Separating the Masses from the Classes

I’ve always been fascinated by the concept of class in our society. Primarily, I suppose, because we love to pretend it doesn’t exist in America to the extent that it does in other countries like England and India. Asian countries are no better in separating the masses into socio-economic-religious-ethnic categories which we all pretend don’t exist.

My grade school was one of the poorest Catholic schools in the city. It was an urban enclave of education in the midst of commercial/industrial downtown Saint Paul. The tiny four schoolroom building had a long history of serving the immigrant populations that lived along the Mississippi riverbank and in hovels behind the state capitol.

My high school was a little more subtle but not much. Even though it was an all-boys military school there were two very definitive educational tracks for the students to follow. There was the pre-college track and the non-college track and none the twain shall meet.

It was based on an assumption that our entrance exam scores, our neighborhoods of origin, and family backgrounds were a good indication of future success in life. Reflecting back on that classroom experience, I can see now how some of my Christian Brother and lay (always male) teachers were none too subtle in their attitude toward us non-college track pupils. It was never spoken out loud but the message was there none-the-less that higher education wasn’t going to be in our future.

College was much better in that we all pretty much came from middle classes lives and were in the same educational boat together. The teachers treated us with respect and an expectation of self-motivation. I ignored the classy cars in the parking lot and the hot babies those guys had wrapped around their arm at dances and lived in my own bubble. It worked for me.

Over the years, Sharon and I have carved out a comfortable life for ourselves. We’ve been blessed with two wonderful children and five fabulous grandchildren. We don’t have a lot of wants. What we have we have, what we don’t, we don’t. Fortunately, neither one of us has ever had expensive tastes in material things. That being said, I am still cognizant of how important the concept of class, success, and material goods are to so many. I was reminded of this during this last ‘Parade of Homes’ marketing push.

What used to be the ‘Parade of Homes’ has now morphed into the Artisan Home Tour. It should be called the rich people’s choice of where and how to live. Homebuilding is yet another subtle device for dividing neighborhoods into different social-economic (class) environments. Homes shown in the Artisan home tour are at the very top of the economic ladder.

The HGTV cable channel continues to program shows on its ‘House Hunters’ series that highlight couples seeking a new home that reflects their success in life. These homes have to scream ‘I’ve made it’ to anyone coming up the driveway. Their curb appeal, entrance area, impressive staircase going upstairs and master bath have to reflect a couple at the pinnacle of their material Everest.

While I understand this undercurrent of class segmentation has been around since the caveman, it came to light again recently when I read a fascinating book on the advent and growth of merchandizing in America and Europe before the turn of the century.

Growing up, I was heavily influenced by the ads of that period. It introduced me to a world far beyond my pocketbook but not my imagination. It was the sugar coating that flavored my reality with a taste of ‘what might be.’ In short, it was the age-old tale of the American Dream in portrait form in front of me.

Back in 2008, the near collapse of our world-wide financial system should have been a wakeup call for all Americans to pay more attention to their wallets and events happening around them. Unfortunately, not much seems to have changed over the ensuing years. Every day there are new financially-coated products, events, angles, schemes, and ‘can’t lose’ facades presented to the general public. Acceptance or rejection of these golden rings of opportunity often separate the masses. Some get it, others don’t.

To that end, financial literacy and media literacy are two vehicles that can separate the masses. Financial literacy is the ability to use one’s knowledge and skills to effectively manage financial resources, ideally for a lifetime of financial well-being.

Media literacy, on the other hand, is using common sense instead of letting some so-called journalists do it for you. A good definition can be found at Medialit.org. It reads as follows:

‘What is important to understand is that media literacy is not about "protecting" everyone from unwanted messages. Media literacy, therefore, is about helping folks become competent, critical, and literate in all media forms so that they control the interpretation of what they see or hear rather than letting the interpretation control them.

It simply comes down to that old, worn, yet so true cliché: Let the buyer beware. We all have the responsibility to listen and learn for ourselves instead of letting someone else do it for us. To use common sense instead of group-think and to forge our own path to enlightenment instead of following the crowd.

My own story of growing up poor has been chronicled in many blogs over the years. Again, it wasn’t something my friends and I were acutely aware of aside from the lack of a family car, no summer vacations, and few material things around the house. Most of us started working at an early age and accepted that as ‘par for the course.’

Sharon grew up doing chores at six years old on the farm. If the bulk tank wasn’t cleaned twice a day, her dad couldn’t sell his milk as grade A and there wouldn’t be a milk check at the end of the month. She remembers growing up with no sink in the kitchen but a shiny new bulk tank instead in the barn.

