Whitman said it best...

For some reason I couldn't get this poem by Walt Whitman to attach to the end of my last post.
Really lovely stuff....maybe it will inspire you as it has me?

(I've made this gender neutral in my mind. You may want to do this, too. And, as is the case with most poetry, it's best read aloud.)


I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear;
Those of mechanics--each one singing his, as it should be, blithe and strong;
The carpenter singing his, as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his, as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work;
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat--the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck;
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench--the hatter singing as he stands;
The wood-cutter's song--the ploughboy's, on his way in the morning,
or at the noon intermission, or at sundown;
The delicious singing of the mother--or of the young wife at work--or of the girl sewing or washing--Each singing what belongs to her, and to none else;
The day what belongs to the day--At night, the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing, with open mouths, their strong melodious songs.

Diversity Lessons, Chicago Style

Until I can finish up a few of my longer blog posts, I wanted to offer up a quick note about how much I’ve enjoyed Chicago, especially its diversity. Although I’ve traveled to many places in the world, I’ve never been to Chicago. This acknowledgment leads most of my friends and students to give incredulous looks and comments of “Really? How can that be????” I’m a bit surprised myself given my proximity and the frequent Southwest specials from Nashville. But…there you have it.

Yesterday we checked out Taste of Chicago, The Art Institute of Chicago, and the Sears Tower (holy heck it‘s high!!). By nightfall, most of us where bone tired from all the walking we’d done. Today was a bit more relaxed--our primary goal was to wander through different neighborhoods looking at architecture and other identity markers (e.g., bill boards) associated with each place.

We started off in Chinatown with its bubble tea stores, Chinese restaurants, and pharmacies full of Chinese herbs not found in your typical Walgreen's store. Heading back downtown for lunch we passed by Arabesque, Chicago’s annual Arab festival. We were short on time, so nobody got henna tattoos but we did wander through the “souk,” or marketplace, looking at incense, belly dancing chains, and middle eastern desserts.

We took the train to a Hispanic/Latino neighborhood on the edge Wicker Park, a once working class neighborhood now gentrified and featuring many a hip “bo-bo” (bourgeois and bohemian) boutique. In Wicker Park, even the dentists are hip:

From there I broke off from the group for a quick walk just past Roberto Clemente high school where the boutiques promptly ended and empty lots and rundown buildings began. It was, perhaps, the most obvious shift of neighborhood. Turning around, some of us got lucky and stumbled upon Holy Trinity Cathedral, a lovely Russian Orthodox church built by famous architect Louis H. Sullivan. (I asked Chris to take some photos that would do the cathedral justice. I'll post them soon.)




Just around the corner we came across a local (and fun!) block party on the edge of Chicago’s “Ukrainian Village.”

Having working up a hunger, we headed back into the city for deep dish pizza at Giordano‘s!
If Chicago weren’t so darn cold, I could definitely think about living here. It’s got a good vibe--hustle and bustle downtown and tree-lined neighborhoods and lovely parks when you want something more serene. Much like the rest of our country Chicago is diverse. In my mind, that is one of its most desirable features and the one I may remember the most.

A few days ago we visited Mt. Rushmore, a monument to U.S. history called the "Temple to Democracy" by some. But, it's certainly not our entire history. Nearby, members of the Lakota Tribe are constructing their own monument to Crazy Horse, their leader who is best known for his role in the Battle of Little Bighorn. In part, the crafting of this monument is their response to being left out of the dominant "stories" of our past. In other words, they are literally carving out space for themselves and their people. I get that. It hurts to be left out of a game or not invited to a party. Can you imagine being left out of history in major ways? That doesn't just hurt the Lakota as a people, it hurts all Americans. Because if we don't *truly* know our past, how do we know how we got here and who we truly are as a nation?

That said, while it's important that we acknowledge, honor, and sometimes atone for our past we can't be stuck in the past. We need to have one foot firmly in the present--and be headed into our future. So, to bring it back to the start of this post, I've been pondering ways we can acknowledge and affirm the diversity of our past and of our present without carving up another mountain. Perhaps we could print new money--something that most people see on a regular basis. It could include drawings of teachers, farmers, slaves, coal miners, artists, doctors, retail clerks, scientists, and so on. (And, while we're at it, let's make the money prettier--pinks, blues, silver, spring green, etc.) What do you think? What ideas do you have for celebrating the diverse peoples who built and continue to build the United States?

America the Beautiful

Nobody sees a flower really; it is so small.
We haven't time, and to see takes time -
like to have a friend takes time.
~ Georgia O'Keffe

(Sunset along the beach in Crescent City, California.)

I’ve never was a “nature girl…or so I thought. Growing up, my mom would joke--sort of--that she’d “go camping at the Hilton.” We’d go to the beach on the weekends, but I was only a kid and didn’t really think about nature or how lucky I was to grow up near the ocean. I was focused on the fun of it all--swimming and building sand castles and soaking up the sun. What I wouldn’t give to live near that ocean now.

