RUDIMENTS, pt. 879
(painful toothache syndrome)
The town of Sheds, as I pointed
out, pretty much had nothing. It
was a 'location' more marked
on a map then anything else at
all. The place called 'Unadilla'
by contrast, had something
going for itself. An actual silo
company, famed and plentiful
too. In my farm-time in old
Pennsylvania I'd seen lots of
Unadilla Silos. Unadilla Silo
Company was a major name
and I guess, or would imagine,
they employed lots of locals.
Whatever 'lots' may be for
up there - these were pretty
nice wooden silos, not in any
way characteristic of factory
or corporate production; they
had somehow kept a smallish,
hand-held and crafty artisinal
feel. It was a nice thing, and
then about 1972 the big silo
guys started rolling in and many
old-time silos and locations
were pushed aside or taken
over by the huge new types
of 'modern' silos, like those
'Harvestore' monster-sized
ones. I never knew what the
differentials may have been
for price and installation, but
the new silos all sure had a
different feel and only the most
established and well-financed
farms were affording them.
Like so much else, parts of the
old ways were just falling apart
in chunks and slamming down.
No wonder a lot of those bar
guys up there were intemperate
and angry. Drink solves a lot
of Wintry woes, when you're
cold and stuck. I was always
feeling sorry for people, and
even in Elmira a lot of times
I'd see the really ragged old guys
who used to stammer around with
but a few teeth left, all worn and
wizened in their faces. I just knew
that 20 years previous they'd been
local country guys with farms and
lands of their own and now it was
all fallen away too. Now they had
nothing and the bad feelings were
pretty palpable. All you had to
do, out that way, in 1972, was
get in a car and drive out 15 or
so miles in any direction - Pine
City, or up towards Ithaca, or out
Binghamton way, and all that land
in between, and you'd see, interspersed
here and there, the ragged remnants
of what used to be; and in some
places it all looked as if the poor
souls had just abandoned the places
last month and not ten years ago.
There was so much dispossession
and loss always going on that I had
a hard time some days figuring
what the whole idea of holdings
and property and ownership and all
was supposed to be about. Were these
people driven off their lands by banks
and realtors because they had no
more money? Just so the places then
could remain idle, and rot, and fall
to pieces. That was all the same as
any NYC slumlord hoax and I was
always surprised it went on. I figured
it did, and I figured there was a pailful
of hurt and sorry people in each case
too. Yes, no one seemed to care, and
all those local Elmira bankers, at
Chemung County Trust Company,
and/or Marine Midland Bank and
the rest, they were all just able to
sit back in their half-swank offices
driving back and forth to work each
day in their new Chevy Novas and
hold these life and death futures of
all these kids and families in their
hands and just heave them out in
the cold. If any of that was ownership,
then I wanted to know who or what
ever owned anything? It was all on
the whim of some pointy-pencil
geek deciding fates over dollars and
cents. Inside every shirt I always
thought there was a heart; but in
the case of these hardened banker
types, I guessed not. Not even with
their sailboats and stuff out along the
Finger Lakes and pleasure places
just a few miles north. yep, they
sure knew how to live after hours
and on weekends, leaving all these
local beggars in the lurch.
-
I should have been a revolutionary,
from the very first day I was born.
Things like this always pained me
and got me angry enough to want to
take a scimitar to plenty of necks and
heads.There's nothing you can do
about that, it's just sort of ingrained
in you, and if it is you sure know it's
there. Painful Toothache Syndrome,
it's called, PTS. Because just like
that it' always there and gnawing
at you. PTS, and I got it! Maybe
sometimes even now I hope I'm
alive when some sort of whatever
'revolution' comes around, before
I die off anyway. I'd just like to
take a whack or two at certain
select people. I'd maybe feel
better in an instant.
-
At some point every lecture
becomes a bore. I can see that. In
Elmira there used to be a contingent
of late, leftover, airhead hippies,
in the most hapless of situations,
across from Sears, and in front
of the local, downtown McDonald's,
who for some reason all one Summer
had a table out front, (it seemed
everyday, as I passed it to and fro,
but maybe it wasn't), and on that
table they had and were handing
out, and taking collection-money
for, [I never understood this. It
was 1974, Muslims and Arabs
were still fairly unheard of, unless
maybe you grooved on the Six-Day
War and the Yom Kippur War after
that], a young Colonel Qaddafi, of
Libya. They viewed his in a religious
sense as a Messianic figure. He
was shown, in his photos, almost like
a desert warlord, with a head-wrap
and sword, very exotic, and with
all the desert sands and trappings.
Now, these were regular, white-trap
American kids; nothing foreign
about them, nor where they black
or any other non-white group. I
never engaged them bot for the
first time when they started
bantering me (our kid liked
McDonald's) about politics and
this Qaddafi guy. I let them
spiel, and gave back as good as
I got. At least I knew who the
guy was, which actually surprised
them. Elmira College was right
up the street, maybe 5 blocks,
main entry and college post
office. I don't know if those
kids had any connection, nor
did I care. Over at that post
office, every morning, there'd
be 30 or so copies of 'Granma'
the Cuban Communist Party's
ruling newspaper, in English.
(Granma was the name of the
boat that Castro and his guys
landed to Cuba with for their
'Revolution' - and which now,
in the land of Elmira banks and
farm foreclosures, was handed
out daily for free at the local
college. Pretty odd). So, I did
figure, maybe there could be a
connection somehow with these
two things - the hippie Qaddafi
fey thugs and this Granma daily
operation. but, really, who cared?
-
It seems often enough that things
are connected - all things - and that
life itself is just a convenience for
making that connection. I don't know
why that is or would be, but, in any
case, I never thought I'd be writing
here about a town that made silos. In
any case, let me quote Will Kessler:
"I recently met someone who lives
in Grand Rapids, Michigan. It's on
the way to Muskegon and I'm not
even sure whatever happens there.
But ever since that meeting, in
newspapers and emails, on the web
and social media, I see the words
'Grand Rapids' every day, and I
really mean every day. I don't
know why. It's weird. And now
you will too."
-
It seems often enough that things
are connected - all things - and that
life itself is just a convenience for
making that connection. I don't know
why that is or would be, but, in any
case, I never thought I'd be writing
here about a town that made silos. In
any case, let me quote Will Kessler:
"I recently met someone who lives
in Grand Rapids, Michigan. It's on
the way to Muskegon and I'm not
even sure whatever happens there.
But ever since that meeting, in
newspapers and emails, on the web
and social media, I see the words
'Grand Rapids' every day, and I
really mean every day. I don't
know why. It's weird. And now
you will too."
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