When in Roam

January 3–8, 2021: Dallas

Traveling west on Route 30 from Little Rock to Dallas, we drove four and a half hours to go 320 miles, sans breaks. Remember flying? I used to be able to travel door-to-door from NYC to Chi-town in the same amount of time. While Carol was behind the wheel, I looked out at the horizon line and watched five miles of countryside roll past. Our land started to feel vast. Nothing but farmland at first, but once we entered Texas (and, boy, do they let you know, stamping that Lone Star and state outline alternatively on every highway pillar), the farms were swapped out in favor of cattle ranches. They were often bounded by yards of white picket fence on either side of metal entryways topped by the name of the ranch, e.g., The King Ranch, The Matador Ranch, The Yo Ranch.

Our Airbnb in the Bell Knox District, ten minutes north of downtown Big D, fit the mold we experienced in each of the other cities. The apartment was modern, including a full working kitchen (yay!), bar with stools, and 50" screens in the living room and bedroom. Signature to this dwelling was a Mad Men theme, which included eight gold-framed collages of scenes from the series, a framed cast-autographed picture of the iconic silhouetted title image, and a framed picture of the groovy Peter Max styled last season graphic. The apartment complex also had plenty of amenities including a pool and indoor gym, that we didn’t take advantage of during C-19. We were, however, able to retain our title of oldest residents and most consistent mask wearers compared to any neighbors we saw.

Once we settled in, which I define as having unpacked and logged into the five streaming platforms we subscribe to, I started to think about the fact that we were actually HERE, in Dallas, Texas?! One of the first things that has popped into my head at almost every stop, is the music that either has reminded me of, or is indigenous to, each specific locale. Here, it was a rarity named after the town, Dallas, by my all-time favorite band, The Dan.

We hit the local Trader Joe’s to stock up on provisions. During checkout, we informed the cashiers, who always chat us up, of our journey, and they gave us the Dallas Trader Joe's bag. Seems each city has their own version. Who knew?

On the way back, we happened upon Greenville Avenue. A nice strip of restaurants and shops, many of which had outdoor dining. The folks on the street wore masks. I had to pinch myself. Perhaps this would be our outdoor dining stop? And, maybe with warmer weather and sunshine, we’d be able to wear less than four layers of clothing!

We set out to explore the city. It’s the ninth most populated in the US with 1.35M folks. The Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex is the fourth largest with 7.5M, it’s the largest in the South, and it’s the largest without any navigable access to the sea. No port. No shipping industry. No small feat!

The first place we visited, related directly to the first thing I, or anyone who has a memory of November 22, 1963, would think of when you mention Dallas. Where you were when you heard that President John F. Kennedy was killed on that date?

We visited the site, and the first feeling was once again seeing something in real life that prior had only been an image to me. In this case, for 57 years. It was like seeing a celebrity in person. I got that tingly sensation of adrenaline burning into my brain. That wore off as I explored the sight and tried to understand the events of that day. I looked up from the grassy knoll to the sixth-floor window in the Book Depository, and saw specifically where the shots were fired from, as well as where the two Xs marked the spots — on Elm St. at the points of impact.

This was probably the first time in U.S. history that we got to see something that impacted all of us traumatically at the same time. In real-time. Standing there, it felt that that moment made more of an indelible impression on us than the man himself did. It felt like it was a harbinger of the times we’re in now.

Then, we visited the JFK Memorial Plaza, designed by Philip Johnson. A large, stark, concrete space, it seemed to be 85% enclosed, allowed entry from all four sides, and was open at the top. In the middle sat a squat black granite square with the president’s name engraved in gold on two opposing sides. According to the jfk.org website, “Johnson’s design is a cenotaph, or “open tomb”, that symbolizes the freedom of John F. Kennedy’s spirit”. When I was inside, I just felt an emptiness, an unnecessary waste of energy and resources, regarding both the man and the tribute. An unrealized promise.

