On the Road: Cheyenne, Wyoming

Click on Thumbnail for MapNote: First published on Blogger on July 18, 2006

Unfolding the Map

Hey, guess what, Littourati? We have exited Nebraska, finally, and are now rolling with Sal Paradise into Cheyenne, Wyoming! Hit the image, get the map!

Book Quote

"As the truck reached the outskirts of Cheyenne, we saw the high red lights of the local radio station, and suddenly we were bucking through a great crowd of people that poured along both sidewalks. 'Hell's bells, it's Wild West Week,' said Slim. Big crowds of businessmen, fat businessmen in boots and ten-gallon hats, with their hefty wives in cowgirl attire, bustled and whooped on the wooden sidewalks of old Cheyenne; farther down were the long stringy boulevard lights of new downtown Cheyenne, but the celebration was focusing on Oldtown. Blank guns went off. The saloons were crowded to the sidewalk. I was amazed, and at the same time I felt it was ridiculous: in my first shot at the West I was seeing to what absurd devices it had fallen to keep its proud tradition."

On the Road: Chapter 4

Cheyenne, Wyoming

Sal enters Cheyenne, sees tradition mingling with commercial at the annual Frontier Days (mistakenly called Wild West Week by Slim), and feels that common mixture of amazement and derision of the spectacle of it all.

On the one hand, I know this feeling. I had the feeling when I first saw the Disneyfication of Times Square. What was once an area renowned for its seediness, it's strip clubs and porn shops, and it's danger is now an area full of bright lights, Mickey and friends, and family friendly business that is way to expensive for most of us ordinary folk to shop there.

On the other hand, I regret that Sal has this feeling, because many communities, especially smaller ones (and I count Cheyenne with it's population of just over 50,000 as a small community) take great pride in their local celebrations. You don't just see this in smaller communities; San Antonio goes all out for Fiesta and New Orleans basically ceases to function each year during the run-up to Mardi Gras. But for smaller communities, a festival like Frontier Days in Wyoming puts them on the map and makes them feel proud. If it weren't for Frontier Days, according to Wikipedia the largest rodeo in the world, we would know a lot less about Cheyenne.

My hometown of Fort Bragg had basically one large festival when I was growing up. Because it was a lumber town, the festival was named Paul Bunyan Days, and it continues to occur each September over Labor Day weekend. Parades, contests (including logging skills), and dances characterized the festivities. Paul Bunyan Days gave the town a chance to get out, let its hair down, have fun, and come together as well as giving tourists the opportunity to see a different side of our town.

Other festivals have now been added to my hometown: The World's Largest Salmon Barbecue and Winesong, to name a couple. My hometown takes pride in these celebrations, and has fun with them. And they also echo the local traditions of logging, fishing and agriculture.

Mardi Gras is another example of a community rallying together around a tradition, handed down year by year. Each year, except for this last one which was the first post-Katrina celebration, Mardi Gras got bigger and bigger. Tourists came for the days of wild abandonment they could experience, but if you are a local, you enjoy the family friendly atmosphere away from the French Quarter, the parades, the food, and the costumes that magically appear each year. Without Mardi Gras, would New Orleans have put such a stamp on our consciousness?

So, if I were traveling with Sal in 1947, I would have told him to let Cheyenne have and enjoy its Frontier Days. It celebrates who the people of Cheyenne are, and in many cases, an idealized version of what they want to be. And for one or two weeks a year, that's just fine. America can go back to being "beat" after the fun is over.

If you are interested in learning more about Cheyenne or Frontier Days

City-Data: Cheyenne
Cheyenne Area Convention and Visitor's Bureau
City of Cheyenne
Wikipedia: Cheyenne
Wyoming Tales and Trails:
Cheyenne Wyoming Tribune-Eagle
Frontier Days
Wikipedia: Frontier Days

Next up: Longmont, Colorado

On the Road: Ogallala, Nebraska

Click on Thumbnail for MapNote: First published on Blogger on July 17, 2006

Unfolding the Map

Wow, this title sure is a mouthful, isn't it? Ogallala. Oh-gah-la-la. Not a very good opening for this post, but let's see what comes of it. As usual, image, click, you're at the map.

Book Quote

"We came suddenly into the town of Ogallala, and here the fellows in the cab called out, 'Pisscall!' and with great good delight....

I had to buy more cigarettes. Gene and the blond boy followed me to stretch their legs. I walked into the least likely place in the world, a kind of lonely Plains soda fountain for the local teenage girls and boys. They were dancing, a few of them, to the music on the jukebox. There was a lull when we came in. Gene and Blondey just stood there, looking at nobody; all they wanted was cigarettes. There were some pretty girls, too. And one of them made eyes at Blondey and he never saw it, and if he had he wouldn't have cared, he was so sad and gone."

