE WORKERS AND THE LABORERS IN THE INDUSTRIAL AREA ALONG THE LAKE SUPERIOR WATERFRONT IN DULUTH, MN. 

THE AREA IS STEEPED IN HISTORY. INHABITED BY THE NATIVE AMERICANS BEFORE THE FUR TRADE ERA, HERE WAS A PLACE ALONG THE SHORE OF LAKE SUPERIOR, AN ACCESS TO THE ATLANTIC OCEAN USING PORTAGES BEFORE CANALS AND LOCKS WERE BUILT. MINNESOTA IS RICH IN IRON ORE, CEMENT, COAL AND GRAIN, SHIPPING FROM THE MOUNTAINS AND HEARTLAND COME THROUGH THIS CITIES LOADING DOCKS. THIS TRAIL HAS BEEN USED TO TRADE ON THE GREAT LAKES AND BEYOND FOR CENTURIES.

COMING TO THIS AREA YEARS AGO, BEFORE THE TOURISM SET IN, WERE FOLKS WHO WORKED IN THE BUILDINGS AND AROUND THE AREA. SHIPPING DOCKS HAD LONGSHOREMEN, OFFICES OF SMALL AND MEDIUM SIZE COMPANIES WHICH CATERED TO NORTHERN MINNESOTA AND DID THINGS LIKE LOGGING, PAPER MAKING, MACHINERY FABRICATION AND SHIP WORKS BROUGHT MANY WORKERS TO THE AREA.

THE MAURER BUILDING, THEN, WAS A SIX STORY OFFICE BUILDING WHICH HOUSED OFFICES FOR MANY FIRMS AND A COUPLE OF LARGER CORPORATIONS WHICH LEASED OUT WHOLE FLOORS AND RAN THEIR BUSINESSES THERE.

ON THE FIRST FLOOR, TO THE LEFT AS YOU WALKED INTO THE BUILDING, WAS THE WATERFRONT DINER. A SIGN ON THE GLASS DOOR IS ALL THAT WOULD LET YOU KNOW IT WAS SOMETHING OTHER THAN ANOTHER OFFICE SUITE IN THE GARGANTUAN BUILDING. ON THE OUTSIDE THERE WERE TWO WINDOWS, EACH ABOUT FOUR FOOT SQUARE. IN EACH OF THESE WINDOWS WHICH WERE ABOUT 15 FEET ABOVE THE SIDEWALK, WAS A NEON SIGN WITH LETTERS ABOUT EIGHT INCHES HIGH AND COLORED A PINKISH RED. ONE SAID “DINER”, THE OTHER SAID, “EAT”.

AS YOU WALKED  INTO THE DINER, YOU SPOTTED  AN OPEN AREA TO THE LEFT WHERE THERE WERE A FEW BOOTHS ALONG THE WALL AND A COUPLE OF TABLES IN THE CENTER. NOT MUCH SEATING REALLY. THERE WERE SOME STOOLS BUILT IN ALONG THE COUNTER, BUT THE COUNTER FOR SEATING WAS SHORT TO MAKE ROOM FOR TOM’S LINE. HE HAD SORT OF A CAFETERIA LINE SET UP TO SERVE FOLKS AND PUSH THEM TO THE REGISTER WITH WHAT SEEMED LIKE ALL ONE MOTION.

RENEE, THE WAITRESS WHO HAS WORKED AT THE WATERFRONT FOR YEARS, WAS A YOUNG LOOKING WOMAN, BUT IF YOU LOOKED CLOSE, YOU COULD SEE THE AGE OR HARDNESS OF THE YEARS ON HER FACE.  SHE WAS SMALL, BARELY 5 FOOT, AND  IN MY OPINION, NOT THE VISION YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU THINK OF A CAFE OR DINER WAITRESS. 

SHE SMILED SELDOM AND TOLD PEOPLE WHAT THEY OWED RATHER THAN ASK FOR THE MONEY. SHE SEEMED TO TELL EVERYBODY EVERYTHING WHEN SHE SPOKE TO PEOPLE. SHE NEVER STRUCK ME AS NICE OR NICE LOOKING. 