.
(Both big and small in the Redwoods.)

Until graduate school, I never went out of my way to be in nature. Sitting on my back porch and walking in my neighborhood seemed good enough. But then, something changed. I started walking the trails in Tallahassee and canoeing the nearby waterways. Every once in a while I'd drive 90 minutes to spend the day on the beach St. George Island. Increasingly, I began to really look at my surroundings. I wasn’t thinking about the day or going for exercise. I was there to be in nature. I was there just to be. It was unexpectedly liberating.


(These roses looked gorgeous, but it was the scent that hooked me. Sort of grapefruity.)

After graduate school, I’d walk along the river in Tulsa most nights, watching the water and light change with the time of day and the season. That’s when I realized there really were hundreds of shades of green. I snorkeled in Thailand, hiked in Morocco, and kayaked in Belize. Bit by bit, the pieces added up: I was, in fact, a “nature girl.” Who knew?

(A view from the Portland International Rose Test Garden.)

Someone recently asked me where I went to church this past Easter. I replied that I went to the “Church of Radnor Lake.” I wasn’t joking. Instead of the usual Sunday service, I wanted to be in the hills, looking at swaths of purple larkspur, and trying to catch a glimpse of the deer in the woods or along the lake.

God writes the gospel not in the Bible alone,
but on trees and flowers and clouds and stars.
~Martin Luther

Students sweetly teased me this morning about videos that I took in the Redwoods: a big banana slug eating a leaf, clover blowing in the breeze, and three tiny streams that all dripped into a pool at different rates causing what I called a “stream symphony.” I know, I know, it sounds silly. But…I must have listened to it for 10 minutes. P-lunk, p-lunk, p-lunk. Plunkplunkplunkplunkplunk. Pluuuuuuuuunk. Pluuuuuuuuuunk. Pluuuuuuuuuunk. I was a little spellbound, really. Dante once said something like “Nature is the art of God” and as I consider the natural beauty we’ve seen on this trip, that idea rings true to me.

(The sunset from atop Seattle's Space Needle.)

This trip also has me thinking about the huge disconnect many of us experience as we traverse the concrete jungle each day going to and fro. In Los Angeles, we took two trips that, while just around 20 miles, took us nearly 2 hours to make given the traffic. In Vegas, we were surrounded by lots of lights, but unable to see any stars. In Memphis we watched ducks waddle down a carpet in a big, fancy hotel rather than in a lake somewhere.

(Sunset in El Paso, Tx.)

Likewise, back at home, I often sit at my desk for 10 or 12 hours a day. I have a window that looks out over a mighty oak and I have a light bulb that mimics full-spectrum sunlight. But, I have come to the realization that I need to be in nature -- not just view it from inside a window. Increasingly I’m making time to hike a few times a week and I’m thinking about buying a kayak when I get home. I realize that while I’ve been interested in getting out on the water, I haven’t been committed. There’s a big difference between the two.

(The Grand Canyon. This shot doesn't do it any justice.)


I’ve enjoyed visiting the cities we’ve seen and talking with so many different kinds of people on this trip. I’ve loved being with our students and my colleague, Ken. And, I look forward to seeing New York, Chicago, and Minneapolis. But, I’m pretty sure a big part of what I’ll remember about our adventure will be the amazing natural sights we’ve seen. And the song, "America the Beautiful" will never be the same for me again.

I thank you God for this most amazing day,
for the leaping greenly spirits of trees,
and for the blue dream of sky and for everything which is natural,
which is infinite, which is yes.
~e.e. cummings

(A field of roses...my inner garden nerd was in heaven.)

Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves.
~John Muir

Watching clouds roll by
on a sunny day
Who needs church?
Nature is divine.
~Carrie Latet

FOOD GLORIOUS FOOD

Today we spent a good portion of the day doing the unglamorous but necessary tasks required by our trip--laundry, showers (yeah!), cleaning the bus, and stocking up on groceries. We are eating far too unhealthful and spending far too much eating out. In fact, some days it feels like eating is all we do. But, that makes sense, in a way, because we’re trying to understand American and what better way than through its food. If food is a vehicle through which we can understand local culture then, by extension, maybe we can learn a little about ourselves in the process.

We’ve come a long way since the standard “meat and potatoes” meals of the 1950s. Sure, we still have the “meat and three” in the south, but nowadays, consumers (at least those who have the luxury to afford it) desire beautiful, creative, healthy, and aesthetically pleasing meals. And, organic if we/they can get it. While I normally stick to “healthy” choices at home such as egg whites, fruit, and protein shakes, that’s been pretty hard to do on this trip. So far I’ve take a “when in Rome do as the Romans“ approach. I’m sure it will cost me when I get home, but it’s been a lot of fun. And, I think it’s teaching me some useful things about Americans/America.

