Neither House nor Home

People survive.  Though it may be a much more complex concept than we think, survival happens.  It happens in a myriad of nuanced ways. Needy people find food, clothing, and shelter in random ways.  Take a walk through an area you normally drive through and see what shows up.  If your survival depended upon it, the fear or stigma of bending down to pick up something discarded fades away.  We see the consequences of survival all around us.  Walk  foe a mile and then make a list.  Tell me what you see.  Put what you find on that list.
I succinctly recall one of my college professors lectures on Social Darwinism.  His thesis was that the concept was bogus because with human beings the Darwinian notion of "survival of the fittest" doesn't apply.  It's not just the fittest who survive, some people who are far from the upper echelon of the fittest, will survive.  "They are not the fittest," he said.  "But nevertheless they survive.  They are fit enough to survive.  Maybe barely...but they survive.
We see these folks everyday. They are in your town...the dystopic version of your town. One of the common crises we all face in this culture is that the army of homeless in both urban and rural areas is advancing.  It's advancing because it seems to be growing. The growth is not only in size but also in visibility.
In my home town, Portland, Oregon, the bloom is off the "Rose City."  Like many urban centers one has only to find their way to the closest freeway, look under or around the overpasses or on/off ramps to find tents that spring up like mushrooms.  The larger population centers have the larger tent camps.  In my town they spring up along public walking and hiking paths that wind their way from the river that bisects the city all the way to the base of the national forest and mountain range that looks down on the changing metropolis below.

My specific community is currently debating the creation of a homeless village that would see about 15-20 folks living in small houses, the tiny ones currently so popular, clustered on a patch of green that has been provided by a  Christian church that owns the property.  Community meetings have been boisterous, if not contentious.  The proposed village is half a block from a daycare and two blocks from an elementary school.  That fact, along with all the other common notions and stereotypes that people have about the homeless is enough to set opinions flying.  Nothing has been decided thus far, but transparency seems to be lacking because some people think a decision has been made while others are working to bring a lawsuit.
One of the things I've noticed from these community meetings is that the advocates for the homeless village don't especially like the term homeless.  They prefer "houseless."  I get it.  There is a affordable housing crisis in Portland, and the terms used make a difference.  But I've been thinking about these terms.  In the Great Depression of the 1930s, Woody Guthrie, the great folk interpreter sang:
               I ain't got no home I'm just a ramblin' round,
               Just a wanderin" worker, and I go from town to town,
              The po-lice make it hard, wherever I may go,
              And I ain't got no home in this world any more.

If you replace the word home with house, you miss the point of the song.  Home is more than a house.  So, is it possible to have no house but have a home?

Places I Remember

I have a course on my college transcripts that always brings a smile.  The class was part of a summer program for teachers through the Education department at UC Berkeley.  The official name listed is "Eating your way through history."  In reality it was a food history class that could easily have been offered in any History department.  The professor was a food historian by the name of Bert Gordon.
On the surface the picture that emerges is one of teachers in summertime loading up of units while eating in restaurants.  Sure there were visits to restaurants but in fact, this was one of the best classes (I'm a history major too) I've ever taken.  We researched the history of recipes, and looked at food iconography in art museums.  We met over a table with chefs from various backgrounds and cultures, we presented ideas, images, historical events, and of course tastes of everything under consideration.
In the end, the topics under consideration ranged from the Minestrone soup made by a woman who began each day making a pot of it on a farm to the contents and politics of Gatorade.  In the end, one very important thing I learned is that any restaurant, from those with Michelin stars to the fast food joint in your neighborhood, cannot be successful unless it's comfortable.  People like predictability and they want to feel comfortable.  That does not necessarily mean the comfort of the seating or the background noise, although those are important, but rather the overall atmosphere of the place.
With that in mind, I began to reach back and think of some of the places I recall that met these criteria.  Places that may or may not still exist.  Sometimes the name lives on, but what is under it might not be the same.

Angelos: North Hollywood, Ca. the quintessential non-pretentious Italian restaurant. Perfect for a 19 year-old to take his date.  Affordable, good pizzas, red/white checkerboard table cloths.  Nice lighting and soft music.

Las Cazuelas: Houston, Texas.  Neighborhood authentic in the barrio of North Houston.  Homemade soups, soft tacos, hardworking staff.  Norteno music.
Texas BBQ:  I'm not sure this place had a name.  It's been 50 years but people found there way there because it was a bright Turquoise blue house.  Ribs, chicken, grits, red soda water, Pearl, Jax, and Schlitz beer.  A jukebox with only Little Milton or BB King records.  Really, nothing else. Houston's 3rd Ward.

The Long Green Cafe: On San Fernando Road in the 1960s.  A really long counter and a few booths.  Ex army cook who could multi-task like none other.  Huge, thick, French fries in a brown paper bag.  Burgers and specials. Truckers eat here.  All eat well.
Juna's- A Berkeley staple down in south Berkeley's industrial section.  Still going strong.  Chips and salsa delivered as you are seated.  Busy...super busy, except for those summer afternoons when school is out and you wander in for Guac and chips and a few Coronas or Tecates.  Ideal for a lazy afternoon.
Brennan's- Iconic Berkeley hofbrau that was.  Cafeteria style sandwiches and plates.  Love the Chinese turkey slicer who yells "Turkey prate" 100 times a day.  Irish coffee well made. You sit where you can; maybe next to a softball team, a recent graduate, Cal students taking a break, or families, traveling salesmen, or Berkeley's anachronistic Fraternities/Sororities.

