I am waking in St. Louis, which is strange, but no stranger than the last week or so of morning waking with uncertainty of location, and the continuing news that the Bad Guys are going to try to smack us, somewhere, somehow.

I have notes from the summer of 2001 that are eerily similar to all the word of impending terror attacks. the difference is that then we did not know what these bastards were capable of doing. I suspect a Mumbai-like thing, is in the offing this next time, and I am keeping my head on a swivel, to the extent that the chronic arthritis permits me to move it, and the limited mobility of the bad legs that will not permit me to run away.

Left Coast Guy and I “earned the shirt” last night. It was a classic liberty adventure by two now old sailors. I quite forgot about the threat of terror, and concentrated more directly on street crime, of which there appears to be an abundance- room key access to the lobby, room key access to the elevator, major infrastructure installations all located on the 5th floor, high above the streets where many residents of St. Louis reside without benefit of permanent lodging.

This is a very interesting place. I wandered awkwardly around the downtown for a few hours yesterday in the early afternoon. The Gateway Arch and the Old Courthouse were on the menu, including the space where Dred Scott filed suit to be declared not property, but citizen.

He was denied, and the Union unraveled three years later. The courthouse where the legal saga began is an interesting place.

So there was history of a most unsettling kind, and the kind of gritty urban reality of the midsection of the nation. I belong to a non-exclusive organization called “The Dive Bar T-Shirt Club.” It is sort of fun- new shirts arrive once a month, and the one that last appeared (the subscription just expired) was for a place called “Jimmy and Andy’s Neighborhood Tavern.”

The gray shirt appeared in the pile of crap that slowly has migrated to the farm- I do the laundry down there in protest against the low-water high-tech machines recently installed at Big Pink- and some of the assorted clothing never actually got to the washing machine.

That this shirt should have appeared in the one day I was down in Culpeper is something of a mystery. I looked at it in amazement when it surfaced, and resolved that if, ins’hallah, I actually made it to St. Louis yesterday I would stop by the place and not be a poseur.

I experimented with “working from home” by actually “working from St. Louis,” and it didn’t seem to make much difference- it was a slow August day back in Washington, maybe due to the terror threat. Of course, I am not sure who the terrorists are back there. I am sure you saw Secretary Hagel’s note that imposes an additional 20% reduction on higher headquarters staffs. That is above and beyond the sequestration and furloughs, so God only knows how we will respond to the next assault by the bloodthirsty Sunni extremists.

(The view from the downtown side of the old Courthouse complex.)

Anyway, in the course of limping around the town, I went to the bluff over the mighty Mississippi and marveled at the arch. Then marveled at the old Courthouse, the structure of which, under the Romanesque dome, over the last two centuries. There were plaques to Mr. Mark Twain, and statues to Mr. Dred Scott, and it was a little overwhelming.

(Mr. and Mrs. Dred Scott. The sculpture is on the river façade of the old courthouse. Photo Socotra).

Taken with the general disintegration of the downtown and the broad swath of red brick semi-abandoned industrial buildings that surround the river and the downtown, reminded me a lot of Detroit.

So, the whole living-in-hotel thing was tepidly familiar- setting up the computer, communicating with folks virtually. The people here are nice, if very large, and the population is about equally divided between black and white, and like I said- nice, if not badgering for handouts or some scam or another over in the public spaces. There is a free dinner and drinks event each afternoon- mildly heated hot dogs, baked potatoes, and some crap I would not eat on a bet but did anyway, and then Guy arrived from the Left Coast. We talked about the conference we are supposed to attend today, and then I asked him if he was willing to help me Earn the Shirt.

We caught up in the cab to the West End, where J&A’s is located, and it was exactly as advertised. It is a dive. Storefront style, inconspicuous. The Cabby had a hard time finding it. J&A’s has survived a century of operation because it stayed off the radar.

I was smoking a cigarette on the sidewalk in front when Ron the bartender waved and said “It’s OK, you can smoke in here.”

Ron had a buzz going himself, and was drinking shots of Jaegermeister behind the bar. Left Coast Guy and I decided on vodka, and he got a decent burger with some sort of dill infused cheese and the rings- looked good. The ashtrays were not clean. The bums that came in were grifters, but left peacefully.

Ron gave us a verbal tour of the place- the cigar store front to the speakeasy was long gone, as was the Police Station next door that had protected the place against the Volstead Act, and it had, in it’s time, been a polling station as well. The steel line that was used to hang the curtain between the booze and the voting booth was still there.

The juke box is from the future and doesn’t fit. The flat screen TVs are a welcome update. The graffiti in the men’s room was great- like a trip to ancient Pompeii.

Everyone had a mild and pleasant buzz. We stayed for four or five drinks, until the cabby we had contracted with swung by to pick us up and deposit us back at the hotel. Key access to front door. Key access to the elevator.

Urban America. We earned the shirt.

Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com