For the past several years I’ve been wanting to put together a Sociology of Food class to explore how factors as gender, ethnicity, class, and religion influence the foods we choose to eat as well as those we wouldn’t touch with a 10 foot pole. (How about that fried tarantula I ate in Cambodia? Um, not a delight. But, folks there eat them by the bucketful without batting an eye.) Similarly, how do social forces such as the economy, media, and political structures influence how/why we consume certain foods? How do people ritualize their food use and in what ways can food help create community or create barriers between people?

While I’d like to say a lot about these topics, it‘s nearly 1:00 a.m., so I simply want to list a few of the foods I’ve eaten--along with some photos--to get you thinking about the connections between food and culture. What do you think we can learn about America by the diversity of its food offerings?

Day 1: Memphis - Rashina’s parents treated the entire group to an amazing array of Indian food. My choices included amazing samosas with chutney, naan, and gulab jamin with chai for dessert. Once you have real, fresh chai like I had in India and, again, at the Bhula’s, you will never, ever go back to tea from a box.


Fantastic! Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Bhula for your hospitality.

Day 2: Little Rock. I haven’t had beef, chicken, pork, and many other meats since I left for India in December. But, without eggs and fish…I couldn’t do it. So, at the Express Kitchen we ate at for dinner, I chose fried cat fish, mac & cheese, corn bread, mashed potatoes, and to share with the group… banana pudding. I can almost hear my arteries clogging now. But, it was fantastic fun. Being called “sugar” and “darlin’ ” when being asked what I wanted just added to the charm of the place.

Day 3: New Orleans. How could I go to NOLA and not get a Po Boy? This time it was a shrimp Po Boy and bread pudding for dessert. Lots of students had never tried the latter and it was fun to get their reviews. (My assessment: nice dose of cinnamon, but I make a better version.)

Day 4: San Antonio. My choice for lunch? Enchiladas and guacamole salad down on the Riverwalk. So much food I couldn't eat most of it. It's Texas...even lunch is BIG.

During our afternoon class, Matt and Holly surprised us with cold Dr Pepper. This is the original version--made with a different kind of sugar or something. Better than the usual stuff--not as sweet. And, I also learned that it’s Dr Pepper--without the period (not Dr.). Had never noticed that before.

Day 5: El Paso. We had lunch at Fort Bliss, the largest army base in the country--maybe the world. Would you expect anything less? After all, it *is* Texas. The meal was much like any college cafeteria offering. My tuna sandwich didn’t seem all too Texan so for dinner I sampled chili rellenos and flan. Again, most students had never tried the latter so we each got a custardy mouthful. Big fun. (Thanks to Heather’s aunt, Lounelle, for being our host.)

Day 6: Roswell. Ok, so, what can I say about Roswell NM? I’d hoped to find an Alien Salad or Out-of-this-world vegetable soup, but no luck. So, today I’ll list WATER as my special “food.” Our group spent a few hours out at the lake and I took a pretty long hike. After drinking two big bottles of water, I headed back to the lake and was surprised to find that the state park didn’t have working water fountains. What? Really? At a state park in the desert? (They also didn‘t have any recycling set up even though bottles are bound to be plentiful in such a situation.) My only option--to buy a bottle for $1.50. Boo.


Day 7: Gallup, N.M. Thanks to the women of the Silversmith family, today we all sampled our first Navajo tacos. These consist of ground beef (for most), beans, lettuce, tomatoes, union, and freshly ground chili on top of fried round bread. We had the same delicious bread topped with fresh homemade jam (berries picked in Portland) for dessert. This kept us going for nearly 7 hours!!



Day 8: Salt Lake City. Salt Lake City surprised most of us. We didn’t know much about it except for its Mormon history/present. And, we didn’t have an image of a regional food that went with it. The vibe and diversity in SLC was a pleasant surprise for everyone but the food surprised me, too. We started our day with lunch at Tony Caputo’s Deli. Tony and his restaurant are largely responsible for the urban renewal in that part of town. Apparently, you wouldn’t have wanted to step foot there 10 years ago. Our food choices were diverse and delightful, too. For lunch I had a fresh mozzerella/tomato/basil sandwich and Greek salad. Dinner was amazing Thai that gave Nashville’s Siam Café a good run for its money. Again, it was a blast to be there when several students tried their first Thai food. But, my favorite food of the day was Le Palle del Diavolo (aka “Devil’s Balls”) that I bought for everyone to try. These are wonderful dark chocolates laced with chili pepper. The heat that hits you at the end. Pow! When I find these online I’m going to order more.
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Day 10: Vegas - For me it was a vegan tuna wrap. Dinner at In and Out burger. What’s a pescetarian to do? I opted for fries.

Day 12: Los Angeles. Ah, yes, we’ve made it to the west coast. How do I know? I was able to get an egg white and avocado wrap w/ fruit and bottled jasmine tea for lunch. Made by the former chef for Mohamed Ali. Dinner included a small portion of blackened wahoo (fish), brown rice, black beans, and lime (followed by a short walk along the coast).


