American Places: Mind, Memory And Mobility

 

This morning I read a report that metro Atlanta's population is expected to grow to 9 million residents in the next twenty-five years. That's up from 6.5 million today. The bulk of this increase has to come from somewhere other than fecundity and foreign immigration. It rests in a combination of internal migration from one city to another or from small town and rural America into a major city.

The draw of the urban magnet has been cycling across the country for several decade and shows no sign of stopping. Although the city offerss a large spectrum of opportunity, I think the decision to locate comes at some cost particularly for those entering a major metropolitan experience for the first time. There may of course come a time when an individual or family may no longer need or want all that experience offers. In such cases a return to town and countryside can be a welcome change.

Over a decade ago, a meandering road trip across the Midwes and Plains to Idaho brought to mind the meaning of place in the context of motivation and freedom of mobility. I think those observations are as true today as they were those years ago and deserve to be the bulk of this post.

Vastness is a striking element of the High Plains and Northern Rockies. Distant features on the horizon seem pushed beyond unreachable by the perspective. There is a similar vastness overhead in that huge dome of sky, but interestingly, it seems so close that one could reach deep into it and grab a handful of cloud. But it only works directly overhead. Look to the side and the perspective makes one feel very insignificant. In sum, it is a landscape of isolation. At the same time, the great cultural quilt called the Public Land Survey System, a concept out of the mind of Thomas Jefferson, insured that settlers would have roads, schools and urbanization, at least on a small scale.

In the century or so that this region has been settled by the farmer, the miner, and the merchant, thousands of towns have indeed developed. I visited many of them, the smaller towns, on my journey: Glendo, Wentzville, Buffalo, Percival, Harlowton, Beatrice, Medora, Yanktown, Glendive, Mobridge, Forsyth, Roundup, Dickerson, Washburn. Some of them seemed to be thriving; others just holding their own. For most, the shining moments had long passed into the vacant storefronts, quiet streets, a subsistence economy, and aging population. Still, there was a sense of pride in those towns. The commemorations were evident in their vernacular monumentation to origins, the famous and infamous, the veterans living and dead, to love of country, and to spiritual beliefs. Elementary schools, regardless of age, were also well kept, reflecting the enthusiasm of their young charges who couldn't care less about the adult realities around them.

Why do these places survive? Whether it is yesterday or a century earlier, it takes a special kind of person to stay in the rural Dakotas and Montana no matter how beautiful the land. I can't think of more than a handful of my urban friends who would be interested. Perhaps these small towns persist because they are a product of the investment in the tough, isolated life around them. The sense of ownership, of "home," must be strong among these people as is the bonding. But, are the incentives social or are they driven by a range of economic factors from self-employment to poverty? I can't answer that. I can say, however, that today's small towns everywhere face a continuing out-migration to large metropolitan areas. It is a trend likely to continue. The towns in my list have lost many of their ambitious young adults to Bismarck, Great Falls, Rapid City and bright lights beyond. The older populations left behind sustain them and may do so in the future. After all, I expect many of the sons and daughters will return "home" to end out their lives in the places that nurtured them. Will that be enough? I suspect not, for abandoned towns are a rather common feature in urban history over much of the globe. As a man binds his house, so a town binds its people, but permanency is not a part of the formula. Let us accept it and move on.

I'm leaving tomorrow but I don't want to go

I love you my town, you'll always live in my soul

But I can see the sun's setting fast

And just like they say, nothing good ever lasts

Bob Dylan's Birthday

My birthday list - for blogging purposes - has about 150 entries but Dylan isn't one of them. It's the voice. And, yes, he is a popular culture icon who certainly deserves some notice on the day he turns 69. Thanks to Scott Johnson (Powerline), today's event has come to OTR's attention, and he is happy to pass it on to his few and far between readers. As always, Johnson does have a nice write-up that you can read here.

Furthermore, Johnson has provided us with a link to an important revelation as well. It is the reference to John Husock's 2005 City Journal article on Pete Seeger. As I have stated before on this blog, I believe many people underestimate to profound significance that popular culture has on the course of American history and the American experience. Husock's article could be the best defense of the study of popular culture that I have ever encountered. It is a superb demonstration of the nexus of music, political philosophy, behavioral science, and the course of history. If you like what you're hearing, it is a "must read."

Our Town

Three weeks and 7000 miles on the road, much of it in new territory, generates a score of story threads, each one screaming for elaboration. The priorities are falling into place. The piles of reference materials with notes on notes get a bit neater but never what one would call orderly. Even the electronic outlines show signs of healthy word growth. Somehow, sometime, coherent essays will come out of all of this. For now, I'm still content to wander - and wonder - over the whole expanse of people and places over time. Occasionally, observations in search of comment fly off this great spiral. Here's one of them.




Vastness is a striking element of the High Plains and Northern Rockies. Distant features on the horizon seem pushed beyond unreachable by the perspective. There is a similar vastness overhead in that huge dome of sky, but interestingly, it seems so close that one could reach deep into it and grab a handful of cloud. But it only works directly overhead. Look to the side and the perspective makes one feel very insignificant. In sum, it is a landscape of isolation. At the same time, the great cultural quilt called the Public Land Survey System, a concept out of the mind of Thomas Jefferson, insured that settlers would have roads, schools and urbanization, at least on a small scale.

