Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Welcome to Prescott, Everyone's Home Town! Pt. 2

It's really hard for me out here. I'm not cowboy enough to hang with the cowboys, and I'm not hippie enough to chill with the hippies. So I made up my own group, the Cow Pies (I was reminded to not have a shit eating grin as I type this joke). Waka, waka! Aaanyway...

Thanks to its seasonable climate, Prescott attracts many of Arizona's retirees; the average age is 47.8. But the people that make up the town run the gamut: hippies, skaters, drifters, bikers, cowboys, regular old white men and women, liberals, gun-toting right-wingers (The gun laws out here are nearly non-existent), and everyone in between. I even saw some Mexican gangsters tonight. It has three colleges so lots of students that will be coming shortly. All of this combines to make an incredibly interesting, incredibly charming town. All of these people come together to live in a mostly harmonious fashion, either tolerating or ignoring one another (there is a subtle but distinct difference). It has character. It is totally unpretentious and completely at ease with itself, in a way that is similar to the hippie towns of New England. It boils down to a certain sincerity that I find completely lacking on the east coast.

This woman reminds me of a cross between Mimi, from the Drew Carey Show, and a Muppet. "Homer, what's a muppet?" "Well, it's not quite a mop, and it's not quite a puppet."

It does get weirder than this around town, but I still can't figure out what's going on here. You have to wonder if this is their only mode of transportation. There isn't a supermarket for a mile, so her ass and knees must be killing her. And where are they going with a shopping cart anyway? Maybe they can't afford a wheelchair? The dog seemed really embarrassed.

There are occasional arts fairs in Prescott, I'm not sure what this guy was painting but I like seeing people in the act of creating. I wonder how many times this guy has heard "Paint Your Wagon" jokes.

Nothing really quenches your thirst like bleach bottles filled with water. MMmmm! That's bleachy!
This is my friend and fellow VISTA member, Hollis, coming to meet me in the park. This is a quintessential small town picture. She could be delivering newspapers or on her way to help Mrs. Smith with her garden.

Some people enjoying the park on a beautiful August day, the same day as the Arts fair:
Two very cute little pooches looking to be friends:
We'll finish off this overdue mediocre update with two people I really enjoyed meeting: Pastor Rodney Burnap and Jerry, the Junk Collector.

Pastor Rodney Burnap aka "Normal T. Joey" is a pastor who tours up and down the West coast on his bike "Pedaling the Bible" (get it?) to hippies. Here are his websites (he gave me his card): www.myspace.com/jesustribesrainbowfamily and jesustribes.multiply.com

This was taken as I drove past him one day, after I had talked with him in town. He was a really interesting man, and you could feel the unadulterated love emanating from him, like the colors of his tie-dye shirt fill your vision. He is what Jesus would be today, if Jesus were born in the 50's and loved the Dead, which, of course, he would.

Jerry collects junk and doesn't care who he gives it to. He literally gives stuff away. He gave my friend Hollis a water bottle he bought from Walgreen's. He explained to us the he buys the $1 bottles and randomly gives them to children playing in the park, "It's hot in the desert," he said, "and you have to stay hydrated". He went on to complain about parents not wanting the bottles. "I can't believe these people! They try and give me money, but when I try and give them something useful, they won't take it!" Then a woman tried to give him money and actually shoved $5 in his pocket. He complained about that too. He's clearly a man of principle. You wonder what he did before he ended up wandering around the streets, inch-worm like, his one leg slowly getting him to where he's going. Why he didn't give a water bottle to the bleach bottle fellow, I'll never know. Maybe that guy was skeeved out too.

He claims to have a 5x7 inch Pre-christian wooden tablet engraved with a Hebrew prayer. I'm not really sure whether to believe him. I'm sure he has an engraved wooden tablet, but over 2000 years old, sitting in a storage room? Excuse my skepticism Jerry. He's the kind of guy that you don't really have a conversation with, you sit there while he talks at you. He is the living Abe Simpson. Jerry's a cool cat who just seems to enjoy the ride. He offered me a bronze bust. That was the only description he gave me. I declined, but it was very nice of him. Yesterday while reading Shel Silverstein's Where the Sidewalk Ends I came across this poem and immediately thought of Jerry:

HECTOR THE COLLECTOR
by Shel Silverstein

Hector the Collector
Collected bits of string,
Collected dolls with broken heads
And rusty bells that would not ring.
Pieces out of picture puzzles,
Bent-up nails and ice-cream sticks,
Twists of wires, worn-out tires,
Paper bags and broken bricks.
Old chipped vases, half shoelaces,
Gatlin' guns that wouldn't shoot,
Leaky boats that wouldn't float
And stopped-up horns that wouldn't toot.
Butter knives that had no handles,
Copper keys that fit no locks,
Rings that were too small for fingers,
Dried-up leaves and patched-up socks.
Worn-out belts that had no buckles,
'Lectric trains that had no tracks,
Airplane models, broken bottles,
Three-legged chairs and cups with cracks.
Hector the Collector
Loved these things with all his soul,
Loved them more than shining diamonds,
Loved them more than glistenin' gold.
Hector called to all the people,
"Come and share my treasure trunk!"
And all the silly sightless people
Came and looked...and called it junk.