That’s it for the food blog, part 1. I’m sure I’ve got some dates wrong…time really blurs. But, you get the (delicious) idea.

Day 7: Gallup and Window Rock, New Mexico.

It’s nearly midnight and I’m just getting settled in after a full and emotional day. We spent nearly 12 hours in the company of Leland Silversmith a member of the Navajo Nation that spans New Mexico, Arizona, Utah, and Colorado.

Leland met us at a rest stop off of I-40 where he gave us an overview of his family and the Navajo nation. To our surprise, he generously planned to host us for the day, even though he’d worked all night at his casino job. Our first stop was a visit to his family home where we talked for a few hours with his family inside their hogan, an 8-sided structure made that represents the connection of humans to the earth. The Navajo Nation lies between four sacred mountains. Each mountain possesses two natures-- “feminine“ and “masculine,” hence the 8 sides (4 mountains x 2 natures). Part of our discussion involved learning about the Silversmith’s life within the greater context of Navajo history. Additionally, we got to see a bible written in the Navajo language and we learned of Leland’s participation in The Longest Walk, a walk from San Francisco to Washington, D.C. that took place in 2008 to raise awareness about issues facing native people and which commemorated a march that took place 30 years earlier.

Leland’s mother, sister, and niece had prepared “Navajo tacos” for us--beef, beans, lettuce, tomato, onion, and chilies atop a fried bread and fried bread with delicious jam made from fresh berries picked in Oregon. The meal fortified us for an afternoon in Window Rock approximately 30 minutes away. We stopped at the natural site for which Window Rock is named, a massive hole or window inside the red rocks.

We spent the afternoon meeting with administrators of the Navajo Nation learning about the difficulties facing native peoples, especially the Navajo. These issues are too complex to go into here, but most students hadn’t learned such things in school. Since our students are some of the most educated in this country, this suggests that most people in the US wouldn’t have learned the history of native peoples, either. As the representative told us issue after issue--from a lack of adequate schools, land taken under imminent domain laws, massive unemployment, and sacred sites being encroached on by businesses, students around the room simply shook their heads in disbelief. As part of our class discussions, students wondered why they knew so little of Native history and what is lost when we don’t examine all sides of an issue or event.

After visiting the Navajo Nations offices, we had a brief tour of the Navajo Times newspaper offices, a paper run for Navajos by Navajos before we returned to and attempted to herd sheep. Unfortunately, we couldn’t find any--they‘d managed to come home on their own!! We still enjoyed walking through the beautiful landscape filled with wild flowers, cacti, and an occasional horse or two.



We were all ready to head back to Gallup for dinner when we learned that Leland’s mom hadn’t wanted us to return hungry. (Keep in mind it’s only a 30 minute drive.) She and the other women of the family had prepared dinner for us. And, while the meal was lovely, it was their generosity that sustained us that day and evening. Leland, a storyteller, told us more stories as we sat around two large tables in the front yard, surrounded by the high cliffs. Both parents passionately encouraged us to think about the legacy that we will leave to our grandchildren and the debt that we owe them. How is what we do in line with our values? In what ways do we squander Mother Earth? What will our legacy be?

The history (and present) of Native people is filled with tragedy yet they--like others in our country--continue to thrive. I found myself thinking that native people are like the plants in the New Mexican landscape--struggling to emerge and grow while battling harsh conditions--and thriving nonetheless.

Before we left, we gathered in a circle and were honored with prayers of protection--in Navajo-by Mr. Silversmith. I am not sure what he said, but it was clear from our tears we all felt the love and respect with which his blessing was given. Our day spent with Leland and his family was a true gift of time, knowledge, stories, and hospitality. As with other stops along our journey, it reminded us that the human spirit can’t be defeated and that hope may very well be the single most defining feature of what makes us Americans.

Alien life in Roswell, New Mexico

Hi Everyone. We’re blogging from the Sunshine Laundromat after a fun, relaxing day in Roswell, NM. After talking last night we’ve decided to slow our pace a bit as the 16 hour days have been taking their toll. So, this is mostly a newsy note to keep you up to date.

After treating ourselves to our first hot breakfast off the bus in a week, we hit the road and headed for the Roswell UFO Museum. The museum is small but does a good job in getting visitors to question what happened that July evening back in 1947 when, according to some, an alien spacecraft crashed nearby. Given what we know about the number of galaxies that exist, it seems reasonable to me that other life forms might exist “out there.” And, if cars crash on the road, it seems reasonable that a “space ship” might crash here or there, too. (This is how it was explained to me by our car rental clerk.) So, I went into the museum with an open mind. After spending some time doing an interview with folks from the Roswell Record we ambled through the museum for an hour or so looking at old photos of remnants supposedly found at the crash site, copies of old newspaper stories covering the event, witness affidavits, and so on. It made for an interesting morning, but I think the museum would convince more people if they asked fewer rhetorical questions (e.g. “Could this be an alien’s fingerprint?”) and, instead, made explicit arguments. That’s just the sociologist in me, I suppose.