This idea of ‘rising above one’s raising’ is a central theme in one of my first novels ‘Love in the A Shau.’   There are certain advantages to being ‘born hungry’ as Daniel likes to say. I didn’t have a choice growing up but I’m not sure I would have changed a thing even if I could have. I’ve learned over the years that ‘growing up hungry’ is not a bad thing.

As nebulous as words like ambition, hunger, focus and striving might be, the simple fact is that nothing much has changed over the years. Yes, prices have gone up, some opportunities have disappeared and sometimes the future can be a dark and bleary horizon for a lot of folks. But the simple fact remains that a lot of the clichés we’ve heard over the years still ring true:

 Yes, these are all simple, sometimes simplistic but true clichés. Bottom line; it’s all up to you. We all begin as a part of the masses. The question is: where do we want to go from there?

Telling Stories My Way

Storytelling has many legs; each of which are meant to carry an audience to some conclusion. The trick for the storyteller is to unravel his/her story in a manner true to himself. Too often, writing magazines and how-to seminars advocate that the writer must slant his story to the needs of an audience. I think that’s the wrong approach. I think the writer has to be true to his own vision and tell the story ‘As he sees it.’

It’s a pattern and process that happened to me a (relatively) long time ago and has been true ever since. This first opportunity to tell a story in play form was initiated by the creation of a senior ensemble of theater folks in our community. RAAC (the Rosemount Area Arts Council) had just created a second theatrical group called Second Act Players. They were looking at material for their first production.

I thought I might write a play based on an idea that had crept into my brain a long time ago and lodged there. The storyline was simple enough. An aging old woman who never really gave up her old hippie lifestyle finds herself in an over-55 senior living facility. The storyline incorporated many elements I found interesting such as the old hippie movement, distain for ill-gotten authority, a push-back against old age, etc.

A simple synopsis of the play would read as follows: The quiet setting of this over-55 senior community is disrupted by an aging hippie named Sage. Since Sage arrived at the senior community strange things have started to happen. Sage’s nemesis is Margaret Maple; self-appointed rule-enforcer who is determined to get Sage kicked out of the complex.

Their conflict comes to a rollicking climax when the administration is supposed to kick Sage out but Sage has some shocking surprises which will blow people’s minds and destroy all of Margaret’s plans.

Encouraged by the success of ‘Riot’, I forged ahead with another idea of a class reunion. Room 210 was my own homeroom in high school. So, in this new play, room 210 is the home room where a small group of alumni gather during their 50-year high school reunion. Tension, anticipation and past animosities fill the room along with unrequited love and hope for the future. Each returning alumni has a different story to tell, some more revealing than others.

Batting a double run thus far, I chose to explore ‘end of life’ options facing four older women in their retirement years. The storyline is simple enough: Four women in a nursing home agree to support one another as the end of their lives gets closer. A mysterious woman (the Scooter Lady) offers them wisdom and advice for the hereafter.

Later on, I was fortunate enough to have two more plays produced in California. Reflecting the more liberal, sometimes avant-garde approach, to storytelling in the Golden State, I decided to tackle gay loneliness and a polyamorous relationship.

Polly’s Amorous Adventures is about a polyamorous relationship gone south. Polly is in a polyamorous relationship with two men but she is not able to address the issue of jealousy. Polly’s mother and girlfriend only add to Polly’s mounting frustration with this issue.

The story synopsis is, on the surface, simple enough. Two older single gay men find themselves alone and in need of companionship. One has a younger boyfriend who is using him. An older woman tries to help the men explore the simple joy of friendship. Nominated for six awards from the Desert Theater League. Won ‘best award’ for theatrical production.

These past plays plus a plethora of new ones prompted me to create a new Sell Sheet for all of my available plays. In the meantime, I’ve added another element to the theatrical equation; song-writing. PTV is my first play to include nine original songs written in collaboration with a very talented singer/songwriter here in Minnesota. I hope ‘By the Salton Sea’ will be my second one.

Storytelling is a personal journey inside one’s head. It’s a vision, often times, augmented, enhanced, stilted and clipped short by the author’s own psychic. But it is his/her story to tell. One can only hope that it is a message/tale that resonates with the audience. But, as long as it rings true to the author, it’s a story worth sharing.