ACTUALLY. SHE WOULD BE CLASSIFIED AS A BITCH BY ANY STANDARD OF MEASURE. I NEVER SAW HER CHANGE THAT DISPOSITION. I BELIEVE IT CAME FROM A HARD LIFE OF LATE NIGHTS AND ALCOHOL WHICH WAS FOLLOWED UP WITH A LOW PAYING JOB THAT MADE HER GET UP EARLY. NO HASH-HOUSE QUEEN HERE. NOT WORTHY OF THE TITLE.

IF YOU HAD WALKED STRAIGHT THROUGH THE DOOR AND THEN HEADED STRAIGHT BACK, YOU WOULD MEET A WIDE OPEN STAIRWAY OF ABOUT 8 STEPS. THIS WENT UP INTO A LARGE ROOM THAT HAD ABOUT 10 TABLES. SORT OF LIKE A MEZZANINE OR BALCONY , BUT NOT REALLY ATTACHED TO THE LOWER PART OF THE PLACE WHERE THE COUNTER AND KITCHEN WAS HOUSED. THIS IS THE SECTION OF THE RESTAURANT WHERE YOU WERE ALLOWED TO SMOKE. BACK IN THOSE DAYS, SMOKING WAS ALLOWED. SMOKING IS NO LONGER ALLOWED IN ANY RESTAURANT IN MINNESOTA.

THE ROUTINE WOULD START IN THE EARLY MORNING, FOLKS WOULD COME IN AND ORDER COFFEE, OR BREAKFAST, OR ORDER LUNCH AHEAD OF TIME TO BE PICKED UP LATER, THEN GO UP TO THE MEZZANINE TO TALK, DRINK COFFEE AND SMOKE.  THERE WAS NOT A SMOKING AREA ON THE MAIN LEVEL, ONLY IN THIS BALCONY AREA. THE ATMOSPHERE UP THERE WAS THICK WITH SMOKE AND PERFUME FROM THE OFFICE GALS CHATTING AWAY BEFORE THE WORKDAY BEGINS OR WHILE ON A BREAK.

DURING THE REST OF THE MORNING, FOLKS WOULD BE COMING IN AND OUT FOR COFFEE BREAKS OR BREAKFAST OR TO SEE WHAT THE SPECIAL WAS GONNA BE AND RESERVE ONE. THEN, DURING LUNCH THE PLACE WOULD FILL UP IN WAVES OF PEOPLE ORDERING FROM TOM’S LINE, ORDERING THROUGH THE WAITRESS, PICKING UP PRE-ORDERED ITEMS AND EVEN BRINGING IN THEIR OWN SACK LUNCHES, BUYING A COKE OR SOME OTHER BEVERAGE, THEN GOING UPSTAIRS TO EAT, SMOKE AND TALK THROUGH THEIR LUNCH HOUR.

A LESSER SCENE OF ACTIVITY WAS DURING THE AFTERNOON COFFEE BREAK TIME, BUT A PRETTY GOOD CROWD THERE TOO. TOM’S WIFE WAS THE BAKER AND ALL THE SWEET STUFF WAS HOMEMADE. SHE WORKED AS A NURSE AND WOULD COME TO THE DINER AFTER WORK TO MAKE BAKERY FOR THE NEXT DAY. I WAS USUALLY GONE BY THEN, I ONLY MET HER ONCE. THE BAKERY WAS GOOD AND SHE SEEMED TO KNOW WHAT THE CLIENTELE WANTED, WE SOLD OUT ALMOST EVERY DAY.

THE OTHER WAITRESS, JANE, WAS A WOMAN OF AVERAGE HEIGHT AND WEIGHT. SHE WAS ATTRACTIVE AND WELL KEPT. NICE NAILS AND HER HAIR WAS ALWAYS DONE UP GOOD. PERFUME, CRISP CLEAN BRIGHT RED BLOUSE, ENOUGH MAKE-UP TO TURN YOUR HEAD. A DARK HAIRED BEAUTY. SHE ACTED A LOT YOUNGER THAN HER 45 YEARS. TRYING TO STAY YOUNG, BUT GETTING OLDER.