From there, we went to a lovely little coffee shop for lunch and an interview with one of the founding members of Alien Resistance (AR). AR members believe that aliens are really fallen angels and, by extension, argue that those who have experienced “abductions” have really had a demonic possession of sorts. According to AR, fallen angels often perform cruel experiments on children who have, usually by the sins of their parents, not led a Christian life. Rather, they may have dabbled in the occult, etc. Visits from the fallen angels are said to come somewhat frequently until the children are teens at which point they stop. (Maybe nobody, even fallen angels, wants to be around hormonal teens???) However, the visits start back up from the time the kids are 20 until they reach the end of their reproductive years.

The group has been in Roswell for about 10 years and, according to its founder, had won converts in the local community even though it is, according to him, a “wet blanket” on the story that Roswell crafts in regard to its identity. While my sense is that most of us couldn’t relate to AR, we were grateful for the time they gave to us to help us understand their perspective/corner of the world. Over dinner, we actually made some connections between this interview and our Little Rock church service in how we may have been pushed outside our boundaries and that, because of the class, were required to think about why that was and how it may have related to our socialization and, thus, our lenses. So, it was all good.

In the afternoon, we drove about 14 miles to Bottomless Lake State Park for a few hours hiking and swimming. The drive allowed us some time to rock out to Tejano music while taking in the vast plains and red clay mesas. Then we dipped into the icy waters of Lake Lea. Ahhhhhhhhhhh. As a bonus, we snuck in another shower at the park. (That’s *two days in a row* for those of you keeping count.) We all voted for more lizard time in the sun and water, but we won’t have the opportunity for a few days. Tomorrow we’re on to sheep herding at a Native American reservation and then, on Saturday, to the Grand Canyon!! We’re all pretty stoked about both days. Perhaps we can float in the Great Salt Lake on Sunday???

Day 5: El Paso, Texas....

Big state, big fun.

Unfortunately, we've been so busy and our internet connection so slow that this blog has been sitting in my file for 4 days. So, I'm just gonna post it and leave our wonderful student blogs to do most of the explaining!

We started our morning with art at the El Paso Museum of Art, a small but interesting museum in downtown El Paso. It was so lovely that we scrapped our plans for later in the day so that we could explore a bit more. We wandered through a print exhibit that offered a modern take on bestiario and nahuales. The bestiary was used during the Middle Ages as a way to teach Christian values through animal lore. In other words, each animal is symbolic. Christ, for example, was represented by the lion, an animal seen as both strong and noble. Nahuals, on the other hand, are guardian spirits that reside in animals and which protect people. The idea of nahuals comes from Mayan, Aztec, and MexoAmerican peoples. The exhibit juxtoposed the two in an interesting and connected way and set the tone for the rest of the day. That is, El Paso is clearly more than a border town, it really seemed to offer a mix of both US and Mexican cultures in a way that we found surprisingly interesting.

This theme continued in a a fun yet powerful mixed media piece called "The Border Patrol," that examined issues related to US/Mexican border. (Sadly, we weren't allowed to photograph it but you can see some of the other art below.)

E






After the museum, we headed to Fort Bliss, the largest military base in the country---larger than Rhode Island! (How on earth can that be???) Our hosts--Lunelle and Harold showed us around the the old fort, its museum, and the different areas of the base. As a military kid, this base was old hat for me in many ways, but was a big surprise to students. Unlike the base I (partially) grew up on, this base has many privately owned companies on it, including a nationally known burger joint. They earn the right to be there by donating part of their proceeds back to the base. Last year, they "gave" 5 million. One has to wonder how much they make in profit each year to give that chunk of change away. But, I digress...


One thing that struck me about the base was the pride in which it displays its weapons. I mean, this wasn't a surprise as I grew up in a Navy town and taught at a military college. As such, I have profound respect for our soliders and the sacrifices they make for me and our country. But, having just come back from a trip to Laos, Vietnam, and Cambodia, I also saw those weapons in a new light. I saw them for what they were--weapons of destruction and death. Now, we could debate the pros and cons of the military, but my point is similar to one I've made in other posts--that our history and our memory are two different things. It was this way in Vietnam, too, for example. Their war museum told of evil American agressors who ruthlessly attacked a peaceful people...no other side to the story. The truth in all things probably lies somewhere in the middle. And, I think we lose something when we don't put all of the truth out there. Not that this is easy...

Ultimately, I left the base grateful for the time that Harold had given us and for the reminders of
the liberties and freedoms that I do have and which have come at a very high price.


We spent our afternoon at a Latino grocery store stocking up on food, water, and some culture. El Paso is an astounding 82% Latino and this was obvious at the Rancho market where signs were in Spanish and English and "new" foods were plentiful.