On the Road, Chapter 4

Ogallala, Nebraska

The image of the soda fountain catches my eye in this quote. It reminds me of a dream my father once had. The story, which may be more or less factual, has it that my father's original dream was to own a soda shop called The Green Parrot in Fort Bragg, California, where he was born and raised. However, World War II intervened, and he left Fort Bragg to go into the Army. He was eventually stationed in the Pacific, in Saipan, after the initial invasion there. He was a master seargent, and ran a mess hall. Every paycheck, he would send something home home to his dad. His instructions to his father were to put the money in savings. That money was going to be used when he came back home to put a down payment on The Green Parrot, which the owner had promised to sell to him when he got back from the war.

When my father arrived home after the war, he asked his father for the money. His father hemmed, hawed, and then told him to come with him. They wandered about 20 miles out into the forest, on dirty back roads, until they came to a little piece of property consisting of 13 acres of undeveloped, overgrown timberland alongside the Noyo River and straddling both sides of the California Western Railroad tracks. My grandfather had "invested" the money in this piece of property. My father's dream of owning The Green Parrot died, but the property remains in use by my family this day as a sort of rustic, actually primitive, summer resort.

(The Green Parrot does not exist anymore. If you want to see The Green Parrot as it might have looked in the 1940s, you can catch a glimpse of it in the movie Racing With the Moon, starring Sean Penn, Elizabeth McGovern and Nicolas Cage. In fact, my whole damn hometown of Fort Bragg is featured.)

Given that my father died an alcoholic after having worked at a lumber mill all his life, I often wonder what would have happened had he been able to buy The Green Parrot. Would he have been the kindly owner/soda jerk behind the counter, laughing with even as he shook his head at the antics of those damn kids every day? Would I have spent my summers, instead of swimming and sleeping under the stars out in the middle of the redwoods, slinging sodas and malts and sweeping up late nights. Would we have ended up without a business in the 80s, when the chains like Burger King and McDonalds swept into town, or would we have ridden it out and become retro-cool? Would my dad's life have been different, happier?

Or would it have been as Kerouac described the Ogallala soda shop -- a lonely kind of place where kids with nothing to do hang out? Where girls who see the same boys all day are extremely likely to latch on to a couple of homeless drifters looking for nothing more than cigarettes? Would we all just be so "sad and gone," that we just wouldn't care?

If you are interested in learning more about Ogallala or soda fountains and soda shops

City of Ogallala
Visit Ogallala
Wikipedia: Ogallala

Drugstore Museum: Soda Fountains
Wikipedia: soda shop  

Next stop: Cheyenne, Wyoming

On the Road: North Platte, Nebraska

Click on Thumbnail for MapNote:  Originally published on Blogger on July 11, 2006

Unfolding the Map

Almost through Nebraska, Littourati! Click on the image to see how far we've come!

Book Quote

"The greatest ride in my life was about to come up, a truck, with a flatboard at the back, with about six or seven boys sprawled out on it, and the drivers, two young blond farmers from Minnesota, were picking up every single soul they found on the road....'Whooee, here we go!' yelled a kid in a baseball cap, and they gunned up to seventy and passed everybody on the road....I was glad when the two Minnesota farmboys who owned the truck decided to stop in North Platte and eat...'Pisscall!' said one. 'Time to eat!' said the other. But they were the only ones in the party who had money to buy food....Montana Slim and the two high school boys wandered the streets with me till I found a whiskey store....Tall sullen men watched us go by from false-front buildings; the main street was lined with square box houses. There were immense vistas of the plains beyond every sad street. I felt something different in the air in North Platte, I didn't know what it was. In five minutes I did....'What in the hell is this?' I cried out to Slim. 'This is the beginning of the rangelands, boy. Hand me another drink.'"

On the Road, Chapter 4

North Platte, Nebraska

Once again, we are left with these little snippets of towns in On the Road that don't really correspond to the rich details that are available. Of course, simply passing through town, Jack Kerouac may have not picked up this information -- Sal certainly didn't. But the North Platte Canteen, as you can see below in the links, served up beverages and food to 6 million soldiers passing through by train during World War II, closing in 1946 (just a year before Sal travels through).

