9068. THINGS ARE DIFFERENT NOW, Pt. 296

296. PEACH 
ORCHARD ROAD

I'd think to say one

of the first times I

became enamored of

a 'social' writer, as

opposed to a

creative writer,

was in 1972,

Ithaca, Cornell

University. There

are big stone

gates there with

an inscribed

plaque about

'Land-Grant

Universities and

Colleges' a long

time back and how

Cornell University

was one of those.

Way out, high up,

an isolated adjunct

of itself alone, for

learning and the

dedication of study

and scholarship.

The story went,

as I'd read, that

this fellow named

Thorstein Veblen

had sauntered in

one day, into the

Dean's office, or

the head office

somewhere, sat

himself down

and proclaimed,

'I am Thorstein

Veblen, and I

wish to be part

of your school.'

Graduate studies,

etc. Something

like that. Of course,

they were stunned,

the guy was weird,

foreign in outlook,

had been around, a

'writer' on economics

and social situations,

how people lived,

etc. Sarcastic, he

debunked the

wealthy, made

fun of strivers

and generally

cast trouble all

along his horizon.

'The Theory Of

the Leisure Class.'

He was Norwegian,

from Minnesota or

Wisconsin, I forget,

and he died in 1929.

He was a critic and

sociologist of society

-  'Conspicuous

Consumption,' and

'Conspicuous Leisure,'

were also his subjects.

People doing things

just to be seen doing it.

They were his terms,

he coined a lot of

concepts, did a lot

of work. That all, and

he too, made me

completely absorbed

within Cornell

University -  it's

life and place

and being and

history. Back in

those days anyone

could come and go,

really, without any

limits. Unlike today,

where everything's

under lock and key,

with passes and

scanners and ID

cards to be swiped

and all the rest,

you basically

can't go anywhere

without first being

properly credentialed.

I had none of that,

but we were never

stopped, never

parceled out,

never questioned,

never sent aside

for trouble or

trespass. learning

was free and

open  -  library

stacks, bookstores,

lounges and

study rooms.

Back then, too,

some of the

newest

architecture

there was

considered

groundbreaking

stuff. There was

an Agronomy

Building, raw,

structural steel

which had been

designed to rust,

or at least to

use and show

the rust as its

finish, and out

behind it was a

lake with canoes

and boats  -  rental

stuff, but we never

rented. Able

instead, on

off-times, to

get a boat out

and just run with

it on the water

with some oars.

As I said, no

one gave a hoot

about anything. 1973

security was pretty

miserable. The

Johnson Art

Museum was

also brand new

back then; right

on campus, just

opened, grand-opening

fete and all. It was

(still is, I've gone)

free then, now

they charge  -

tall, angular,

sort of brutalist

in architectural

'moderne' form.

Striking, but

not much else.

It was a nice

museum, but

left one cold.

Art shouldn't

be shouldered

with the

responsibility

 of having to

also carry the

building it's

in. That (building)

should be strong

and pleasant

enough to

recede and

let you view

the art. It just

seems like

everything

began getting

mixed up like

that back then.

The mid and

later 70's were

really crummy

for stuff like

that.

-

Plus, the problem

with that sort of

modern, poured or

stressed concrete

building is that it

never really ages

well. At first it

was really striking,

all whitish and

gleaming new;

and then over

time, and now

especially, it

gets ever so

slightly discolored;

no one does

anything about

it because, on

a day-to-day

basis, unless

you gauge this

carefully and

constantly you

don't even

notice  -  it's

very gradual.

Cracks form,

the stairs start

chipping, and,

on the whole,

it just never

leaves its own

time period  -

which was bad

to begin with  -

and only looks

worse in retrospect.

The sort of Winters

up there necessitate

plowing and salting,

for the parking

areas and lobbies

and all, and that

only adds to the

mess. The salt

begins dissolving

everything over

the years, and it 
begins eroding the 
building-finishes

and corners; and

the plows, as they

hit things, start

chipping it all

away. It's a mess

before you know.

-

So, Thorstein Veblen

captivated me, kept

me coming back. It

was maybe a 20 mile

trip from Elmira,

maybe a few more,

but it never mattered.

There were so

many cool, old

things along the

way that it was

constantly interesting.

Ithaca's a two-level

town. Up at the top,

some real hills, is

all the University

stuff plus a small

celestial observatory,

from the old days,

one of those

rounded, domed

buildings with

a strong telescope

in it for the Heavens.

