Welcome to Missouri through a insect splayed windshield.
Possibly the best known BBQ in the USA, and Calvin Trillin said maybe the best single restaurant in the world, Arthur Bryant’s is in Kansas City. Ribs, very excellent….. But, not quite done enough, still a few pieces of meat were sticking to the bones, and the cartilege did not separate as easily as it might have. Nod goes to Hutchinson. (Of course Austin and central Texas ARE the BBQ epicenter of America, but why point out the obvious?) Still, Greg was very satisfied. As was I, and the crew serving was fantastic. A legend on a plate. And well deserved. In their defense, we ate at 10:15, by 12 it would have been perfect.
Great street murals all over
I had to go to 12th Street and Vine. These two places are in the African American center of town. From as early as 1905, this area developed from a regular humdrum business district and 10 to 20 years later was THE thriving entertainment district that eventually gave birth to the northward and westward expansion of culture, art, music, and literature that defined generations of American greatness.
Sad
The only thing is that there isn’t really a 12th and Vine anymore. KC and St. Louis both went though infamous urban rehab, (I avoid using air quotes, but yeah.) The directed destruction of Afrcan American neighborhoods to build public housing and more important to city fathers, expressways. And of course the unstated but obvious goal of destroying African American neighborhoods and unity. It is Monday and the Music and Baseball Museums are closed.
So we are at 12th and Vine,
Hero of the day
There is a plaza, with a walkway shaped like a treble clef and a cement riser shaped like a grand piano. On the riser the plaque says there should be a sculpture on it and that the plaza will grow into a sculpture garden as the art pieces move on and off of the riser. But what is there? A pot with a very sickly and neglected pine tree in it. No sculpture garden. And a tiki torch. Yes indeed, a tiki torch. As we are about leaving I point this and its current cultural and racist significance to Greg, and being a Fire Captain, a Union President, a Renessaince man and a heroic man of action, he says well let’s fix that. Out comes the torch, it breaks over my great brother’s knee, and into the trash it goes. “I fuckin’ hate those bastards.” Quote of the day.
Off to Jefferson City.
Missouri Capitol shrouded
We did not stay to see much but we did see the Capitol Building where womens rights are sliced and diced on a daily basis. It was wrapped in scaffolding and plastic like a death shroud for voting rights and the souls of our dear sisters. Missouri we sincerely wish you increased blueness and soon. We went to the Prision Brewery. Good beer for Greg, Diet Dr.Pepper for me. My imbibing is extremely limited. Why the Prison Brewery? About 6 blocks away it the Missouri State Penitentary.
Imposing. Look closely for what it says
Huge, imposing, unfriendly, walled, with guard towers. What a site.
Prission walls
What a sight. No longer in operation. Good. Commercial jail industry in Missouri is big. Not good.
Off to St. Louis. A quick stop in Union, Missouri for a picture of Union town hall, and Union Fire Protection District Station #2. Why Union? A union labor city? No, A union of religious brothers city? No. A Union as in Civil War Union non Traitor — Loser City? Yes indeedy, you are correct, sir. Stupendous.
Union Fire Station
The state both fought some for the South, (Quitters and losers, quit the Union and lost the war, but did not secede.
To close the day, 6726 Chippewa Street, St. Louis. Ted Drewes Frozen Custard. Cements.
Kansas City near 18th and Vine
This. Stuff. Is. The. Bomb. This stuff is really what makes America great. Go. Eat. Love.
Busch Stadium. Cards vs. the Dodgers. For well over a hundred years these two teams have put asses in seats and pennants on the flagpole. A devine American baseball, beer, and bratwurst experience. 2 to 2 in the first, 3-2 for the Dodgers, then an RBI and a score on a passed ball for the Cardinals win. All very excellent. Except for the drunk, loudmouth brash drunk drunkardish drunk guy drunk in the seat behind Greg. His two friends to their credit, spent the whole game telling him to STFU, to no effect, but they gave it a go. Top of the 9th, Greg turns around and engages. The international man of action speaks up. (See above.) Your not going to get me thrown out says he to the very wrongest guy. Up goes big brother and over comes the fan courtesy woman. She tells him firmly to quiet down and cut our the swearing. She leaves, and Drunkity McDrunk Drunk picks it up again. Greg says he’s had it, you are gone. Drunk says the exact wrong word. “Really?” Oh boy, 32 seconds later as he is being hauled out, I flip him off and he comes back at me, BINGO! He is on the curb. Great fun. We finish the inning in peace and are cordial to his buddies, as are they. Home and to blogging this here.
2400 Miles
Tomorrow, birds, maybe Furguson, definetly East St. Louis, then Illinois, Indiana and the Reds by night.
Union City Hall
