This is the second in a four-part series; for the first part, click here.
Part 2
I found my mark and hung a left onto Natural Bridge Road,
the first road on my directions.
There was the airport, already seemingly so distant. Lest I forget it was there, the roar of an
arriving or departing plane interrupted my thoughts every couple minutes.
This alley was enticing for a visit, but I decided against
it; who knows how long these 14.5 miles could end up taking?
OK, first turn. I was
surprisingly nervous; then again, I was on a time crunch in a city I hadn’t
been to in years. And I’d never been in this part of town. Due to St. Louis’s close proximity to
Louisville, my family had never flown there, even though there was historically
a flight from Louisville directly to St. Louis.
For my father, everything was driving distance if we were paying; I
mean, we drove all the way to Nova Scotia for heavens’ sake, but that’s a story
for another time. All that was to say
that we always came from the east and never bothered to go to the city’s
western side. I’ll be on Woodson Road
for a mile or so, so might as well take in the sights.
Based on the state of the sign, it’s hard to tell if this
place is still open. The little portico
style is kind of unusual, and the whole property screams of the early
80’s. That being said, I wouldn’t mind
stopping in if they were open. It is at
this moment when I realized that a single Clif Bar was not enough to tide me
over. Only a mile or so underway, my
stomach grumbles, dissatisfied with my digested offering.
Off to either side, little neighborhoods sprawls out. It’s early on a Saturday, so there’s not much
going on. People are enjoying the cool
temperatures and staying inside.
Here’s my stop; into one of those aforementioned neighborhoods. The roads are quiet enough I can cross even the four-lane road without much trouble, and into the pleasant neighborhood that will bear me to my next big road.
It’s a bit late in the year to hear much in the way of
chirping birds that a lovely morning might otherwise elicit, so the streets are
uncomfortably still. The homes in this
community are a mixture of new and old ranch homes, most with garages, and all
with character. Each has had work done
on it by its owners to make them their own.
This is where real people live, this is where they sleep and eat and
where they spend time with their families.
Take a right. The
picture doesn’t do it justice, but you’re actually moving onto a pretty decent
incline. As I march up the hill, two
girls play on the porch on my right.
Each regards me with a bit of wonder and a bit of discomfort; in an
attempt to defuse both, I smile back.
Here’s a nice house, particularly well-developed and
maintained. The house looked like it
belonged in a bolder, more solitary setting out west, but it also had a
positive effect on every house around it.
Whoever lives here cares about their home.
Another little rise and I emerge onto the road that will be
my home for the next couple hours: St. Charles Rock Road.
This four-lane behemoth appears to be a main artery of St.
Louis’s road system, sporting a large number of cars going in both
directions. Left/east I go, with the sun
squarely in my face.
Right across the street, an impressive, new-looking high
school complex sweeps wide into a field.
Surprisingly, though, there wasn’t much going on. I’d expect that, on a pretty Saturday morning
in the fall, the football team would be out running plays or stretching for a day’s
practice.
Woah, $2.55, huh?
That’s some cheap gasoline! Long
before Louisville dipped below $3.00/gallon, St. Louis was already on the
savings train. Turns out that St. Louis
has markedly low fuel prices while its neighbor, Illinois, has cripplingly high prices, especially near Chicago.
I came upon a brand new McDonalds a short ways up the road
and, for just a moment, I considered patronizing them; an Egg McMuffin and a
nice hash brown might shut my stomach up.
I thought better of it but, while stopping to consider the menu, I saw a
lovely church cradled off to one side.
This residential church was called Our Lady of the
Presentation and is what I’d assume to be a Catholic congregation. The building was quite a standout amongst the
franchise-laden road I’d just departed.
Alright, biscuit urge silenced. Off we go.
I went for a while without seeing a whole lot that stood out
to me; I’d chosen St. Charles Rock Road because it was the straightest and
safest choice, given its fairly considerably sidewalk and high exposure. Not to mention, all roads kind of lead there,
so I could deviate and find my way back.
Just listen for the cars.
This old building has been sitting derelict for a minute.
Given the overgrowth on the parking lot, I’d say RDA has been MIA since the
late 90s. There wasn’t a “for sale” sign
or anything which is fairly unusual.
Maybe they still own it and are just waiting for better times to reopen.