My experience with that memorial epitomized an underrated benefit of art. Often, we focus on figuring out what an artist was trying to convey. I was a commercial artist and art teacher for ten years in my previous life. My experience was that Art is as much about what the viewer feels from experiencing it, as it is about what the creator was trying to say. Consider it a Rorschach test.

A half-mile away, Carol and I experienced how the Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex started to become the largest metropolitan area without a port in the country. The Pioneer Plaza Cattle Drive was a 4.2-acre plot in downtown Dallas filled with 49 larger-than-life bronze steers and three trail riders herding them over a hill and stream. We walked amidst the replica cattle and started to get a feel of how different that lifestyle was, and how varied this country was — and is.

As a meat-eater who has loved a great steak or burger, I started to think about how important these cattle have been to our diet. The data shows that 5%- 8% of the US population is vegan. So, how many restaurants, fast-food joints, supermarket freezers, restaurant equipment and grill manufacturers and their distributors are dedicated to, and reliant upon, satisfying the other 92% — 95% of us?

Viewing the cattle drive installation reminded me of another great part of this trip. While there are some iconic things to see of which we’re all aware, there are other sites, like this one, that fly under the national radar, that we don’t know about until we explore that region or city. Often, those are just as impressive and meaningful. This was one of them!

Then it was back to Greenville Avenue for date night. We walked down the strip and passed a lot of restaurants with outdoor seating. Most folks were masked up on a relatively warm 60-degree January night. We sat outside at HG Suply Co. Carol had a burger, and kinda jealous Howie scarfed down a Tex Mex bowl with Mexican pulled pork, over glasses of chard and cab respectively. We thoroughly enjoyed being able to sit comfortably in less than four layers of clothing while seeing almost normal activity on the streets. It’s amazing what you appreciate after not having it. No matter what it is.

The next day, we traveled to Sparkman-Hillcrest Cemetery to pay our respects at the fourth gravesite of the trip.*

Thanks to the one-and-only Al Kreitner, we were informed that Mickey’s (one of those legendary figures that you identify by the first name only. Ok, maybe this athlete shares the distinction with an animated mouse) resting place was nearby. So, on behalf of my Yankee bride and numerous Yankee brothas, and because, though I’m an avid lifelong Mets fan, I am not a hater, we paid a visit. First time I was ever in a mausoleum and, frankly, it weirded me out. I’m comfortable paying respects outside and below the ground. But around and above me, behind marble walls, not so much.

Upon arrival, what surprised me was the price of fame, and the impact it can have on a family. Mick’s story is that classic one of a gifted soul who caught lightning in a bottle and had all the excess that accompanies success at a young age in the greatest city in the world. I was reminded of that as I viewed his memorial, which sits below his estranged wife Merle’s, and above two of his four sons. All four had completed alcoholism treatment.

Then, we traveled 35 miles north up I-35E to catch up with an old colleague from my Berlitz days who lives here. Though we connect periodically online, I hadn’t seen him in at least 15 years. It was yet another great evening in front of a firepit! Two and a half hours felt like one hour as we picked up right where we left off and got to know each other’s better halves during a beautiful, warm (for us), 60-degree sunset. Turns out his daughter and Jake were both at NYU Tisch at the same time. You can’t piss anyone off ’cause you never know when they may come back into your life again 😉.

One of the secrets to our 34 years of marriage— ten of the best years of my life — kidding, I’m kidding — is that we’ve given each other the space to do our own thing, without getting in each other’s way. Coming from a three-bedroom, two-and-a-half-bath, I started to breathe shallowly imagining us spending six months in one-bedroom, one-bath domiciles, no matter how many different locations that would include. So, initially we booked two-bedroom Airbnbs. But at some sites, I’d still heard my Bride’s cable news sources even with the door closed. The answer? Noise-canceling headphones! For the last six weeks, we’ve been able to spend our days in matrimonial bliss, hip-to-hip, in one-bedroom rentals while wearing our Bose QuietComfort 35 IIs.

