Two Cities, One Writer

After several years of staying at home, Wordplay has started venturing out into the world again. Last year, I dipped my toes in the water at the PCA/ACA conference in San Antonio. On Sunday, I returned home after attending this year’s PCA in Chicago and then taking the train to Seattle for my first vacation in 12 years. I used to love traveling, but like so many other things, it got to the point where it was no longer fun, around the time I was working on my dissertation (that is to say, 2010-2012). After that, I could no longer afford to travel, even if I had wanted to, and then it was COVID, and then it was settling into a new apartment with other priorities than spending money on trips, and then it was, honestly, a bit of inertia.

Last year, though, I started to shake off my dormancy and felt the travel bug beginning to bite. The San Antonio conference was both something I wanted to do for professional reasons and also a travel experiment. I wanted to find out what it’s like to travel post-pandemic and post- so many other things that have left their mark on us as individuals and as a society. Six days away from home would surely be tolerable, even if the conference didn’t go well. The conference was an experiment in itself, since my previous PCA experience had been a mixed one. The San Antonio conference was a little surreal, but positive enough overall that I surprised myself by deciding to go back this year, to PCA Chicago.

I had a couple of things going for me this time, which is that my budget wasn’t as bare bones as it was when I was last in Chicago for the PCA and also that I had some previous knowledge of the place. I could afford a splurge here and there. I had some things in mind that I wanted to do, restaurants I wanted to try. I could do some “fun” things and explore a little bit. And that’s what I did. 

I hit the ground running and got some sightseeing in even before checking into my hotel. I found a coffee spot I liked. I got a general sense of direction. Over the next several days, when I wasn’t in sessions at the conference, I sampled Chicago food, went on a couple of organized tours, and without really trying, starting getting the pulse of the place. I have to say, I enjoyed myself. With one or two exceptions, I felt that I was treated well. Chicago is a tough city, no question. But I went with an open mind and genuine wish to get to know a little of the place, and I feel that I did, at least a little. For the Chicagoans I encountered in restaurants and coffee shops, at the hotel and the train station, in the stores and out on the streets, I have nothing but respect. If you’re keeping your head above water in Chicago, that’s definitely saying something about you.

On the train going west, I cured my curiosity about what the upper Midwest and Plains states look like west of Minneapolis, the former limit to my experience. It looked like a lot of rolling fields, with occasional towns, patches of snow, some cows, and horses, until the train reached Glacier National Park and all hell broke loose with snow-capped peaks and deep forests all around. The drama subsided until the train traversed the Cascade Mountains in Washington, an even bigger extravaganza of gorgeous views. And so, at the end, Seattle, where I learned a great lesson about thinking you know where you’re going by observing street signs from a moving train. (It ended with me getting completely turned around after leaving the station, which wouldn’t have been a problem if I’d been planning to walk to Portland.)

Seattle is one of the last places I remembered having fun, on the other occasion I’d been there, in 2011. I was coming down from some pretty dramatic effects of PTSD but still had kind of a fearless attitude toward most situations (which I found to be a very refreshing way to approach life, BTW). This time, I wanted to see if Seattle still struck me the way it did then. Back then, it had a wonderful spirit of dynamic creativity, evident in abundant public art, bold architecture, cool neighborhoods, quirky shops, and the general feeling of ease I had in walking around, not to mention all the natural beauty that surrounds and supports it. I had heard that it, like most other places across America, has seen an increase in crime over the last few years. Evidently, some people dispute whether cities are actually more dangerous now than they were, say, 10 years ago, but a quick read of the newspaper, even in my city of Lexington, certainly gives the impression of a rather sharp increase in violent crime over what would have been considered “normal” 5-10 years ago.

I did find Seattle changed. There is a meanness one encounters here and there, on the streets and elsewhere, that seemed to be almost completely absent on my last visit. It’s true that I stayed in an Airbnb on my first visit, with a charming hostess who lived in an edgy but cool sort of post-industrial neighborhood on the outskirts, the kind of place the average tourist would leave town without ever knowing about. Its drawback was its remoteness, so I wanted to stay closer to the center of things this time. Once I got to Pike Place Market, I was able to find a cafe in which to regroup. But I was rather discouraged with the changes I could already sense on the streets. There was no need to travel to the other side of the country to sample incivility as I can find that here if I want to. I went to Seattle for something different.