I use our interstates at home every day, so I’m used to
seeing out particular numbers framed against that familiar blue background all
the time: I-264, I-65, I-71. Seeing numbers
out of the ordinary, thus, is noteworthy.
It feels like a typo. “No, Mr.
Sign, that number’s wrong.”
This was a fun story of “shoot first, ask questions
later.” There was a large building to my
left when I took this, but it wasn’t until I was able to examine the picture
more closely that it became clear what I was looking at. This is the Enterprise Rent-A-Car
headquarters; I didn’t know they were based in St. Louis, but apparently, there
they are! My family almost exclusively
used Hertz when we’d travel, but I used Enterprise in July to rent a car in
Oregon and it was a very positive experience.
The businesses started to thin out as I moved into a more
residential section of town; the national chains diminished almost entirely;
there was a dive bar on one side of the street, and setback houses on the
other.
Have you ever been somewhere that, although you hadn’t been
there before, it felt oddly familiar to you?
This very spot felt that way to me.
This particular angle, with transmission towers on one side and a
shotgun house on the other, reminded me of a dream I hadn’t thought about since
the day I had it. There wasn’t anything
distinct about the dream; I can’t remember what was going on or who was in it,
but this scene is quite similar to that from my dream. In my dream, it was overcast and dusky,
though, and it appeared much more ominous than this innocuous scene.
I’m not one of those people who would try to read some
cosmic or supernatural meaning into that; it’s only reasonable that places in
your dreams are formed out of pieces of separate memories and constructs. This particular configuration just happened
to get eerily close.
This general store was more typical of what you might find
in a rural small town, but here’s one right outside a major city. Also, you’ll see on the left this audacious
claim. “’Home of the ½ Pound Burger?’ Sir or Madam, I believe thou art
hyperbolizing.” Gosh, a juicy, flavorful
eight-ounce burger...
I crested the rise and saw on my right and left a pair of
cemeteries.
Although seemingly unconnected, both sides were lined with
beautifully tended, tranquil cemeteries, each seeming to support a different,
well, clientele. My best guess, at least
from the street view, suggested that the one to my left bore interred veterans
and military personnel primarily.
The grounds inside were gorgeous, and it appeared they had just been doing work on the landscaping right out front. I even saw a couple of joggers getting their morning run in; it was about 10:00, so these were a bit of the late-rising sort.
I’m not sure how I feel about using a cemetery as anything
but a place to be respectful of the dead.
In my mind, that land is theirs, but I don’t judge people who go to
cemeteries for a quiet, uncrowded jogging path.
For me, when entering a cemetery, regardless of how many people are
interred there or how large or small the grounds, I always take off my hat,
take out my music, get off the phone, or stop doing anything that might
distract me from the place I’m walking.
Every person buried there had someone who loved and cherished them, and
their lives were of great worth while they were still here. Respecting their life and their death is an
important part of maintaining that worth.
Now on a different note, I hadn’t walked a block past these
two cemeteries before encountering a bit of visual trickery.
What? I have no
interest in eating cats! The nerve of you to –
…
Oh, my mistake. Carry
on.
It was about this time when I took a pause and considered my
position. I got my Camelbak out and
downed a considerable portion of the airport water inside, only now acutely
aware of my thirst. Always drink your
water, kids.
When I think of the Midwest, I think of American mass
growth. As the so-called Heart of
America, places like Illinois, Missouri, Indiana, Texas, Kansas, and even
places like Ohio always stand out as places where, after the Great Depression,
America swelled. People were coming home
from war, industry was converting back to producing private contracts, homes
and families grew, and the process of daily living became more
streamlined.
This little building stood out to me as an example of such
streamlined expansion. This little
building, in what my dad calls the “ticky-tacky” style, after the significant
portions of prefabbed material and cheap, cookie-cutter appearance, attests to
this period of growth. The sign’s
backdrop is made from corrugated sheet metal, the awning supports are simple metal
pipe; the brick façade is real, but the chromed metal on the sign and awning
are likely not original.
Does it do the job?
You bet it does. Is it ugly? To some, maybe, but I don’t think so. Rather, I think it says something about a
time long ago, when speed and efficiency so supplanted creativity and
individuality that it tried to define everybody. This building could be found anywhere in the
country and it wouldn’t look out of place.
Today, pragmatic expansion is never accomplished as blindly and
unilaterally as it was then; more people were on the same line of thinking back
then, or at the very least, those who had power were often along the same
lines. Americans used to be quite
collectivist, if you can believe it.