Our day ended with Tex-Mex, a gorgeous sunset, and a drive along the border. As we saw people crossing to the other side, I wondered what lay before them. In the case of Mexicans returning home, I wondered what they may have given up to come here, to the US, and what they hoped to achieve for themselves and their families by coming here. Over dinner we talked to a waitress, now a naturalized citizen, who said that Americans don't value family as much as Mexicans. She said that Mexicans stay close to one another and support one another whereas Americans spread out doing whatever we want, following our individual paths. So why come here to the US? Securidad economica. And hope that her two daughters might one day do better than she had. Now, that's an American story if I've ever heard one.

All Sociology, All the Time!

I








SOCIOLOGY


Wow…what a great adventure it’s been so far and we‘re only 4 days in. Technically, I’m an administrator on this trip, but those of you who know me know that I pretty much always keep my sociology lens turned to “on.” To say it’s been all sociology all the time would not fall far from the truth. We’ve had sociological conversations not just during class time or while touring cultural sites, but in the van en route, over meals, late into the evening.

And, it’s been a real joy to have students (and Ken) welcome me into the conversation. Our students are so incredible…a good-natured bunch who are easy to laugh, but they take their learning seriously. When we were all running on empty the other night in Little Rock, we still had post-midnight discussion because we needed to process our experiences…we wanted to do it. Or, last night when we'd planned to come "home" early but got to thinking..."Gee, I wonder how they market Bourbon Street and New Orleans to upper class people. Let's go to the Ritz Carlton and see what we can learn." (And so we did!)

So, parents, know that I think your children are fantastic. As Cory said, we are academic pioneers discovering new lands right here in our own beautiful country.

How great is that?

Our evening in Little Rock ended with a powerful three hour long, non-denominational church service at Awareness Center International. We were greeted warmly by folks with big, full-body hugs like none I’ve ever seen--or given--in the Catholic and Episcopalian churches I’ve attended in my lifetime. Four people got up to microphones and began to belt out some gospel--accompanied by drums and electric piano--that gave new meaning to the idea of making a joyful noise. With song #1 our eyes got big and we flashed smiles to one another…with song #2 we began to tap our feet…by song #3 we were shaking our hips and clapping our hands, too. It was not like any church service I’d ever attended, but I liked it.

Then, a woman got up and began to preach. I’d spied her before on the stage in a plush looking arm chair. What came to my mind: 70s Donna Summer. This is to say that the minister was like none I’d seen before---certainly nothing like Father Murphy, the somewhat scary Irish priest of my childhood. This minister wore bedazzled jeans, a bright red “bebe” tank top--bra straps showing, and large, dangly silver earrings. She sported a long silver necklace with a big glittery star on it. I thought…”hmm.” Said another way…I was skeptical. But… then she spoke. And I heard. And I have to admit that I was ashamed. You see, I'd like to think that I’m a pretty darn open-minded person. I work with the homeless. I teach in a prison. I get a kick out of the goth kids at the mall. And I know not to judge a book by its cover. But wow, I had judged her and sized her up so quickly. In another context, maybe somewhere in Nashville, I might not have engaged her at all. Today, I had a great conversation with Panama Jack, a well-tattooed guy that we met on a corner in San Antonio who regaled us with stories about hitchhiking across the desert and spending time with guerrillas in Columbia. If it weren’t for this class, would I have stopped to talk with him? What about the upper class preppy folks by the river in New Orleans? Yea...probably not. And my bet is that they wouldn't have stopped to talk with me, either.

But one of the many gifts of travel is that you begin to see with the traveler’s eye…you know…when you really look for the beauty in something. It's always there but sometimes we lose sight of what's really in front of us. Things can so easily get cloudy.

Mark Twain once remarked that “travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness. If that’s so--and I think it is--I will come away from this trip being a better person. It’s good to have had this reminded and I will do better next time. So, thanks, Pastor, for helping me see your beauty. It was a good reminder that sometimes even the teacher needs to learn a lesson.

Thank you to the Little Rock Nine

Day 2: Little Rock, Arkansas


Today was an emotionally charged but good, important day. We started off with a trip to Little Rock High School, now a historic site due to its history as a site of school integration (and resistance to it) in 1957. The school itself is architecturally gorgeous which seems in stark contrast to the ugliness of its history. The short version is this (history teachers, I apologize.)…In 1954, the Supreme Court ruled in Brown v Board of Education that schools should be integrated. Across the nation, African American children began joining white children at school. However, nine African American children in Little Rock were denied entry at LRHS.

President Eisenhower ordered that the children--who became known as The Little Rock Nine--be escorted into the school by the National Guard.

















More than 10.000 National Guard members were called to maintain order as the children walked in front of an angry mob of nearly 1000 people who saw integration as problematic.

Many of us have seen photos of the time but there was something about the comprehensive and interactive museum design that took our knowledge (and gratitude) to another level. To think about what grit and determination those kids must have had--and their families, too--as they faced down that hateful crowd. I felt scared simply seeing photos of that mob--chanting, spitting in children‘s faces, bearing placards with messages of hate. I can only imagine what it sounded like…what it felt like….to face them. I know I could not have done it and now I really feel like I/we owe them a debt of gratitude.