In the century or so that this region has been settled by the farmer, the miner, and the merchant, thousands of towns have indeed developed. I visited many of them, the smaller towns, on my journey: Glendo, Wentzville, Buffalo, Percival, Harlowton, Beatrice, Medora, Yanktown, Glendive, Mobridge, Forsyth, Roundup, Dickerson, Washburn. Some of them seemed to be thriving; others just holding their own. For most, the shining moments had long passed into the vacant storefronts, quiet streets, a subsistence economy, and aging population. Still, there was a sense of pride in those towns. The commemorations were evident in their vernacular monumentation to origins, the famous and infamous, the veterans living and dead, to love of country, and to spiritual beliefs. Elementary schools, regardless of age, were also well kept, reflecting the enthusiasm of their young charges who couldn't care less about the adult realities around them.

Why do these places survive? Whether it is yesterday or a century earlier, it takes a special kind of person to stay in the rural Dakotas and Montana no matter how beautiful the land. I can't think of more than a handful of my urban friends who would be interested. Perhaps these small towns persist because they are a product of the investment in the tough, isolated life around them. The sense of ownership, of "home," must be strong among these people as is the bonding. But, are the incentives social or are they driven by a range of economic factors from self-employment to poverty? I can't answer that. I can say, however, that today's small towns everywhere face a continuing out-migration to large metropolitan areas. It is a trend likely to continue. The towns in my list have lost many of their ambitious young adults to Bismarck, Great Falls, Rapid City and bright lights beyond. The older populations left behind sustain them and may do so in the future. After all, I expect many of the sons and daughters will return "home" to end out their lives in the places that nurtured them. Will that be enough? I suspect not, for abandoned towns are a rather common feature in urban history over much of the globe. As a man binds his house, so a town binds its people, but permanency is not a part of the formula. Let us accept it and move on.

I'm leaving tomorrow but I don't want to go
I love you my town, you'll always live in my soul
But I can see the sun's setting fast
And just like they say, nothing good ever lasts

Cosmos Mariner - Destination Unknown

He was born in Savannah in 1889 and lived in an elegant townhouse on Oglethorpe Avenue across the street from Colonial Cemetery. He often played in that ancient burial ground amidst tabby crypts and tombstones where the mortal remains of many of Georgia's aristocracy found rest. From the time he was eight or nine he wanted to be a poet, soon found himself captured by the works of Edgar Allan Poe, and happily sharing the terror with his brother and sisters.

With his parents immersed in Savannah society and surrounded by wealth, privilege, and pedigree, he seemed destined for success. After all, his father was a successful New England physician and both parents had a long heritage steeped in unitarianism and transcendental thought. But all was not well. One day, when he was eleven, he returned home to find his mother shot to death, his father dead by suicide. Conrad Aiken's world changed forever that day and he would never fully recover from the horror he saw.

Separated from his brothers and sisters, young Aiken lived with relatives in New England, but never felt he had a home. After attending private schools, he studied at Harvard under the guidance of philosopher and writer, George Santayana, and struck up a life-long friendship with fellow student, T. S. Eliot.

Aiken wrote lyrical poetry, weighted with symbolism and psychological exploration so deep that, in his own words, "Freud was in everything after 1912." By 1920, he had moved predominantly to prose expressing his "faith in consciousness" and endless search for knowledge as the means to quell his personal chaos and bring order and structure to the larger consciousness of the world. In all, he wrote or edited fifty books, including his poetry, short stories, five novels, and one autobiography.

For all of his output, Conrad Aiken never achieved the level of fame of his good friend, T. S. Eliot, or other contemporaries. There are several reasons for his obscurity. He was deeply introverted to the point of being clinically shy. His shyness led him to avoid readings that, for a poet, were lifelines to his audience. Furthermore, he chose to be a most candid critic, a posture that did not endear him to his fellow writers. And finally, during his middle years, he was a resident of both the United States and Europe. Many writers, benefactors, and salons on both sides of the Atlantic could never quite identify him as one of their own. By 1960, he had been resident in the U.S for some years and "rediscovered." Aiken eventually returned part-time to the elegance of Savannah. He spent the winters living next to his boyhood home and became the focus of social and academic circles and sought out by admirers until his death in 1973.

If you wander toward the eastern bluff in Savannah's magnificent Bonaventure Cemetery, you will arrive at Aiken Way. There, with the vast salt marshes of the Wilmington River spreading out to the distant treeline, you will find a memorial bench Aiken installed before his death. Next to it is a headstone bearing the identical death dates of his parents, an eerie reminder of the chaos we all face in our lives.