That’s why on Wednesday, January 6th, after I figured out our itinerary for the day’s sightseeing, and sauntered into the bedroom to give Carol an estimated departure time, my jaw dropped when I looked at the TV screen that she seemed angered by and saw domestic terrorists breaching our Capitol.

That was it for the rest of the day and evening. We were glued to the screen, just as you were, sharing yet another national moment of trauma. I suddenly had a flashback to the day before when we visited the Book Depository on Elm St. Then I remembered back to that day in ‘63, being with my little sister, Allison, and my mom, Ruthie, who was sitting sadly in front of our black-and-white Setchell Carlson TV, listening to a somber Walter Cronkite, with Taps being playing in the background on a muted trumpet.

When bad things happen that I don’t expect, it can be triggering. We’ve all been through a lot this year, and over the last few years, in general, regardless of our political affiliation, but I hadn’t felt that level of rage and sadness, for that length of time, since 9–11. What was unique to this day, though, was a keen embarrassment, which I’ve also felt too often recently as we’ve explored part of our country’s past on the civil rights trail.

I get that the majority of Americans feel disenfranchised, for different reasons, and deservedly so. There’s still a chasm between what’s written in the Preamble of our Constitution and the day-to-day life, for over half of us.

But is freedom free? Is there any responsibility that comes with it? In Australia, if you don’t vote in an election you get fined. If we only complain to each other about our elected officials, but don’t do anything about it aside from voting, how different are we from them? Seems like they’ve been blaming each other for a while now but haven't done the heavy lifting that we pay them for, to find the common ground that reduces the aforementioned chasm?

Ok, I’m done now. If you’re still with me, thanks for letting me get that off my chest and perhaps having a think about it. Feedback welcome, either as a comment in Medium, or to me directly.

On Thursday, we made up for Wednesday, first by hitting these Dallas nuggets:

- Klyde Warren Park: a modern, funky five-acres nestled in the arts district that would fit nicely in Chelsea. It’s named for the son of a billionaire, Kelcy Warren, who donated $10M to the development of the park.

- Nasher Sculpture Center: a museum with a great sculpture garden across the street from the park and adjacent to the Dallas Museum of Art.

- Giant Eyeball: Not a typo. It’s 30 feet tall and in the garden of the Joule Hotel. No doubt they’re trying to lure the annual ophthalmology and optometrist conventions. The hotel is near the arts district and displays original work by Warhol, among others.

Next, we sashayed 32 miles west on I — 30, aka the appropriately named Tom Landry Freeway, which connects Fort Worth to Dallas and houses a number of the area's sports venues halfway between the two. We stopped at the outgoing Globe Life Park and the incoming Globe Life Field, the former and new home of the Texas Rangers. Actually, it felt good to be there. The Mets haven’t won the World Series since ’86, but the Rangers have never won one, and they’ve been around since they relocated from Washington (they were the Senators then) in 1972. Please note that we bypassed AT&T Stadium, home to their NFL team. Grrrrhhh.

In Fort Worth we checked out:

- Fort Worth Water Gardens: which was another great local surprise. Designed by Philip Johnson, yes, the same guy that designed the JFK memorial in Dallas, it consists of three pools: one waterfall, one aerating, one quiet. Worth the trip!

- Fort Work Stockyards: Cowboy up! This is the first authentic Old West vibe we’ve felt here. Twice a day, the herders parade the original Texas longhorns. I wasn’t aware that they weren’t indigenous to North America. They’re descendants of the first cattle introduced to the New World by Columbus.

Back at the ranch, we Zoomed with friends, then watched the Georgia run-offs to close out this leg.

Onward to Austin!

* I’m offering a shout out on a future post to the first person that contacts me with the names of the three previous graves at which we’ve paid our respects 😉.