In addition to documenting the larger Civil Right struggle, the museum gives some attention to parallel struggles for women’s rights, worker’s rights, rights for persons with disabilities and that’s so important. As one student said, seeing the sacrifices that so many people made to create a more just world made her proud to be an American. And, I know what she meant because I felt that pride, too.

One thing that hit me as we walked through the museum was the sense that many people were afraid of institutional decline should integration occur. We’ve seen that in the past in other ways, too…such as when women were allowed to enter the military in combat roles. (or allowed into medical school, law school, business school, etc, etc…but I digress.) Now we know that women can fight along side men and the world won’t go to heck in a hand-basket. What can we learn from this? How are past struggles for equality and justice similar to/different from current ones? What fears do we have currently have, as a nation, that might be unfounded? What things do we fight against that might better be embraced?

As we did yesterday, we asked two friendly museum employees what it means to be an American. In our conversation tonight, students agreed that the spirit and eloquence with which they spoke left us feeling inadequate. I fear I will do them an injustice by paraphrasing them, but here goes…

Cordell said that being an American means being individual and living out your ideals and trying to be the best you that you can be. It means living authentically. Crystal said, “Loving your country is like loving your mother…you say “I hate you, you make me crazy, but you still love your mom and that’s who you are, that’s where you come from. It’s the same way with being an American. Sometimes the things we do make you nuts, but it’s who you are and you love your country.”

That spoke volumes to me. In my view, we have a past (and, frankly, a present) that is marked by violence and various forms of injustice. But, we are *not* just those things. Although we’ve only traveled 4 days, we’ve talked with so many wonderful people and heard so many stories of change and stories of hope. Stories that show me what we *can* do when we join together with a common goal. This is the America that I know and love.

John F. Kennedy once said that “The heart of the question is whether all Americans are to be afforded equal rights and equal opportunities, whether we are going to treat our fellow Americans as we wish to be treated.” I think this continues to be our clarion call. Just two days ago I got a powerful lesson about this…but that’ll be another blog post. Stay tuned. :-)

What Stories Don't We Tell?

Ya’ll forgive me now because it’s day 3 and I’m pooped but I’ve been pondering something since the Peabody hotel….As we left the hotel, we notice a small room off the lobby filled with Peabody memorabilia. There’s a gorgeous old black and white photo of women in party dresses and men in tuxedos flanking long banquet tables brimming with china, crystal, and flowers. There’s a letter from a “war bride” sent in 2006 from a woman who, years ago, took two towels from the hotel. She said it was her life’s only regret and she wanted to set things right by sending $30 in cash. The cases feature lovely engraved silver bowls and other such things. Each of the items is carefully labeled with a descriptive card but we notice at least one thing that is not--an unframed photo that shows a long line of African-American men in waist-length butler’s jackets flanking the crimson carpet as the famous ducks waddle by. The ducks are clearly the subject of the photo.

Now, it may be that our group missed others, but in our observations, it is one of the few unframed photos of the bunch and one of the few things that doesn’t have a card explaining it. (Interestingly, it is also in the back of the case, partly hidden by two other photos.) Now, everything in the room seems so purposeful, so it seems unlikely that mistakes have been made. But, what does any of this mean, if anything? We’ll never know for sure, but we can certainly offer some sociological conjecture--just for fun. One idea our group suggested is that, symbolically, it seems that the hotel certainly doesn’t want to highlight the photo. And, perhaps by not offering an explanation, the hotel potentially offers multiple interpretations to the photo’s viewers. Maybe in an era when issues of race still seem hotly debated, this is a safe route to take. Who really knows, right? But it did get me thinking about this…what are the stories that we tell and what are the stories that don’t get told…in the crafting or re-telling of our lives/identities as individuals, as corporate entities, as cities, and as a nation?

This issue came up again when we visited Graceland later in the day and got a brief and cleaned up version of how Elvis died. Likewise, we heard no mention of the Monica Lewinsky scandal when we visited the Clinton Presidential Library in Little Rock on day 2. The potential impeachment of a president is no shining star on Clinton’s record, but by not mentioning it, it felt like a big elephant in the room that everyone sees but nobody mentions.

What’s the difference between the real and the ideal self/city/society? What lurks below the crafted image? What consequences can occur when we don’t give voice to truth? What is lost when we are not fully authentic?

A lesson from five guys on Beale Street

One of the highlights of day 1 was a conversation a few students and I had on Beale Street with five men from Florida. We asked them “What does it mean to be an American?” The first response was “freedom.” We prompted them…freedom to do what? Freedom from what? One man pointed to a young African American boy who was doing backflips down the street for tip money…he says “freedom to make a buck.” Then, the discussion turns to freedom to worship. One man says: “If you want to be a Christian, be a Christian. If you want to be a Muslim, be a Muslim. If you want to be Jewish, be Jewish.” The other men nod and say “hmmm” in agreement.

