Everywhere I Go...There I Am

July 2, 2013

Summer Road Trip 2013_Day 11 & 12

Community Arts Building Mural

“True terror is to wake up one morning and discover that your high school class is running the country.”  Kurt Vonnegut

Or at the very least, local government.

I left Marion - the city of my birth - shortly after high school. It was always someplace I couldn’t wait to get away from; at a very early age, I just knew my destiny, my dreams, resided elsewhere. Shortly after leaving Marion, I left Indiana, only to return once a year or so to visit family. When my Dad retired in the late ’80’s, my parents moved to Muncie and I rarely ‘traveled’ to Marion when visiting. I rode over yesterday to check out the mural on the building downtown....what USED to be there?

I guess if you grow up in a town, stay in a town, and age with that town....its like your own reflection in the mirror...the aging and decay are gradual, and you either choose not to notice, or you just reach a level of acceptance. I ride around South Marion where I grew up; the old house is there...looks smaller. I’m amazed at how the college has just  consumed the area...like a giant amoeba, absorbing everything in the vicinity including my grandparents house. The campus appears to be the sparkling jewel however for an otherwise deteriorating area.

Marions Most Famous Sons

The decay is everywhere like a blight; things just look raggedy, dirty, and neglected. It makes me sad. Huge parts of the town are just gone...razed, eliminated, no longer useful. Other parts have been cleared to make way for something new; I walked around the square trying to remember ‘what that used to be.’  I truly felt like a ‘stranger in a strange land.’

My Dad wanted me to see the murals on the side of the Community School for the Arts building on the East side of the square...they are amazing! A refreshing bright spot in an otherwise dreary downtown. Giant-size portraits of notable....Maronites?....Hoosiers? Not real sure. James Dean - the iconic Bad Boy of the ’50’s - was born in Marion, raised in Fairmount and buried in Fairmount. Preserving his legacy is a full-time job for the residents of Grant County. Jim Davis, the creator of that lovable feline character ‘Garfield,’ was a resident of Delaware county. The other portraits.....I’m going to have to do my research to fully appreciate them. Imagine growing up here and being totally ignorant as to ‘why’ those people are painted on the side of the building.

Squealers on the Square

I strolled across the street and stood with a heavy heart at the ‘new’ Vietnam Veterans’ Memorial....the war in Vietnam dominated my childhood and adolescence. It also robbed an entire generation of hometown boys of their lives...the KIA’s are listed on the spire of granite. I don’t know one Vietnam veteran that came home from the war the same boy that left. I gazed up at the monument, and recognized way too many names...one boy I dated after he returned from ‘Nam. I heard he had perished in a fire - along with a couple of his children - when his home went up in flames. His name is etched in granite now, preserved for posterity.

And the pigs....squealers on the square....say what?!  Thanks to Bobby Burns for the history lesson, but again, I grew up here, and never heard the story ....and I’m a biker chick! Let me just say the pigs are incongruous at best with an already debilitated downtown. 

Matter Park Gardens

My next stop was Matter Park; I cruised out River Road - walking trail is a nice touch - along the Mississinewa River...spilling its muddy contents over the dam, then meandering through the park. I was pleased to find the formal gardens created where the softball diamonds used to be! Another bright spot in my old hometown. 

‘Cast my memory back there, Lord,’ (Van Morrison/Brown Eyed Girl)....lots of memories at Matter Park that span the decades.  

I stood in the center of the park, just up the hill from the river, where the kiddie rides used to be. I closed my eyes and I could hear the calliope music - from the carousel - lending a festive carnival-like atmosphere to the cluster of rides. I remembered the joy of those silly boats....all connected to the center turnstile-type thing that made us go round and round and round in the shallow water. I could hear the clanging of the little bell that was mounted on the dashboard of each boat...didn’t matter where you steered, you would just follow the boat in front of you anyway. I remember the cable cars suspended overhead; how daring it was to climb aboard and traverse the park - the river so close! - in those brightly painted cages. The cotton candy vendor would do a brisk business; each child tugging at their parent, clamoring for the sweet, sticky, gooy-ness of the spun sugar that melted on your tongue. 

The dreaded Baboon Cages

There were animals at the park; poor, wretched beasts that seemed so exotic when you are small. I remember the baboons - maybe monkeys too - but mostly the baboons. They were nasty; their smelly, red-assed bottoms visible as they sat and picked fleas off each other. And I remember the smell...a fecund, fetid smell of a dirty animal with a good measure of Pine Sol thrown into the cement cage in an attempt to make it smell ‘clean.’ To this day, whenever I smell Pine Sol, I remember the baboon cages at Matter Park. Like something out of a Stephen King novel.

The rides and the animals disappeared years ago; the park has metamorphosed several times over the years to accommodate the needs of the community. The bandshell is still there, the swings, and ancient slide at the top of the hill. The formal gardens have replaced the softball fields, the softball fields have replaced the tennis courts, and the childrens’ play area has replaced the ice skating rink...or is the pond still there somewhere!?

Thomas Wolfe is right, ‘you can’t go home again.’ I stumble around, seeing family, seeking old friends, and reminiscing about the past. I think of all the years I’ve been away, I think of all the years I’ve spent moving around...and after the big cities lost their appeal, I settled in a small town in Central Florida....much like my old hometown....where I have spent the last 25 years raising my daughters.  And I know they feel just like their Mother did all those years ago....they can’t wait to leave.

Bessie2 at the Cumberland Covered Bridge_Matthews

The irony is....everywhere I go, there I am. Its’ not about the physical geography, its about the emotional mindset, the psychological salvation. Home is where they have to take you in.