THE OTHER COOK, BILL, WHO I WORKED ALONGSIDE, WAS AN EASY GOING GUY ABOUT 40 OR SO. BILL WOULD GET THE JOB DONE BY JUST KEEPIN’ ON DOIN’ THE WORK. I, ON THE OTHER HAND, WOULD GET A LITTLE FRAZZLED DURING THE SHORT INTENSE WAVES OF PEOPLE COMING DOWN FROM THE FLOORS ABOVE FOR THEIR LUNCH BREAKS. BILL KEPT IT IN PERSPECTIVE AND WAS STEADY, I RAN AROUND WITH A SENSE OF ORGANIZED URGENCY TO COMPLETE TWO MOTIONS TO EVERY ONE OF BILLS. FUNNY, BILL SERVED AS MANY AS I DID. I NEVER DID FIGURE OUT HOW HE DID IT.

SO, HERE IT WAS, THIS JOB AT THE WATERFRONT DINER. A PLAIN SIMPLE STRAIGHTFORWARD KIND OF SITUATION. LOW PAY BUT NO PRESSURE. WHAT BROUGHT ME HERE WAS FATE. LIKE MOST NEW EXPERIENCES I GOT MY SELF INTO AT THE TIME. THEY WERE NEVER PLANNED, THEY JUST EVOLVED INTO WHAT THEY WERE FROM WHATEVER I HAD BEEN DOING BEFORE IT. 

I HAD RETURNED TO MINNESOTA FROM A 15 MONTH STINT LIVING IN GRAND JUNCTION,COLORADO. THERE, I HAD BEEN WORKING FOR A JEWISH DINER OWNER AT A JOINT CALLED THE 7TH STREET CAFE. I WAS FRESH FROM A JOB WHERE I HAD LEARNED A GREAT DEAL ABOUT THE DINER BUSINESS AND WANTED TO CONTINUE. THE WATERFRONT WAS THE KIND OF PLACE I WAS LOOKING FOR. 

WHEN I RETURNED TO MINNESOTA, I WORKED AT A LODGE UP ON  THE NORTH COUNTRY’S FAMOUS GUNFLINT TRAIL. THIS JOB WAS SEASONAL AND ENDED IN THE FALL. I ACTUALLY HAD WORKED THERE BEFORE I LEFT MINNESOTA IN THE FIRST PLACE. WHEN WE DECIDED WE HAD TO GET OUT OF COLORADO, I CALLED THE LODGE AND THE OWNER JUST HAPPENED TO BE IN A BIND AND NEEDED A COOK. I CAME BACK IN JULY OF 1994 AND FINISHED THE SEASON, WORKING AT THE HUNGRY JACK LODGE AS A COOK UNTIL OCTOBER OF THE SAME YEAR. 

I LEFT ON A TRIP TO THE SOUTHWEST WHEN THE SEASON WAS OVER AND WHEN WE RETURNED, WE FOUND AN APARTMENT ON PARK POINT IN DULUTH, A SPIT OF LAND MADE FROM THE SANDS FROM THE WAVES OF LAKE SUPERIOR SWEEPING ALONG THE “POINT” AT THE FAR WESTERN EDGE OF THE GREATEST OF ALL THE GREAT LAKES.

THE LAND LORD I RENTED FROM, BILL, WAS A REGULAR AT THE DINER AND AS I MENTIONED, IF YOU DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS THERE, YOU’D NEVER SEE IT. BILL TOLD ME ABOUT THE PLACE ONE DAY WHEN WE WERE TO MEET FOR A CUP OF COFFEE AND WHATEVER. I EYED THE PLACE AND WAS LOOKING FOR A JOB. BILL KNEW THE OWNER AND INTRODUCED ME. AS THINGS WOULD GO SOMETIMES, IT JUST SO HAPPENED THAT THE WATERFRONT DINER WAS IN NEED OF A COOK AND THERE I WAS.

I LIKEN IT TO THE STORY LINES OF THOSE OLD BLACK AND WHITE DRAMA SERIES’ OF THE 1950’S AND 60’S. IN ONE EPISODE OF “THE FUGITIVE” STARRING DAVID JANSSEN AS RICHARD KIMBALL, THE KIMBALL CHARACTER IS TRANSIENT IN A SMALL TOWN AND AS HE SHUFFLES ALONG THE STREET HE SPOTS A SIGN SAYING “HELP WANTED” IN THE WINDOW OF A STORE. HE GRABS THE SIGN AND GOES INSIDE. IN THE NEXT SCENE HE IS WORKING FOR HIS PAY SO HE CAN CONTINUE BEING A FUGITIVE. 