For those of us who have found our peace, there is a profound release there under the live oaks and Spanish moss. Others may not be so fortunate. Aiken is one them. In life, he was restless, a constant searcher forever sailing through an uncertain sea. He felt the same about death and wanted us to know. How fitting it was that he should find his epitaph quite by accident while perusing the Savannah newspapers. It appeared in the daily list of port activity and read simply: "Cosmos Mariner - Destination Unknown." Aiken indeed saw himself a cosmic mariner who arrived in this world on this day, August 5, 1889. On August 17, 1973, he cast off without a port of call, destination unknown. He left behind, engraved on the bench the wish, "Give my love to the world." It is a rather confident wish coming from a restless sailor. We can pray that every man should find safe harbor, all the while knowing that we are not the final judge of his navigation. We are left merely to explore the products of a shy and troubled man who could appreciate a bawdy pun and have his say in singing words and lilting prose.


Read more about Conrad Aiken and his work at these sources which form the core of my blog entry:

The New Georgia Encyclopedia, Conrad Aiken, entry by Ted R. Spivey
Wikipedia entry, Conrad Aiken
Conrad Aiken: Prodigy Unitarian Poet, by Richard A. Kellaway
The Art of Poetry No. 9, Conrad Aiken, The Paris Review

The Coming American Matriarchy

Instapundit brings this subject to our attention today with a link to Fabius Maximus.

Future Filmmakers Of America

If you have a creative streak driving you to make a film, here's some great news. We are indeed poised for a new age. Twenty years ago, I doubt anyone envisioned such a transformation in the visual arts and motion picture industries. I'm ready.

Thanks to Instapundit for the link.

More On Migration To The Free States

In several posts I've mentioned economic issues as a factor motivating migration away from the nanny states. Here's a post from Moonbattery that addresses personal freedom and its impact on migration. The statistics are good news for those states where collectivist thinking has yet to take root. On the other hand, those who migrate to the free states always have the potential of bringing the nanny mentality with them. The classic example today is the "californication" of Nevada.

Forgotten Holiday

The folks at Peach Pundit reminded readers today that yesterday was Confederate Memorial Day in Georgia. It was certainly news to me as there was nothing in the newspapers, on radio, television or my state Internet sources. Someone, somewhere must have celebrated something, but it is a sign of the times, of the New South, that nothing made the news. It's just as well for me as I have no personal connections to the Confederacy, but I did marry into a family with deep roots - nine generations - in Virginia history. In the same way that General Robert E. Lee chose loyalty to Virginia rather than the United States, they have chosen loyalty to Virginia rather than the Confederacy. With that said, Confederate Memorial Day can slip easily from memory.

My suspicion is that this holiday is about to regain some stature, especially in the historic landmark cities and rural South where time has slowed and attitudes, opinions, and beliefs persist well into old age. It is a reflection of the fact that the nation has both come a long way from the Civil War and yet not very far. The spark for this revival is the sesquicentennial of the Civil War - War of Northern Aggression or War Between the States, if you're "from these parts" - which will begin April 11, 2011. On that date and for the next four years, those in the South should have many opportunities to see colorful events associated with the commemoration. At the same time, Americans will have time to reflect on the never ending debate on the causes and effects of that conflict. It will be interesting to see how the history and conclusions about it compare with the interpretations of fifty years ago.

[The illustration is the First National Flag of the Confederacy - the Stars and Bars - adopted in 1861 and replaced in 1863. Replace the circle of stars with the Georgia State Seal and you have the official stage flag of Georgia, adopted in 2004. The more things change the more they remain the same.]

Old Tybee Ranger Predicts

So the word is that Obama is a poor finisher, always polling four to six percent more than the actual vote. I don't think that matters tomorrow. Barack Obama will become our President-elect in a close election. Come January, Obama and his leadership on Capitol Hill, may begin a dedicated move toward socialism, a failed economic philosphy that will lead the nation down the road to serfdom. On the other hand, he campaigned as a centrist, and could very well govern as one. Regardless, we will have four years to form an opinion before casting another presidential vote.

The one certainty in all of this is that the the nation and national conscience will endure through the political change. But this new politics and national introspection may lead the United States to embark on its own kind of cultural focus and revival much like that of Germany's Weimar Republic, 1918 -1933. Please understand that it is a loose parallel. I have no expectation whatsoever that the experience will devolve into national socialism, as in Nazi. Quite the opposite, I see it as a recovery of the innovative spirit we seem to have lost over the past ten to twenty years.

And so I'll put politics aside until 2008 - maybe 2012. I'm not going to let the outcome of tomorrow's election affect my world. Instead, I'll look forward to the cultural evolution. I'll also pour a glass of ice cold gin and, as I often do, look into history. My baby and I will darken the room, find some comfortable chairs at a small table, and listen to this:



The girls, the cars, the clubs, the hot jazz, the dancing. I can envision some couple at the Berlin Cabaret in 1930 thinking about the States and its Roaring Twenties and American jazz, enjoying it all, with no thought to the political future. Unlike them, I can watch the culture unfold knowing that it rests on two centuries of constitutional law and republican principles. Endurance is on my side, left, right, and center. We are really blessed by God with the privilege of choosing our leaders. Let us look forward and enjoy.