We ask the men what divides us and we get some quick mentions: abortion, gay rights, and race. That’s the one that sticks. One of the men--an African American suggests that there are unwritten rules for people of color. We ask him to give us examples and to elaborate and he does… and, ultimately, everyone in the group--white and black--agrees they’ve seen different standards applied to (supposedly) different kind of people. I’ll skip the details for now because what I really want to highlight is what happens next.

We ask them what unites us and the resounding answer is that we are all Americans. The men start talking about President Obama. They are joking--three white guys on the end indicate that they didn’t vote for him while the two African-American men say that they did. Playful political banter goes on for a while but, ultimately, the three white men say that while they didn’t vote for Obama he is their president and they will support him. And, while I can’t describe it here, the feeling that I’m left with in witnessing this scene is one of hope. Here are five men of different races and different political beliefs hanging out on Beale Street just having a good time. They can agree to disagree and that gives me hope that we Americans can do the same thing, too.

Ducks, catfish, and Elvis. Is this what it means to be American?

Our trip across America began at 4am in a Belmont parking lot in Nashville, TN. Ten wonderful students, parents, and supportive friends help us lug our suitcases into the storage bays under the tricked-out tour bus that will be our home for the next 40 days. We stumble inside, find our bunks, and stash little things into cubbies and drawers here and there. The bus is pretty comfortable with two living “rooms” -- one in the front with a small fridge, sink, microwave, and two flat screen Tvs; another in back features a large U-shaped couch where we’ll hold class each day. In between these rooms are 12 bunks--6 on each side of the bus, that make me think of Asian pod hotels. Students were tired, but obviously giddy as they skip or run through the parking lot on their way to the gas station for one last late night snack purchase. Within an hour we are ready to go. First stop: Memphis, just 3.5 hours away.

In this class, we’re studying what it means to be American. What, if anything, is uniquely ours as a culture? What divides us as a country? What unites us? What makes each city that we visit distinctive? How do different cities craft their cultural identities in an effort to market themselves and lure people there? What, if anything, would Memphis tell us about what it means to be an American? After just four hours of sleep, we set out to explore some of these questions as we head to cultural landmarks including the Peabody Hotel, a rib joint/“meat and three,” Beale Street, and Graceland.

The Peabody Hotel is an “icon” of the city most known for its ornate decoration and its ducks. Yes, that’s right, its ducks. But, I’ll get to that in a minute. The hotel was re-built in 1925 for 5 million dollars. That’s a hefty sum in 2009, but a **massive** amount of money for the time. The hotel’s website says its maker wanted the Peabody “to be the finest hotel in the South, an oasis of elegance and good taste where local gentry, wheelers and dealers could congregate in comfort to wine and dine on the finest foods and rarest wines; where their ladies could meet for genteel afternoon tea in opulent, exquisite surroundings” (www.peabodymemphis.com). The lobby is filled with ornate marble columns, carved wood trim, thick oriental rugs, and massive displays of sweet smelling flowers. When our group arrived at 10:30am, it was already buzzing with hundreds of people who had arrived to see the Peabody Ducks. The “duck walk” has become a Memphis tradition over the last 50 years or so since two hunters placed the first decoy ducks in the lobby fountain as a practical joke. Today, the ducks are a different kind of decoy--they are a lure for locals and tourists alike--to get them into the hotel and the nearby mall where they can spend their money. The daily walk is a well-crafted production complete with a “Duck Master” who is somewhat akin to a circus ring leader: “Ladies and gentlemennnnnnnnnnnnnnnn, may I have your attention pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. I am thrilllllllllled to have you here at the historic Peabody Hotellllllllllllllllllllllllll.”

The Duck Master (DM) proceeds to tell us the history of the hotel, one that seems verbatim to the hotel’s website. In other words, he is strictly on message. One goal of the class is to consider the ways in which tourist sites craft identity and it’s clear that there’s no room for error here. The DM tells us that the ducks live in their rooftop “duck palace” and twice a day make their way across the roof and down the elevator where they will walk down a crimson (not “red”) carpet towards a large marble fountain in the center of the lobby. We wait with baited breath. Then, at last, the elevator chimes, the doors open, and the ducks waddle quickly down the carpet and plop, plop, plop, plop, plop…make their way, blissfully, into the fountain.



Granted, they are kinda cute, but, the “event” that we can see lasts for what seems no more than 10 seconds. So, why do people come to see it? Go out of their way, in fact, to see it? What does the duck walk represent that compels us to make such an effort? As we discussed in our afternoon sociology class, the Peabody’s image is clearly carefully crafted and attempts to hearken back to what some would call a more gentile time. Maybe there’s something quaint and simple in this duck walk that people want or need…an oasis for when the modern world seems too fast? Or…what? That’s something to ponder and discuss over ribs and catfish….