MY HIRING WAS SORT OF LIKE THAT. NO INTERVIEW OR APPLICATION. NO SCRUTINY OF MY SKILLS AND EXPERIENCE. JUST HIRED BECAUSE I WAS THE GUY WHO BROUGHT IN THE SIGN AND SAID I WANTED THE JOB. I WAS THE GUY THERE AT THAT TIME READY TO WORK. I WAS THE FUGITIVE, OR RATHER THE MAN.

THE STOVE/ GRILL AREA WAS OUT FRONT FOR ALL TO SEE. I COULD LOOK AROUND AND SEE THE CUSTOMERS. TALK WITH THEM AND CHECK OUT THE ANTHROPOLOGY AS IT HAPPENED IN FRONT OF ME. AT TIMES, I WAS BEING WATCHED. FOLKS DINING ALONE AND SITTING AT THE COUNTER COULD SEE EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENED AT THE GRILL. 

SOMETIMES THE URGE WOULD CREEP UP AND WITH A BLAST OF ADRENALINE I WOULD FLIP A FEW EGGS OR OMELETS OVER RIGHT IN THE PAN AND FLING PANCAKES WAY UP HIGH AND CATCH EM’ ON THE END OF THE SHINING STAINLESS STEEL SPATULA. I HAD MY OWN KNIVES AND SPATULAS. I BENT THE HANDLES TO FIT MY STYLE AND HEIGHT. SHARPENED MY OWN KNIVES ON MY OWN STEEL SHARPENING ROD LIKE A PRO. I HAD FOUND THE PERFECT URBAN WORKING ENVIRONMENT. CLOSE TO MY RENTED APARTMENT, IN AN AREA OF INDUSTRY, I WAS SLINGIN’ HASH IN A DIVE DOWN BY THE WATERFRONT, AT THE WATERFRONT DINER. 

I WAS A LIVING BACKGROUND FOR A MICKEY SPILLANE NOVEL. I WAS THE GUY WHO WOULD GESTURE WITH A NOD OR A FINGER, IN THE BOOK, TO THE HERO WHEN HE CAME IN TO FIND INFORMATION ABOUT THE BAD GUY.

I WENT TO THE FOOD SERVICE/RESTAURANT SUPPLY PLACE AND BOUGHT MY OWN APRONS AND A CHEFS HAT. I HAD THE CHECKERED PANTS AND MY OWN TOOLS. THE CHECKERED PANTS HAD CREASES SOWN IN AND NEVER NEEDED IRONING.  MAN, I THOUGHT I WAS ‘COOL’.

TOM WORKED DOING WHAT HE LIKED TO DO, IT SEEMED. HE WOULD MAKE THE DAILY SPECIAL. IT WASN’T AN ITEM THAT WAS ON THE MENU. NO, THE SPECIAL WAS SOMETHING ELSE AND HE HAD A GOOD SELECTION OF THINGS HE WOULD DO. YOU DON’T FIND FOOD LIKE THIS AROUND ANYMORE.

WHEN MOST PLACES WENT TO A FOOD SERVICE COMPANY AND BOUGHT THEIR ENTREES AND SAUCES MADE FROM PACKAGES, TOM MADE HIS FROM SCRATCH. CHICKEN POT PIE, CORNISH PASTIES, MEAT LOAF, SCALLOPED POTATOES, STUFF LIKE THAT. HIS LUNCH SPECIALS HAD A FOLLOWING AND AN APPEAL TO MANY. FOLKS WOULD CALL AHEAD AND ASK WHAT WAS TOM MAKING TODAY. ALMOST EVERYONE WHO CALLED AND ASKED TOLD US TO ‘HOLD ONE’ FOR THEM FOR WHEN THEY CAME DOWN FOR LUNCH NO MATTER WHAT HE WAS MAKING.