Once We Had a Friend

We had a friend once who was very active in our community. She and Sharon were involved in local politics and the business community. Our friend had a boyfriend with whom she shared a cabin up north and a delightful little condo in San Jose, Mexico. Since she knew that Sharon and I loved to travel, she invited us to stay in her small one-bedroom condo over a several year period, from 2004 through 2006. Then it suddenly all went away.

Our friend’s perfect plans of spending half a year in Mexico and half a year in her cabin up north dissolved with the first snowfall and departure of her significant other for reasons unexplained. Then she encountered family issues. It was drama and trauma she couldn’t or wouldn’t share with anyone outside of her immediate family, even Sharon. One day, she left our community and never returned. We haven’t heard from her since.

This all came to mind recently when one of my C & C compatriots mentioned that he and his family were going to Los Cabo this winter. It was fun to share with him with some of our adventures and our take on the two cities; San Jose and Los Cabos and the 17-mile drive along the peninsula between them. San Jose was a small local village back then while Los Cabos was a booming tourism destination. Old pictures brought back a lot of memories.

Our initial interest in the area was prompted by the thought that a second home on the ocean might be an attractive winter get-away. Back then, fractional ownership was all the rage. SECTUR, The Mexican Secretary of Tourism, was the government department in charge of the nation’s tourism promotion and development. One of their largest targets for development centered around San Jose, Los Cabos and the seventeen-mile corridor between the two cities.

The San Jose web site gives a wonderful backdrop to the city’s history: “An ancient culture of agile runners and tireless walkers called the Pericues had lived in the Los Cabos region long before tourism started. They were gatherers, fishermen and hunters who lived under palm trees, surrounded by birds in the San Jose del Cabo estuary.”

“San Jose del Cabo's downtown main plaza with its warm architecture, has become an Art District where you can find art from all over the world, but mainly Mexican traditional art and local creations, which makes it a great place for shopping and dining. Its picturesque world-class marina which faces the Sea of Cortez and stunning gold-sand beaches, home of some famous surf spots and wildlife like marine birds, gray whales, and turtle hatchlings that go to the sea for the first time ever.”

Los Cabos, its distant neighbor, has another tale to tell. Their web site also tells an interesting tale of growth and development.

“Cabo San Lucas is a city located at the southern tip of the Baja California Peninsula which has not only beautiful desert landscapes & beaches, it is also known worldwide for being one of the most popular vacation destinations, the Marlin Capital and home of The Arch, also called "Land’s End", where the Sea of Cortez & the Pacific Ocean meet.”

“Nowadays, Cabo San Lucas has some of the most luxurious resorts, world-class Marina and the biggest fishing tournament in the world. It is not only popular with celebrities but with thousands of people from all over the world who can enjoy the nightlife, best deep-sea fishing in the world and a wide variety of activities.”

Scattered along the shoreline in and around San Jose, down the seventeen-mile coastline and surrounding Los Cabos were numerous condominium projects. They came in all sizes, shapes and amenities but their sales pitch was always the same.

All of these projects were essentially selling the same image; golden sands, blue seas, luxury homes and high prices. All of this for a fractional piece of the action. Most came in incremental packages of two to four weeks each. High Season cost more, summer time much less. Sub-leasing wasn’t allowed and the HOAs were usually so high it could be considered as a second mortgage on the place. Yet, they seemed to be selling like hot cakes.

Unlike other countries like Singapore, the government didn’t have a lot of oversight on these developers. Several development projects remain half-completed during the three years we visited the place. Early investors and those who had a down payment on the project were probably out of luck. Abandoned projects could be seen up and down the peninsula.

Our friend had paid something like one hundred and seventeen thousand dollars for her condo back in 2003. It wasn’t large; just one bedroom and a lot of open space. The outdoor patio was spacious and fantastic for taking in the expanse of the coastline.

It was the perfect place to write, read, and just plain chill-out. Each morning the sunrise greeted us with another beautiful day and sunsets end-capped another day in paradise. It was all good for several years. Then it disappeared as quickly as it had begun.

Our friend has disappeared now into that vacuum called past memories. San Jose and Los Cabos have grown and changed with the times. But thankfully, through these digital images, Sharon and I still have the memories of time well spent in that warm Mexican sun.

Requiem for the Salton Sea

We’re not in item yet but if this maintains its present course, that might be an option.

I’m not talking romance but rather another possible collaboration born out of mutual love of music and story-telling. The subject of this mutual affection/collaboration are two plays. One is already infused with a wonderful selection of musical numbers to accompany the storyline. The second play is now screaming for musical adaptation and is being mentally formulated as I pound out this blog.