In Sal's mind, he is looking on "sad" streets filled with rows of box houses. In reality, from everything I read, this town was full of spirit, with up to 50,000 volunteers staffing the North Platte Canteen during the time it was open. Perhaps Sal is overwhelmed by the plains just beyond -- the rangelands, as Slim calls them -- and in his hurry to get to Denver does not get a true feel of the town. I don't know any of this other than that delving into the places he stops, I find a lot of things that Sal (and Jack) miss about the America that they profess to want to discover.

On the other hand, it is easy for me to be hard on Sal for not being me, for not responding to a place like I would. Sal's goal, to get to Denver, is within sight. He is passing time with a number of other "beat" characters on the back of a flatboard pickup driven by two slightly insane farm boys. After a ride like he describes, perhaps I too would get off and look for the nearest liquor store. And truth be told, with the North Platte Canteen having been shut for a year by 1947, North Platte may have gone through an economic and social slump -- 6 million visitors in 5 years tends to bring lots of economic activity. Once the soldiers were gone, there very well might have been little activity and lots of sullen men glaring from storefronts.

Be that as it may, I hope following Sal through these places yields a little bit more about the America that he discovered, and that he could have discovered. Hopefully, this will enrich our understanding about the book, and about the places mentioned in it.

If you are interested in learning more about North Platte

Bailey Yard: Largest Railroad Classification Yard in the World
City of North Platte
City Data: North Platte
North Platte Bulletin (Newspaper)
North Platte Canteen
North Platte Telegraph (Newspaper)
North Platte Convention and Visitors Bureau
Wikipedia: North Platte

Next up: Ogallala, Nebraska

On the Road: Gothenburg, Nebraska

Click on Thumbnail for MapNote:  First published on Blogger on July 11, 2006

Unfolding the Map

Here's the map -- crawling across Nebraska at the speed of Sal Paradise. Click on the image if you want to see where we are now!

Book Quote

"I waited in our personal godawful Shelton for a long, long time, several hours, and I kept thinking it was getting night; actually it was only early afternoon, but dark. Denver, Denver, how would I ever get to Denver? I was just about giving up and planning to sit over coffee when a fairly new car stopped, driven by a young guy. I ran like mad.

'Where are you going?'
'Denver.' '
Well, I can take you a hundred miles up the line.'
'Grand, grand, you saved my life.'
'I used to hitchike myself, that's why I always pick up a fellow.'
'I would too if I had a car.'

And so we talked, and he told me about his life, which wasn't very interesting, and I started to sleep some and woke up right outside the town of Gothenburg, where he let me off."

On the Road:  Chapter 3

Gothenburg, Nebraska

I just learned this, and Sal Paradise doesn't mention it, but Gothenburg, the town he gets left off at, lies very close to four major historic thoroughfares across the United States. The Oregon Trail passed very close to Gothenburg, about 4 miles south of the town. The Mormon Trail also passed very close, following the north bank of the Platte River which flows just north of Gothenburg. The Pony Express Route also ran through here, which though short lived thanks to rail service that began a few years later, opened up the possibility of a country that could be unified not only in words but in commerce and communication. Also, the Overland Trail Mail Route also ran along here, following the Oregon Trail until splitting off and heading south into Colorado.

I'm not sure if Jack Kerouac knew that these former pathways were in the area when he was writing (it's kind of hard to believe that he didn't considering that he most likely completed a similar journey himself), but whether he did or not it is another important symbolic representation of Sal's journey. Sal is following in the footsteps of thousands of others who left the East and made their way, for reasons documented and undocumented, to what they hoped would be better fortunes in the West. For Sal, the reasons are more nuanced than immediate - he is not planning as far as he knows to settle in the West and make his living. But he is looking for something that will similarly bring him better fortune, and looking for people, specifically his friends, who are somewhat like himself and who had made their way West also. And as we'll see, after Shelton, where he seemed to be stuck physically and in other ways, Gothenburg becomes the opening stage for "the ride of his life," a quick burst across the plains toward his first major goal, Denver. Perhaps the confluence of all these thoroughfares, and the travelers who traversed them, reached across time and brushed Jack and his character Sal with their ghostly fingers.

If you want to know more about Gothenburg or the Oregon, Mormon and Pony Express Trails

City Data: Gothenburg
Gothenburg city website
Wikipedia: Gothenburg

All About the Oregon Trail
American West: The Oregon Trail
Oregon Trail History Library
Oregon Trail - Midway Station (near Gothenburg)
Wikipedia: The Oregon Trail

Overland Trail

National Park Service: Pony Express National Historic Trail
Pony Express History
Pony Express Trail - Gothenburg Station
Wikipedia: Pony Express

Next up: North Platte, Nebraska

On the Road: Shelton, Nebraska

Click on the Thumbnail for MapNote: First published on Blogger on July 7, 2006

Unfolding the Map

We keep inching along across the country, rolling along the Nebraska plain. Click on the image. Do it -- now!

