Stark Hills and Red Soil: My Trip To Jackson
It was, I think, 1991. Spring. Living in Charlottesville. Working at a job I hated, living in the basement of some family that I never talked to. Weekends were for watching sports and driving.
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The year prior, I drove to Manhattan on a Saturday morning, parked the car in a garage, walked around the block, looked at a few freaks and let them look at me in my t shirt, shorts, and sneakers, then drove right back down to C-Ville. All in about 8 hours. Arrived back at our apartment, opened the door, gave Greg a look that said to him, "Don't talk to me, man" then went to my room and slept. Exhausted and angry and confused.
Also, a bunch of times I drove the windy two hours to DC, parked wherever I could find a spot (it's not hard), and walked the mall. Inspiring, especially on a rainy morning, when all the tourists are still asleep and the city is resting. The Washington. The Lincoln. The Jefferson. If that doesn't get you, nothing will. It always got me. Staffers jogging. A lot of limos. But once the sun came out and the people started to mill around, I was gone. Back on 66 South to C-Ville, and another day of watching whatever sport was in season.
In those days you had to keep the sound turned on because there was no running scrawl. I listened to Brent, Verne, Keith, Dick, Ara, Al, Billy, Bill, and so many others announcing the battles and they kept me company through many a long afternoon and evening.
I started to visit Civil War battlefields. First in Virginia. Appomattax, Petersburg, Richmond, Cold Harbor, Wilderness, Manassas, some of the Shenandoah sites, Gettysburg, Antietam. It's kind of addicting, if you live down there, to visit these places. They're like outdoor churches.
And I wanted to go further south. So I did.
On my first trip I made it to Beaufort, SC and thought of "The Prince of Tides." And Parris Island. I remember a little park off the main road, where I got out and stretched my legs. The air was cool in spring, but I thought of the heat and what it would be like in August for everyone that lived and worked there.
The next trip was spent mostly on the major highways of the South. Lynchburg to Danville, where I spent a pleasant night at a $20 motel waiting out a small overnight snowstorm. To the campuses near the Research Triangle of NC: UNC, Duke, and NC State. Beautiful. I didn't know the area and had no map so I just drank it in for a few minutes at each place and moved on. Of course I thought of MJ and Worthy and Walter Davis and George Karl and Jeff Lebo in Chapel Hill, Christian and Bobby and Alarie and Dawkins and Amaker and Forever's Team while on the Duke campus, and Lorenzo and Cozell and Terry Gannon and Coach running around like a lunatic in Raleigh on State's main drag. Gastonia was next, because of Sleepy Floyd and Worthy. I skipped right through the ATL. Not sure why. Probably because there's no easy way to get downtown. Just endless looping highways.
And then on to Mississippi. Where else would I wind up? It's a big state top to bottom but not all that wide. The soil is almost all red clay. There are plenty of hills from what I saw. The poverty. The poverty. It took my breath away, and I was driving on the main roads. The damn poverty.
Made it to Jackson. Drove up a hill, parked under a few nice shade trees, and walked through a museum of some sort. Nice views of the river, of the land, of the city. History. I thought of what it would be like to live there in the burning intensity of the summer sun, and shuddered. Not for me.
That was as far south or west as I got that trip. Jackson was enough. I turned my black Chevy Beretta back towards C-Ville and drove.
=============
The year prior, I drove to Manhattan on a Saturday morning, parked the car in a garage, walked around the block, looked at a few freaks and let them look at me in my t shirt, shorts, and sneakers, then drove right back down to C-Ville. All in about 8 hours. Arrived back at our apartment, opened the door, gave Greg a look that said to him, "Don't talk to me, man" then went to my room and slept. Exhausted and angry and confused.
Also, a bunch of times I drove the windy two hours to DC, parked wherever I could find a spot (it's not hard), and walked the mall. Inspiring, especially on a rainy morning, when all the tourists are still asleep and the city is resting. The Washington. The Lincoln. The Jefferson. If that doesn't get you, nothing will. It always got me. Staffers jogging. A lot of limos. But once the sun came out and the people started to mill around, I was gone. Back on 66 South to C-Ville, and another day of watching whatever sport was in season.
In those days you had to keep the sound turned on because there was no running scrawl. I listened to Brent, Verne, Keith, Dick, Ara, Al, Billy, Bill, and so many others announcing the battles and they kept me company through many a long afternoon and evening.
I started to visit Civil War battlefields. First in Virginia. Appomattax, Petersburg, Richmond, Cold Harbor, Wilderness, Manassas, some of the Shenandoah sites, Gettysburg, Antietam. It's kind of addicting, if you live down there, to visit these places. They're like outdoor churches.
And I wanted to go further south. So I did.
On my first trip I made it to Beaufort, SC and thought of "The Prince of Tides." And Parris Island. I remember a little park off the main road, where I got out and stretched my legs. The air was cool in spring, but I thought of the heat and what it would be like in August for everyone that lived and worked there.
The next trip was spent mostly on the major highways of the South. Lynchburg to Danville, where I spent a pleasant night at a $20 motel waiting out a small overnight snowstorm. To the campuses near the Research Triangle of NC: UNC, Duke, and NC State. Beautiful. I didn't know the area and had no map so I just drank it in for a few minutes at each place and moved on. Of course I thought of MJ and Worthy and Walter Davis and George Karl and Jeff Lebo in Chapel Hill, Christian and Bobby and Alarie and Dawkins and Amaker and Forever's Team while on the Duke campus, and Lorenzo and Cozell and Terry Gannon and Coach running around like a lunatic in Raleigh on State's main drag. Gastonia was next, because of Sleepy Floyd and Worthy. I skipped right through the ATL. Not sure why. Probably because there's no easy way to get downtown. Just endless looping highways.
And then on to Mississippi. Where else would I wind up? It's a big state top to bottom but not all that wide. The soil is almost all red clay. There are plenty of hills from what I saw. The poverty. The poverty. It took my breath away, and I was driving on the main roads. The damn poverty.
Made it to Jackson. Drove up a hill, parked under a few nice shade trees, and walked through a museum of some sort. Nice views of the river, of the land, of the city. History. I thought of what it would be like to live there in the burning intensity of the summer sun, and shuddered. Not for me.
That was as far south or west as I got that trip. Jackson was enough. I turned my black Chevy Beretta back towards C-Ville and drove.
posted by joe sweeney at 8:00 AM
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