IN THE EARLY MORNING, BREAKFAST WAS SERVED AND WE MADE OATMEAL BY THE ORDER, A BOWL AT A TIME, FROM SCRATCH. OLD FASHIONED OATS, TOO, NOT THE QUICK KIND.  THE EGG ORDERS WERE PUT UP ONE BY ONE, NO PRE COOKING THE POTATOES. THE BEST THING WAS THE RED FLANNEL HASH. IT WAS A ROAST BEEF LADEN HASH WITH ONIONS AND AU JUS BEEF STOCK POURED OVER WHILE THE FRYING WAS TAKING PLACE. THIS GAVE THE DISH A REDDISH HUE, HENCE THE NAME. WE’D PUT TWO POACHED EGGS ON TOP AND SERVE IT WITH TOAST.

I GUESS WHAT MAKES THIS UNUSUAL IS THERE WERE SOME VARIATIONS TO EVERYTHING. THIS MADE BEING A SHORT ORDER COOK INTERESTING. OTHERWISE, THE JOB CAN BECOME STALE COOKING THE MENU ITEMS OVER AND OVER. THIS APPROACH HAD SOME PERSONALITY IN EVERY ORDER. I LIKED THAT!

SOMETIMES I’D MAKE THE EGGS IN A ROUND PAN, SOMETIMES ON THE FLATTOP GRIDDLE. I’D CUT THE TOAST SQUARE OR ANGLED, ANY TIME I WANTED TO. YOU NEVER GOT AWAY WITH THAT AT A PERKIN’S OR A BAKER’S SQUARE FRANCHISE JOINT.  I REALLY LIKED THE FREEDOM OF THE INDEPENDENT DINER.

I WAS THE MORNING GUY. I CAME IN AT 6:30AM AND WORKED THROUGH THE LUNCH RUSH. I WAS DONE AND OUT THE DOOR BY 1:00PM. I LIVED ABOUT ONE MILE DOWN LAKE STREET AND COULD WALK OR TAKE A BUS. 

I RENTED A SMALL APARTMENT SOMEBODY BUILT IN THE GARAGE OF A BIG HOUSE DURING THE 1950’S. THIS GARAGE/APARTMENT WAS UNIQUE BECAUSE IT WAS ATTACHED TO THE ORIGINAL HOUSE, BUT MADE INTO AN APARTMENT WITH ITS OWN ENTRY. THE DRIVEWAY WAS MY OFF-STREET PARKING AND RIGHT NEXT TO THE PLACE WAS THE SIDE YARD OF THE PROPERTY WHICH ATTACHED NEATLY RIGHT TO A LONG EXPANSE OF SANDY LAKE SUPERIOR SHORE. THE HOUSE AND GARAGE WERE BUILT ON THE LANDWARD SIDE OF A SAND DUNE AND WAS PROTECTED FROM THE DIRECT PATH OF COLD WINDS THAT COULD BE GENERATED FROM THE HUGE LAKE.

IT WAS A BEDROOM, LIVING ROOM, KITCHEN AND BATHROOM, ALL HEAT AND UTILITIES PAID FOR $325.00 PER MONTH. THIS WAS 1994 AND IN MINNESOTA, GETTING THE HEAT PAID WAS USUALLY A BIG DEAL BECAUSE OF HOW COLD IT GOT IN THE WINTER.

I LIVED THERE FROM NOVEMBER OF 1994 TO MARCH OF 1995. I HAD A CAR, OR RATHER A PICKUP TRUCK. A BROWN ONE, 1980 F-150 FOUR WHEEL DRIVE. NOT A BIG TANK OR ANYTHING, JUST A GOOD DEPENDABLE VEHICLE. MY WIFE USED THE TRUCK TO GET TO WORK, SO THAT LEFT ME ON FOOT.

WHEN I LEFT THE HOUSE IN THE MORNING TO WAIT FOR THE BUS, THE GAL LIVING UPSTAIRS WAS LEAVING FOR WORK. MANY A MORNING SHE WOULD GIVE ME A LIFT THE MILE DOWN THE ROAD TO THE DINER. I LIKE TO IMAGINE SHE WAITED TO LEAVE UNTIL SHE SAW ME GOING TO WORK. SHE MUST HAVE LIKED TO BE HELPFUL, OR LIKED ME.