This building represents the ostensibly conflicting “collectivist-capitalist”
mindset that drove America to where it is today.
Hey, look at that!
There’s where I’m headed in the distance! If I can see it, it can’t be that far away,
right?
…Right?
A quick glance at my pedometer informs me that no, my four
miles of completed walking is not sufficient to reach my destination. A golf course sat back along the north side
of the road, nearly abutting the cemetery I’d passed, which meant there wasn’t
much to see on the other side nor was there much sidewalk from which to see
it. I crossed here and kept to the south
side.
This place appeared to be a developmental center for special
needs or learning disabled children. The
title, albeit worded with an antiquated template, is a Bible verse
reference. The verse commonly translates,
“As long as the earth endures, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and
winter, day and night will never cease.”
I’m not sure what that has to do with a child development center. It’s not particularly religious, not
mentioning anything about God at all. In
fact, I could see this verse out of context being a quote by Thomas More, John
Milton, or any other pre-modern English author or philosopher.
It doesn’t appear to be a daycare; otherwise, there’d
certainly be someone there, even though it was a Saturday. It is weird to visit St. Louis on a weekend,
especially given the state of some of these buildings. They could just as soon be closed for the
weekend as closed forever.
Next door, this shop was advertising itself proudly, and
unusually, with this bizarre, audio-supported display. From a small radio in front, I heard a song
by The Police followed by a Jimmy Buffett tune.
An outdated mannequin stood sentinel at the sidewalk, dressed in his
golfing attire, faded on one side from the sun.
Presumably, if you hired the proprietor to shine your shoes, he’d do it
right on the sidewalk for you, allowing you to “relax” to the sound of rushing
cars and booming bass. And Phil Collins,
too, if you waited long enough.
I was finding plenty on this side of the street to see. At first glance, this convenient store doesn’t offer much to anyone not going in. A bit of close examination yielded a bit of history about the building. It’s clear that this “DDT” establishment wasn’t the original occupant, regardless of the age of the building. If you look closely, each letter of their sign is pretty new. How do I know?
Each letter is placed over pretty new-looking brick. The only reason they might need to do this is
to run the wiring to the sign for nighttime illumination. My guess is, when they installed these
lights, the old brick underneath was not structurally sound enough to install the
wires and support structures through it.
Thus, each letter is now supported by brand new masonry. It’s not much, but I think it’s kind of neat
to see what they did without asking what they did. The Sherlock Holmes of mundane
infrastructure, that’s me.
St. Louis has a modest commuter rail system called
MetroLink; as part of my plan to keep on schedule, I’ll be taking the MetroLink
back from the Arch to its terminus, the airport. This stop, Red Rock, was a bit more than
halfway back to the airport from downtown.
In reverse, I’d say I’m 40% of the way downtown. The subway stop was the first I’d seen since
I left the airport, and they were surprisingly low-profile. There weren’t tons of signs pointing to it;
you might have missed it altogether if you were driving.
I walked over the rail bridge that crossed the tracks for
the MetroLink, making a mental note of the bridge so I could see what it would
look like while I zipped underneath it in a few hours.
Shortly after crossing the bridge, I found something
surprising considering my location’s proximity to the city, which by now lay
only about eight miles away: empty space.
Like, a lot of it. To my left, an
empty lot that didn’t appear to have been built upon in decades, or perhaps ever, stretched out into the
distance. Though there was a paved road,
a quick moment of exploration on my part didn’t prove that it led
anywhere. The house on site had been
abandoned for decades. It reminded me of
an urban exploration target I’ve visited in Louisville that was in similar
shape. That particular place, a target
of significant amateur exploration and archeological study, had been abandoned
no earlier than 1972 based on hard on-site evidence, and given this was in a
comparable state and environment, I’d say the mid to late 1970s makes sense.
As I’ve discovered, at least in Louisville, this scene is
growing more common in industrialized areas.
Large plots with abandoned homes linger around after the land is
purchased by a speculator, waiting for an industrial buyer to snatch it up so
they can get a great return. These kinds
of properties can be a gold mine, but for this one, when will they cash in?
It became clearer with every step that I was getting into
the more industrial part of the city, or at least of my walk. This drive beckoned me down it, where a
locked gate barred my path.