Book Quote(s)

"Then an old man who said nothing...took us to Shelton. Here Eddie stood forlornly in the road in front of a staring bunch of short, squat Omaha Indians who had nowhere to go and nothing to do. Across the road was the railroad track and the watertank saying SHELTON. 'Damn me,' said Eddie with amazement, 'I've been in this town before. It was years ago, during the war, at night, late at night when everybody was sleeping. I went out on the platform to smoke, and there we was in the middle of nowhere and black as hell, and I look up and see that name Shelton written on the watertank. Bound for the Pacific, everybody snoring, every damn dumb sucker, and we only stayed a few minutes, stoking up or something, and off we went. Damn me, this Shelton! I hated this place ever since!' And we were stuck in Shelton.

"A tall, lanky fellow in a gallon hat stopped his car on the wrong side of the road and came over to us.... 'I own a little carnival that's pitched a few mile down the road and I'm looking for some old boys willing to work...' I said 'I don't know, I'm going as fast as I can and I don't think I have the time.'"

On the Road:  Chapter 3

Shelton, Nebraska

I can relate to two things that Sal says about Shelton, Nebraska. The first is the boredom of being in a small town where nothing is going on. His friend, Eddie, who went through once before during the War, obviously had such a reaction to the place that he remembered how much he hated it.

This is probably not the reality of Shelton. I find that when in small towns, your mood to start with helps determine how you feel about a place. If I were to put myself in Sal's shoes, I might want to hate Shelton too. Here it is, on the middle of the plains in the middle of Nowhere, Nebraska. Sal has been dreaming of getting to Denver and hooking up with his friends, and has made it this far. But, he's stuck in a town with the possibility that he will never get a ride, and he has a bunch of people staring at him. This combination of wanting to get to the goal, and feeling stuck, would definitely color the way he feels about a place.

The other thing that strikes me is the carnival. Places like Shelton, and the small town I grew up in, were fertile grounds for the traveling carnival. Often, small towns are hours from any type of amusement of the kind. I remember growing up that we might make a trip to San Francisco once every two to three years. The closest amusement park, Marriot's Great America, was down in that area. So for us, it was a big deal when the carnival came to town.

I have ambivalent memories about the carnival. It was a break in the old routine. Usually, some area in town was suddenly converted into a large playground, with fantastic machines whirling around and large booths filled with toys and edible treats. As a kid, I never noticed what I would notice now -- the unsafe looking machinery, the stale smells. My sister, who has a much better memory than I do about the look and smells of such places, remembers vomit smells from the poor, sick kids who went one too many go-around on the Tilt-A-Whirl. I remember being somewhat afraid of the carnies, who often appeared to be old, dirty, lacking teeth, tattooed, and often lame or with some other bodily injury. Most of the time they just did their job, until you pissed them off, and then they'd scare the crap out of you when they barked something your way, usually in a raspy and menacing voice. I also remember that when I would want to get something to eat, a cotton candy or a caramel apple perhaps, my mother would steer us away because she felt the food was dirty and unsafe.

I also remember a distinct excitement and a distinct sadness, not my own but just in the air. Excitement as the carnival set up, and sadness as the carnival broke down and left town. I think the excitement explains itself. The sadness? Well, maybe the sadness stemmed from the fact that after the carnival left, we'd go back to our dull, boring, never-changing lives again. Or maybe it was a sadness emanating from the carnival itself -- always traveling, never settling in one place, a kind of poor man's version of a circus that seemed caught in its own era of time, never moving ahead but always cycling through town after town, setting up, entertaining 3 days of visitors, and breaking down again and moving on to the next town.

In Something Wicked This Way Comes, by Ray Bradbury, the carnival brings its own (in this case malevolent) spirit. Those who join the carnival are caught up and trapped in a version of hell. Of course, carnivals are neither evil nor good, but what we make of them. But for some, they may indeed be a trap. Perhaps Sal, when he refuses the offer to join the carnival, senses this as he envisions miles of dusty prairie and rosy faced Nebraska cherubs and their moms being rooked out of their money by carnies.

If you want to know more about Shelton and the surrounding area, or traveling carnivals

Buffalo County, Nebraska
City-data.com: Shelton
Wikipedia: Shelton

Carnival Midway Photos
Photos of Carnies and Carnivals
Traveling Carnivals

Next up: Gothenburg, Nebraska