TOM’S DREAM OF HAVING A “REAL” DINER WAS RIGHT OUT FRONT FOR EVERYONE TO SEE. HE OWNED AN ACTUAL DINING CAR HE BOUGHT IN NEW JERSEY. HE HAD IT IN A STORAGE LOT IN DULUTH AND IT WAS COVERED WITH TARPAULINS. HE WAS SOCKING AWAY MONEY TO BUY A SUITABLE PIECE OF LAND TO SET THIS OLD FASHIONED DINER UP AND MOVE THE BUSINESS TO A LOCATION WHERE HE COULD BE SEEN BY PASSERSBY. HE RAN HIS CURRENT DINER AS IF HE ALREADY HAD THE DINING CAR CALLED “THE STREAMLINER”.

LAST I HEARD, TOM CLOSED THE WATERFRONT WHEN THE HEAVY TOURISM CAME IN AND RENT GOT SO HIGH IN ALL THE BUILDINGS, ONLY STARBUCKS, OUTBACK STEAKHOUSE AND OTHER GIANT CORPORATE ENTITIES COULD AFFORD IT. YOU KNOW, PLACES LIKE THAT. I DON’T KNOW WHAT BECAME OF HIM OR HIS DREAM, BUT SOMETIMES, WHEN I VISIT THE DULUTH AREA, I CRUISE BY THE STORAGE LOT OFF OF GARFIELD AVENUE AND STILL SEE THE DINING CAR SAGGING FROM ROT AND THE OLD TARPS FLYING IN THE BREEZE OFF OF LAKE SUPERIOR. IF HE’S LIVING HIS DREAM, IT AIN’T WITH THAT STREAMLINER.

I NEVER MADE MUCH THERE BY ANY STANDARD. I GUESS I GOT MYSELF INTO A POSITION TO BE ABLE TO DO WHAT I WANTED AT A PLACE I WANTED TO DO IT FOR WHATEVER I WAS OFFERED FOR WAGES. TOM HAD A GOOD DEAL GOING. HE WOULD PUT MY CASH PAY IN A PLAIN ENVELOPE EVERYDAY WHEN THE PLACE CLOSED. ON FRIDAY, AS I WAS ABOUT TO LEAVE, HE WOULD PULL OUT THE ENVELOPE AND STUFF THE LAST DAYS PAY INTO IT AND HAND IT TO ME. I HAD A WAD OF CASH IN ALL SORTS OF BILLS FOR THE WEEKEND. OF COURSE PAYING THE TAXES ON MY EARNINGS WAS MY RESPONSIBILITY.

WANTING TO MAKE MORE MONEY, I WAS LOOKING FOR ANOTHER JOB. THE MARKET IN DULUTH HAS BEEN DEPRESSED SINCE THE STEEL COMPANIES MOVED OUT IN THE 1960’S. THAT’S WHEN JAPAN FLOODED THE U.S. MARKET WITH HIGHER QUALITY STEEL MADE FROM CHEAP ORE. THE RICH ORE FROM THE MESABI RANGE IN NORTHERN MINNESOTA WASN’T NEEDED AND U.S. STEEL CLOSED ITS DOORS. POPULATION IN DULUTH WENT FROM OVER 110,000 PEOPLE TO JUST UNDER 90,000, WHERE IT’S AT TODAY.

I REALIZE THAT THIS SNAPSHOT OF MY EXISTENCE FOR THOSE FEW MONTHS ISN’T THE MOST EXCITING THING IN THE WORLD. IT IS NOT ALL THAT INTERESTING TO GO TO WORK. TV SHOWS ARE MADE ABOUT CRIME SCENES, PEOPLE’S DISTRESS AND SHORTCOMINGS AND HILARITY FOR HILARITY’S SAKE. THE ONLY DINER SHOW I REMEMBER WAS “ALICE”. SHE WORKED AT MEL’S DINER SOMEWHERE.

THE COMEDY WAS MIXED WITH THE TRYING CIRCUMSTANCES ASSOCIATED WITH A SINGLE MOM STRUGGLING TO MAKE ENDS MEET AND THE CHARACTERS SHE CAME IN CONTACT WITH. EVERYDAY LIFE IS A LOT LIKE THAT FOR MANY OF US. BUT FOR ME, THE DINER EXPERIENCE WAS MORE.