I’m not sure why, but this drive seemed particularly unsettling;
it felt like something I’d seen in a movie about the Holocaust. Having been to both Dachau in Germany and
Auschwitz in Poland, I can tell you that those places chilled you to the bone
and touched your soul, and this one had a severely muted effect. Maybe it was the stone walls or the overhead
beams supporting nothing. I often
picture industrial lamps illuminating rows of emaciated prisoners when I
picture the Holocaust, and for some reason this gave me the same vibe. Do you feel that, too?
Time to move on.
Just beyond the imagined death chambers, this series of
well-maintained buildings greeted me.
What appeared to be an amphitheater and a preparatory school building,
much like you’d find up north, stretched out to my left. There didn’t appear to be any activity going
on. The grass was clean and mowed, the
fence was strong and new, but there was no initial indication what this place
was. Large dormitory-like buildings
stood behind the round building in front of me, so I presumed it was a
college. But to see so little activity
was weird; maybe it was just a suitcase school.
Nope, never mind.
Fancy high school. The buildings’
newness and maintenance were in stark contrast to its environment, which needed
the urban planning equivalent of a coat of paint.
Peering down the street beside Normandy High School, I saw
this billboard; every attorney’s advertising in Louisville is super-serious and
somber. Roderick C. White? I bet he does got me, though. I’d hire him.
Maybe he meant it the other way, like, “that other driver, I got him! I caught him!
Here’s some of your money, and I’ll just hold on to the rest.” Not to speak ill of attorneys. Don’t want to be too cliché.
Another train track lay beneath me as I crossed another
overpass. I love that, despite decades
and centuries of innovation, we still use an old-school system to move our freight
around. While I’ve never been “that guy
who inexplicably is obsessed with trains,” I appreciate all they do for
us. In my mind, actually, the most
stereotypically American images feature a railroad’s right of way flanked by wooden
telephone poles on one side stretching off into the distance.
Next to the tracks was an unusual looking daycare; out in
what appeared to have formerly been a parking lot, dozens of play houses,
swings, and toys were strewn out across foam mats. From where I was standing, though, the foam
mats had the same color and texture of asphalt, which would seem to me to be a
fairly irresponsible playing surface. It
wasn’t until later confirmation that it became clear that the little tykes
would actually be fine if they took a tumble.
A quick jaunt across a sidestreet and this derelict
masterpiece jumped out at me: a long abandoned car lot, devoid of any recent
business. The decaying letters, which
appeared to read “Sam’s Auto Sales,” have long outlasted Sam’s business, and
maybe even Sam himself. The awning’s
fabric has been sheared off or has deteriorated from far too long in the sun
and wind. Every segment of asphalt has
given way to weeds and breakage. With
its striking color variation and idealized aesthetic form, it looked like it
was straight out of a Fallout game.
This house was currently being demolished when I
passed. The building itself would have
done the job for the crew if given just a couple more years, I’m sure. The internal structure appeared to have been
burned out and/or gutted, leaving little structural support.
I’d moved over to the south side of the street by now,
continuing my eastward journey without much delay. As I was crossing the entrance to a car
dealership, a new Hummer pulled into the lot in front of me. I paused while he entered to snap a picture
of a building across the street.
The Hummer pulled just past the sidewalk into the lot, and a
man emerged and greeted me. He was a
smartly dressed black businessman, perhaps in his late forties. He smiled at me from behind a pair of heavily
tinted sunglasses.
“Hello, young man!”
“Hi!”
“Whatcha takin’ pictures of?”
I paused for a moment, wondering if he was just curious or
if I was being interrogated.
“Oh, I just like urban decay and taking pictures of old,
broken buildings.” No lie there.
The businessman laughed.
“Well, we got plenty of that ‘round here!” He gestured down the road, right where I was
headed. I laughed, certain he was right
if the last few blocks had been any indication.
We parted ways, my camera in hand, ready to catch the next moment.
Half the buildings I’d passed in the last ten minutes were
gutted, burned, condemned, or already a pile of rubble. It was clear that this part of town had
fallen on hard times; perhaps it was that fact that made this mural
sadder. Someone put a lot of time and
effort into making this, showcasing the city and its bright future. Now, a lack of maintenance and care had
robbed it of its contrast, and it was only recognizable as intentional after a
few moments.
I’d just entered Wellston.
---
This is part two of a four-part series. Come back next Wednesday for part three!
Keep going -
Matt
No comments:
Post a Comment