Once I got to my hotel and settled in, I started to feel a little better, though that changed when I went out to dinner my first night in town. Although there were plenty of places I could have been seated, I was shown to a table with a high stool, so that I felt I was towering over everyone else. (Come on y’all, you know that a solo diner doesn’t want to be that conspicuous, surely.) I asked to move to a regular table after noticing that the place was half empty, and while the food was delicious, my enjoyment of the evening was rather spoiled.

I’m not sure I ever quite got over the feeling that civility in Seattle is not what it once was. The physical reality of the streets has also changed: they were dirtier and rougher than my memory of them, not only in downtown proper, but in Belltown, South Lake Union, and Capitol Hill. Admittedly, I was only in Capitol Hill for the Elliott Bay Book Company last time, when I walked up from downtown. I didn’t ramble around the neighborhood, as I did this time. In my memory, though, it was a thriving area, not as trash-strewn as it is in 2024. I wouldn’t call the neighborhood blighted, as there are plenty of cafes, shops, and nightspots, and the neighborhood is considered a hip destination for nightlife, but it did appear somewhat the worse for wear.

I would have thought that this is simply the result of an imperfect memory, except that some of the other places I went to seemed just as I remembered them. I was dismayed to see that the area on lower 2nd Avenue, in Belltown, did appear blighted, once I made my way there to visit a restaurant where I had dined on my first night in town in 2011. I almost turned around and went back as the street became visibly grittier and only continued because I had good memories of the restaurant and knew it was still there. I had a lovely meal there this time, too, but was sure I remembered a more prosperous neighborhood in the past. Of course, this isn’t that surprising: places change. It was sad, though.

This isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy myself in Seattle. I didn’t have a bad meal the entire time I was there, and most of the food was phenomenal. Likewise, the coffee. I got lost walking around and had to remind myself that getting lost sometimes leads to finding things you wouldn’t see otherwise. I estimate that I walked 35-40 miles while there. I didn’t find Seattle-ites to be snobby, as they’re sometimes reputed to be. There were friendly people (more of these), and uncivil people, and a pervasive feeling of Whatever Has Happened to the Rest of Our Country has happened to Seattle, too.

My best moments were spent either enjoying great food or great coffee, sometimes gazing out a window at a great view. I didn’t find the coffeehouse atmosphere I was really looking for until my last full day, when I discovered a cafe with an industrial-punk vibe that broadcast KEXP live. I will say this: I forgot for entire swaths of time that I was carrying an AARP card in my wallet. No one called me “ma’am.” The discovery that I could still climb Queen Anne Hill with the same amount of energy I had 13 years ago (and not once but twice) was gratifying. I was cautious about going out at night, but I wasn’t on the retired nuns tour of Seattle and didn’t want to leave town without experiencing a little nightlife, so I went to a bar in Lower Queen Anne one evening that served food and had an awesome tostada. Also, a Negroni, which I would describe as both sweet and bitter and definitely something I would try again.

If I had to sum up my impression of Seattle in 2024, I would say that it almost appeared like a city under siege of some kind. Its essence still shines through, but like other places I’ve been, it shows evidence of beleuguerment. Every place has its source of strength, though. For Chicago, if I had to guess, I’d say it’s the day-to-day struggle of surviving in a tough environment, amid all those huge buildings. For Seattle, it might be the spirit of the Native Americans who lived in the area before the arrival of the pioneers. I noticed signs in different places stating that the lands on which various modern buildings are standing have never been ceded by the indigenous Salish people. I think their presence still permeates everything in Seattle. When I think of my visit, it’s the sound of the gulls’ cries that makes the soundtrack, and I don’t think it’s that far a step from there to the anarchic energy of the music scene, to Jimi Hendrix and Nirvana and all the rest.

The Death of Tom Petty

While I wish I had the ability to say something useful in the wake of this week's violence in Las Vegas, I don't know what it would be. Sometimes it's better to let more information emerge before jumping into the fray, beyond condemning the bloodshed, as any rational person must. I'm turned off by commentators who start putting forward theories about an event before all the facts are known, and rather than be one, I prefer to let the investigators do their work.