YOU GET CUSTOMERS COMING IN AND OUT ALL MORNING LONG. SOME ARE REGULARS AND YOU CAN FOLLOW AN EPISODE OF THEIR LIFE FROM DAY TO DAY. EACH TIME YOU SPEAK OR ARE SPOKEN TO YOU FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENED NEXT IN THEIR SAGA. HOW THE SURPRISE PARTY TURNED OUT, HOW THEIR CHILD'S DENTIST APPOINTMENT WENT, THE BIRTHIN’ AND THE BURYIN’. REAL LIFE.

SOME ARE STRANGERS AND DON’T SAY MUCH. I LIKE TO IMAGINE THEIR LIFE. I LIKE TO PRETEND I KNOW THEM AND IMAGINE THE CONVERSATION. HOW THEY ARE DRESSED, FOR WORK OR LEISURE, HOW THEY EAT, HUNKERED DOWN ON THE PLATE OR UPRIGHT AND DIGNIFIED. HOW THEY SMOKE, IF THEY SMOKE, OR WHAT THEY ARE THINKING, WHAT THEIR NAME MIGHT BE, HOW OLD THEY ARE OR WHETHER THEY ARE SINGLE, MARRIED, A PARENT, A STUDENT, THEIR STORY.

EVERYDAY A DIFFERENT DISPLAY OF HUMAN NATURE. A REACTION TO A SIREN OUT IN THE STREET. A COMMENT MADE ABOUT ANYTHING. HOW THEY SCRATCH THEIR EAR OR PICK THEIR NOSE. HOW THEY ARE AFFECTED BY THE LOCAL OR NATIONAL NEWS.  THIS IS WHY I LIKED DOING WHAT I WAS DOING AT THE WATERFRONT. THIS ACTIVITY IS WATCHING LIFE ITSELF AND GETTING PAID FOR IT. I CAN’T REALLY EXPLAIN THE FEELING. IT’S A TYPE OF AMBIANCE OR EXISTENCE THAT THE ONLY WAY TO UNDERSTAND IT IS TO EXPERIENCE IT. 

THE WATERFRONT DEAL LASTED ONLY A FEW MONTHS. I WAS OUT OF THERE BY MARCH OF 1995. I LEFT DULUTH AND STARTED THE NEXT CAREER. THE NEXT JOB IN A SERIES OF EMPLOYMENT AND SCHEMES TO SUPPORT MY LIFESTYLE SINCE 1970. SOMEDAY, I’LL PUT TOGETHER THE MASTER GUIDE TO MY RESUME AND LIST THEM ALL. 

ISN’T IT FUNNY THAT BILL, THE GUY WORKING IN THE WATERFRONT DINER NEXT TO ME EVERYDAY HAD BEEN THERE FOR 19 YEARS? HE HAS LIVED IN THE SAME HOUSE SINCE HE WAS BORN IN 1952. HE DOESN’T DRIVE AND HAS NEVER HAD A DRIVERS LICENSE. HE COMES TO WORK AND WORKS AT HIS JOB. HE DOESN’T THINK ABOUT THINGS THE SAME WAY I DO. IT’S NOT A BAD THING OR A GOOD THING, BUT A DIFFERENT THING. A DIFFERENT WAY OF LIVING THAT IS FOREIGN TO ME, BUT ACKNOWLEDGED THAT IT DOES EXIST. 

I LEFT THE DINER LIKE I FOUND IT. I TOLD TOM I WAS MOVIN’ ON AND WOULDN’T BE IN NEXT WEEK. HE SHRUGGED A KIND OF GESTURE THAT SAID HE HAD HEARD ME. I DON’T REMEMBER SEEING ANY SIGN OF SADNESS, BUT WAS ALSO NOT OVERJOYED. 

FROM THE WATERFRONT,I MOVED TO THE TWIN CITIES METRO AREA OF MINNEAPOLIS/SAINT PAUL IN 1995.

SEE YOU NEXT WEEK FROM WHO KNOWS WHERE!

PEACE