Do You Remember?

Research shows that memory is tied to emotion.  That makes sense.  Those life experiences that we will "never forget" are easily brought back to memory because they often are peak experiences tied to peak emotions.  Can you remember the most afraid you have ever been?  We don't usually forget that.
I've often been told that I have a good memory.  My own feeling on the matter is that I have an adequate memory but most folks don't even have that.  Recently I was told by two close friends on two separate occasions that they have no memory of occurrences that for me would be and apparently are unforgettable.
Probably the most fear I've ever encountered came one late night as a former roommate and I walked back to our car after attending a friend's music performance in a small bar/bistro.  We were surprised by a dark figure holding a shiny straight razor.  The would-be assailant barked out, "What you MFs want with me?"  We assured him nothing and I soon realized he'd mistaken me or my friend for someone else.  He relented.  We walked unmolested to our car, drove off and that was that.  Yet when I recently reminded my the friend who walked beside me that night, he had no memory of the incident.

The same thing happened when I was telling a guy doing some research on Pete Seeger about the time Pete came to a performance another friend and I were in about the life of Woody Guthrie.
One of Pete's old friends from the 1930s was in our little show and he invited Pete to attend.  Much to our surprise, Seeger showed up and a memorable evening ensued.  Yet, recently when I reminded my show mate about that evening, his reply was "I don't remember the gig."
Again: dumfounded.  Guess I need to lighten up about all this.  But how do people not remember these peak experiences.  Perhaps, again, one's emotions are the clue.
If you really want to have some fun with this, ask someone you trust what is the earliest memory you have.  Responses will most likely be varied with a good many folks remembering nothing from their first 5 or 6 years of life.  While I personally find that incredulous, it is all to often the response I get.
But...I understand that memory is tricky.  The longer I live, I find that memory is incredibly selective, as well as fleeting.  There are reasons for that.  Experiences that are similar get confused.  Sometimes we would swear that a particular song was playing at a particular time.  We have been telling that story for years.  Only to find out that we are wrong.  Someone remembers it differently for their own reasons that are attached to their own emotions. 

DQ'ed

Horses are in my blood.  That's the way it is with "horse people." Don't try to explain it; you either have it or you don't.  It really is that simple, I think.
My love of horses began when I used to follow some of the great equine athletes of the 1960s mostly on a weekly telecast from Santa Anita.  That soon transferred to weekly horseback riding at a local stables.  A couple of neighborhood friends and I would go every Saturday morning for a few years.  I had a job working for a family across the street from me.  I'd clean their swimming pool with a special vacuum for pools and then monitor and add chlorine weekly.  For that I got $2.00 on Friday night.  By 11 o'clock Saturday morning it was gone.  I'd return home with dusty Levis and a desire to go again the following week.
Later on, as a 22-year-old VISTA volunteer in Texas I owned a horse.  That fulfilled a childhood fantasy.  As a young teacher in the Bay Area I chanced to make the acquaintance of another teacher who had a couple of horses for her kids.  When her son joined the Navy, I took over partial ownership of a coal black quarter horse called shotgun.
When that ended a couple of years later, I was horseless for a bit.  My love for the animal combined with a desire to study American subcultures soon took me to the backside of a race track.  As often happens, an opportunity to write about Thoroughbreds and the people who inhabit the subculture of the racetrack came my way.  The next 20 years took me to many barn.  Many conversations with owners, trainers, jockeys, racing officials, clockers, and turf writers followed.
The rise in technology changed the sport like it did many social institutions.  There was a time nobody save a doctor could make a phone call from a racetrack.  Imagine trying to enforce that now.
Today you can view and bet a race from just about any track in the world via computer.  People still watch races, but they don't go to the racetrack, with the exception of the Kentucky Derby and other major racing events.

The Derby this year made history.  The actual winner was disqualified, for the first time.  This comes on the heels of the sport being under a microscope by animal rights advocates because of an abnormally large equine deaths this year.  Santa Anita, which bills itself as "the great race place" had to close for most of the month of March.  So, when Maximum Security ducked out sharply rounding the turn for home, and took the path of another rival, the Inquiry/Objection light flashed.  It might as well have been flashing for the future of the sport.  The disqualification of the winner will remain unpopular and controversial into the ages.  That you can bet on.
For me, all this doom and gloom, this unsettling controversy, this malaise that has filtered into everything it seems, is all part of the dark time our country and culture is experiencing right now.  The tremendous social change impacted by the rise of the new technologies and the fear and anxiety, the polarization we have right now has blanketed most everything.
We can't go back.  Like the number of racetracks closing for good, or the demise of department stores, or gas guzzling cars, or hundreds of other things that seem to have suddenly happened to us we must adjust and move forward.
Just about the best time to be t a racetrack is at dawn.  When the sun rises on the backstretch, all things are possible.