I found my attention drawn to a different event, the death of rocker Tom Petty, the day after the attack, possibly because it was less overwhelming (except to his family and friends, of course) but nonetheless unexpected. I read reports that he thought his recently completed tour would probably be his last, and though I might be reading too much into it, I wonder if he had had any presentiment of what was going to happen. It wouldn't be the first time someone had succumbed right after completing an exhausting task; I'm remembering my own father, whose health seemed to fall apart not long after he retired. Still, I admit to finding the timing of Mr. Petty's death to be a little strange.

I listened to Mr. Petty's records a lot in the early '80s but never saw him live. I followed his career loosely, at a distance, and one or two of his songs pass the Wordplay "Turn Up the Volume" test (it's a very select group). In recent years, I've noticed that his song "I Won't Back Down" (from the Full Moon Fever album, which I don't have) seemed to be getting a fair amount of airplay--or perhaps it's more accurate to say that, out of a multitude of songs that I hear on the radio and elsewhere, this one seemed to rise above many others and stamp itself on my consciousness in a rather insistent way. It's the right song at the right time, I guess you might say.

I will admit to occasionally having a mildly transgressive thought, and I have a recurring fantasy involving this very song. I imagine myself somehow getting access to the public address system on Capitol Hill long enough to play a song that could be heard from one end of the building to the other. This would be the song I would play, on behalf of, well, let's see, the oppressed, the unchampioned, the forgotten, the ill-used, and the otherwise everyday people everywhere trying to keep going while the politicians play their Washington games. (I've also had similar fantasies about the B-52s' "Love Shack"--don't ask me why. It just feels like it would be a fun thing to do.)

On a personal note, I was at a blues festival several years ago in Southern California, walking through a crowd after hearing John Fogerty perform, when I thought I spotted Mr. Petty. He stopped in the crowd a short distance ahead of me and gave me a sweet smile. I'm almost certain it was Tom, and although he didn't say or do anything else, in my memory I can almost see him putting his finger to his lips, as if to say, "Ssshhh, you've spotted me--but don't say anything!" I wondered about it afterward, as I almost had the impression that it wasn't quite a chance encounter, though I can't really say why I think that. It was just something in his face, though it was dark, and I could be mistaken, of course. I had certainly never met him before.

So I think it was really that incident, along with the fact that he was one of my favorite rockers in my college years, that has had me feeling sad and thoughtful over the last few days. Though I'm often shocked to hear about someone's untimely passing, this death touched me in a way that many others haven't. I felt an almost personal sense of loss that surprised me at first but doesn't now that I've thought about it. When someone has touched you with his or her artistry and has been part of the soundtrack of your life for decades, as Mr. Petty has been in mine, it means something when he goes.

I looked at the videos of two of my favorite Tom Petty songs and was impressed with a sort of mythic sense that permeates both of them, especially "Runnin' Down a Dream" (also from Full Moon Fever). Students of Native American mythology may notice sequences reminiscent of Navajo and Lakota folklore; King Kong is in there, too. I was also reminded of such disparate elements as Madeleine L'Engle, a story I once wrote about children who fly into outer space by means of their bed, and an episode in the film Black Orpheus involving a spiral staircase. There is a feeling of magic, mystery, and something slightly out of reach in this video, a vision that, though I never would have imagined it just from hearing the song by itself, matches it perfectly. I especially like the part where the cartoon Tom scratches his head. (The animation in the video was reportedly inspired by Winsor McCay's comic strip Little Nemo.)

The persona Mr. Petty adopts in this video for "Runnin' Down a Dream" and in the video for "I Won't Back Down" (which features some familiar faces) is one and the same. He appears at the beginning and end as a type of storyteller/magician who has something he really wants to show you but won't explain. The blending of mythic/imaginative elements and a certain sly "world as we know it" allusive quality is priceless. Both songs (co-written by Mr. Petty) are definitely enshrined in the "Turn Up the Volume" pantheon of the Great American Songbook; in fact, be careful--either or both could cause you to drive too fast.

I guess it's mean to say it, but I particularly hope, if you don't like either or both of them, that you have trouble avoiding them in the coming weeks. Take it as a sign. And by the way, I never said I wasn't mean.