Down below, if

you needed it, was

all the regular

town stuff  -  the

restaurants and

stores and movie

houses and bars

and all that. For

regular people.

Up top had that

stuff too, but

everything was

wild and unkempt,

messy and overgrown.

Made for the wild

and the wooley style

of the college student.

There are cliffs

and gorges all

about up there

too  -  which

became one of

the problems.

People were

jumping to their

deaths, 3 or 4

probably a year,

maybe more.

Failed exams,

lousy prospects,

broken hearts,

whatever. All

you had to do

was leap  -

pedestrian

walkways and

bridges, or just

off the rocks

in certain spots

-  and you were

done for in

about 4 seconds.

There wasn't

any coming

back, after your

brains are

splattered on

the rocks below.

Conspicuous

consumption?

I used to call

it conspicuous

quick-jumping.

-

For me, at this 

time, there was 

so little else to 

do worthwhile 

up there, other 

than the solitude 

and thought and 

work, which was 

all part of the plan 

and which was 

always fine, that 

any visit to Ithaca 

and Cornell was 

like a trip to the 

promised land; 

an international 

space station of 

cosmopolitan tastes, 

varied nationalities 

and different people 

all mingled together, 

up high anyway, 

at the campus level.

 I often felt like 

Henry David Thoreau 

coming out from 

Walden Pond. 

When the 

pressure pot was 

fired up and about 

to burst, a slow 

saunter into town, 

for him, relieved 

all that; as it 

did for me, 

going into 

Ithaca. Down 

below was all 

the same sort 

of beleaguered 

and somewhat 

sour local country-farm 

folk. If you weren't 

a farmer or part 

of a farm family, 

back then, it 

was pretty hard 

to justify  -  if you 

had any sort of 

inquisitive nature 

or working brain  -

staying around 

there. The 

townspeople 

were mostly 

people who 

had lived in 

Ithaca all their 

lives, with family 

histories there  -  

they owned homes 

and places with 

the small city 

limits. For up 

there it wasn't 

so small, but by 

any other normal 

standards, it was 

just a really small, 

oddball place. 

Factory work, 

University service 

work, or working 

for the road or 

town departments 

took up a lot of it. 

Everything else 

was just travel. 

Wide-open roads 

and such, but 

still travel. That 

whole thing about 

a 'country mile,' 

I never quite got. 

I think it meant 

long distances 

went fast because 

there was no 

road traffic or 

jams. I think. 

A mile's a mile, 

so no much-matter 

there. In the back, 

deeper woods, 

there was some 

real magic, but, 

except for hunters 

and things, most 

people left all 

that alone. In 

the summers, 

there was a 

real tourist 

trove of crap 

going too. We 

used to just pick 

a waterway, 

small streams 

and rivulets 

and things, 

and just walk 

it  -  through it, 

on the rocks, 

or the path next 

to it  -  never 

really knowing 

where it would 

lead. Plenty of 

surprises turned 

up  -  sudden 

deep gorges, 

waterfall streams 

down sheer rock 

faces, 100 feet 

drops, all rock-lined, 

occasional cabins 

and small houses, 

car tracks, lots of 

things. Six hours

later we'd be back 

to the car, tearing 

out. Everything 

has descriptive 

names out there 

too  -  Peach 

Orchard Road, 

stuff like that.
There's a certain
simplicity to country 
place-names, based as
they are on real senses
of usefulness  -  direction 
and information and all.
You don't find too many
'Jonathan Road' and 
'Eileen Way' sorts of
things  - more like 'Red
Carriage Lane' and
'Appleby Carriage
Highway.' Or just plain
old directional names -
'Ithaca-Hartford Road.'
-
There was another 
1950's writer, at that time, 
named Vance Packard,
who  -  in his way  -  did 
the same thing as Thorstein
Veblen had done. In a much
more colloquial and 1950's
TV way, he unmasked all
the crap behind the scenes
of the advertising industry
and the cultural morass
which had become America  
because of it  -  unknowingly.
He too was pretty much
unwelcome within the
'social circles' he wrote
of. But 'Devil be damned,' 
these guys went ahead with
all this anyway. I loved
to read these books  -  I
really got a kick from 
learning how duped the
average silly 'Joe' was,
in America. Much of this
all-new cultural ground,
never before trod. An 
entire behind-the scenes
fake gentility was underway,
enticing people into the
false veneer of a 'good'
life  -  good as long as you
were steered, like sheep,
in buying the products
they wished you to keep.