This sums up Jerry. He is a strong man that will get himself to where he needs to go. Diabetes took his leg but not his treasure--his pride. And you can keep your $5, he'd rather share 5 minutes of your time.

Next post: Is this really where I live?

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Welcome to Prescott, Everyone's Home Town! Pt. 1

Prescott (pronounced press-kit), AZ is an incredibly interesting "city". City is in quotes because it is called a city but those back East would recognize it more as a town. There is a central business and tourist area, which we saw in my previous post, located around the Yavapai County Courthouse, (Yavapai Co. is comparable to New Jersey in terms of square mileage, 8125 to 8755).
The population of Prescott is 40,360, across 32.4 sq. mi, compared to Montclair, NJ's 38, 977 over 6.3 sq. mi. Here, we'll take a look at the physical aspects of the city, focusing on the area around the square, where the architecture is more interesting. The rest of the city is not as interesting, being either rural or mega-shopping centers, strip malls, Wal-marts and such. There are TONS of fast food places, scattered throughout the city limits. From McDonald's to Taco Bell to Panda Express. Though the culinary experience is as barren as the landscape, there are two gems to be found: In N' Out Burger and the Diamondback Deal at Taco Bell (3 free tacos when the D-backs score 6+ runs). Thumb Butte looming over Prescott. This is from Gurley Ave. State Route 69 (Pheonix to Prescott) becomes Gurley and runs up to the parking area of Thumb Butte. The traffic light is where Gurley crosses Montezuma St.; Whiskey Row is just off to the left.
Whiskey Row composite, the pictures top to bottom run North to South. I love the old school Hotel sign, next to a Saloon. It definitely accentuates the Western vibe. All that's missing is a raised, wooden sidewalk. There is only one saloon with swinging doors, not pictured. All the bars have signs stating "No firearms, knives or other deadly weapons" conspicuously posted at the entrance. However, those signs are no longer required, as Arizona state legislature has approved a bill allowing guns in bars. But I digress.

Prescott has some really cool statues and art around town:
Intense!! Situated on the western side of the court house, the statue is dedicated to those Prescottonians killed in action, the list spanning from WW1 to Operation: Desert Storm. The statue was erected in 1987. Who is the standing man calling to?

These hydrants are hidden in an alley behind a shopping plaza, and obscured from view on the street by the unused square planter, but they are an nice surprise for the unknowing wanderer.

This gorgeous mural is hidden behind the relatively new Granite Street Parking Deck. Apparently, the owners of the store upon which this mural is painted managed to get the city to foot the bill, saying something about beautification. It runs down the length of the shop, which you can see goes several feet beyond where the pillar is.

A killer painting, made to look like the natural grain of ply-wood. The house was run down, so you never know what secrets lie behind that board. Perhaps a struggling band or maybe a band of long ship-wrecked pirates?

Giving a full sense of the diversity of the town, this trailer park lies just 3 blocks from Whiskey Row.

Here are some historic buildings, with plaques so I don't have to regurgitate the information:
And:

Part 2: The People of Prescott.

Sunday, August 2, 2009

The Shootout on Whiskey Row

The adjustment for me moving out here was easy. The hardest part was the first 20 minutes I arrived (7/19) and walked around the Courthouse Square. Meandering around, shaking off the dust from the road, people would walk by and said "Hello". Or people sitting would say "Hi" as I passed. This really freaked me out. I knew it was clear that I was an out-of-towner but I didn't realize I had a target on my back. Were these people sizing me up? Mocking me? I was so shaken up--which is a rare occurrence--that I had to call my brother to help me make sense of what was going on. In the NYC metro area, you're lucky if people notice you enough to get out of the way when you're walking, let alone acknowledge your presence by speaking to you. I didn't know how to handle friendly people. But once I saw this poster:
I knew I was home. Sorry New Jersey, but cowboys and In 'N' Out means our relationship is no more than dust in the wind...
The Shootout on Whiskey Row, takes place, of all places, on Whiskey Row, a small stretch of South Montezuma Street in Prescott (pronounced Press-kit). For two days the block is open only to pedestrian traffic checking out street vendors selling art, jewelery and Southwestern wares and paraphernalia. The above view is of the "stage" where reenactments of famous Western scenes take place. Below, the man on the left wants the woman to quit prostitution and marry him but she likes the attention and money. Doc Holliday has come out into the street upon hearing their quarreling.
Doc Holliday, after a scuffle with the concerned would-be suitor, busts a cap in his ass:Communication is the backbone of relationships; I bet she regrets not talking to him: Video of the shootout at the OK Corral, the most famous gun fight in Old West lore. They did a good job of reenacting it, considering it's what the avant-garde might call "Guerrilla Theater":

There was also a contest in which Old West acting troupes staged original plays. These are context-less photos from some:
"Whoooo-eee! We got ourselves some prescription-grade stuff, partners!"


"Listen old-timer, I don't care how many stars that flag has! I say it's still 1880!"


The naked cowboy's cousin?Let's play a game. Post a caption for this picture:


What was great about this day was that it gave a chance for everyone to get into the spirit of the Old West. It's just like Civil War/American Revolution reenactors:
"Well, Ma, I guess you didn't listen when I told you I'm drivin'..."Next post: Welcome to Prescott!