Unfortunately, there’s no immediate urgency since both plays have been rejected and it’s back to square one in terms of their theatrical placement.  ‘I do believe both plays are brimming with potential,’ claims their birth father, so the challenge remains daunting.

This collaboration in question initially began last year with a play entitled: PTV. I had written the lyrics for nine songs for the play but was stymied by my inability to write melodies to fit the lyrics. Enter AJ Scheiber, a very talented singer-songwriter, who agreed to look over my feeble attempt at lyric writing and added his musical expertise. The results are nine songs written specifically for the play.

In the meantime, another one of my plays had been submitted to the Script2Stage venue in Rancho Mirage, California, for consideration for their 2023-2024 season. It didn’t make the cut out of 130 submissions from around the world. That was disappointing for any number of reasons not the least of which was the subject matter which I thought was perfect for that venue and its audience.

Fast forward six months and now, unfortunately, the venue, Script2Stage, had closed down. This has made my options for theatrical placement in the Coachella Valley even more limited. Nevertheless, I want to continue to pursue this idea of musical numbers for my play which is now entitled ‘By the Salton Sea.’

I’ve always been fascinated by the Salton Sea and the area surrounding it. Salvation Mountain, The Slabs, Bombay Beach, North Shore, small towns along the shore and the Chocolate Mountains are all a backdrop for that briny pool of dead water and the fragile desert surrounding it. The area is home to many homeless folks and/or those who just want to disappear from the rest of the world. This became the backdrop for ‘By the Salton Sea.’

There are parts of the Coachella Valley that most tourists, visitors and locals-alike never see or care to visit. You won’t find them listed in ‘points of interest’ or top tourist destinations…and for good reason. This is where the ‘under-served’, ‘don’t want to be found’, ‘unaccounted for’ and ‘those on the lam’ come to hide. It also presents a warm, inviting cocoon for artists, bohemians, addicts, and the like to congregate and flourish.

Into that setting, I envisioned some nameless town along the shoreline that had attracted a strange gathering of the lost, the disappeared and those who want to be off-the-radar. As the playwright, I wondered who these people were? What was going to happened to them? And finally, who really cared?   A quick backstory here.

The Salton Sea is California’s largest lake measuring more than 35 miles long and 15 miles wide in spots. It has a surface area of over 380 square miles and sits at 332 feet below sea level. The sea was created back in 1905 as the result of an accidental break in a canal cut into the Colorado River. For 16 months, the river ran unchecked into the lowest area around; the salt basin which became the Salton Sea. Nearby is Salvation Mountain.

Salvation Mountain is one of the premiere examples of folk art in the middle of nowhere America. The site has become a mecca for those influenced by and intrigued with this kaleidoscope of painted hills, crude cave dwellings and religious scripture. The cave’s paint can and hay bale construction would challenge even the most daring of spelunkers. Down the road is an abandoned World War Two camp nick-named ‘The Slabs.’

Slab City is a snowbird campsite used by recreational vehicle owners alongside squatters from across North America. It takes its name from the concrete slabs that remain from an abandoned World War II Marine barracks called Camp Dunlap.

It’s estimated that there are about one and fifty permanent residents (squatters) who live in the slab’s year around. Some survive on government checks; others just want to live ‘off the grid’ and a few come to stretch out their retirement income. The camp has no electricity, no running water, no sewers or toilets and no trash pickup service. Sounds like a dry run for the apocalypse.

No trip to Slab City would be complete with a swing by East Jesus. East Jesus has been described as an experimental, sustainable art installation. It’s is a colloquialism for the middle of no-where beyond the edge of services. Made from discarded material that has been reused, recycled or repurposed, East Jesus encourages visitors to imagine a world without waste in which every action is an opportunity for self-expression.

I think West Satan is a simply an extension of East Jesus. I found this second art gallery-in-the-sun fascinating and mind-expanding. It was like tripping out without the acid and a glimpse into the lives of those who don’t want to be a part of ‘any scene’ here in fantasy land or the rest of the world.

I thought the story was too good to be lost and forgotten in some junk pile of rejected scripts. So, I’ve decided to add musical numbers (just like PTV) as an enhancement to the play. I’ve shifted through those words, phases, and images encased in my brain and wrote out lyrics describing that place all within the context of my storyline.

And thus begins a new series of rewrites to smooth out the dialogue and scene settings to better segue into song. Much like PTV, it’s both an immensely fulfilling and yet very arduous process. In the end, I hope it will infuse ‘Salton Sea’ with another layer of interest that might help sell the concept to the next venue I approach. Here’s hoping.