RUDIMENTS 879.

RUDIMENTS, pt. 879

(painful toothache syndrome)

The town of Sheds, as I pointed

out, pretty much had nothing. It

was a 'location' more marked

on a map then anything else at

all. The place called 'Unadilla'

by contrast, had something

going for itself. An actual silo

company, famed and plentiful

too. In my farm-time in old

Pennsylvania I'd seen lots of

Unadilla Silos. Unadilla Silo

Company was a major name

and I guess, or would imagine,

they employed lots of locals.

Whatever 'lots' may be for

up there - these were pretty

nice wooden silos, not in any

way characteristic of factory

or corporate production; they

had somehow kept a smallish,

hand-held and crafty artisinal

feel. It was a nice thing, and

then about 1972 the big silo

guys started rolling in and many

old-time silos and locations

were pushed aside or taken

over by the huge new types

of 'modern' silos, like those

'Harvestore' monster-sized

ones. I never knew what the

differentials may have been

for price and installation, but

the new silos all sure had a

different feel and only the most

established and well-financed

farms were affording them.

Like so much else, parts of the

old ways were just falling apart

in chunks and slamming down.

No wonder a lot of those bar

guys up there were intemperate

and angry. Drink solves a lot

of Wintry woes, when you're

cold and stuck. I was always

feeling sorry for people, and

even in Elmira a lot of times

I'd see the really ragged old guys

who used to stammer around with

but a few teeth left, all worn and

wizened in their faces. I just knew

that 20 years previous they'd been

local country guys with farms and

lands of their own and now it was

all fallen away too. Now they had

nothing and the bad feelings were

pretty palpable. All you had to

do, out that way, in 1972, was

get in a car and drive out 15 or

so miles in any direction - Pine

City, or up towards Ithaca, or out

Binghamton way, and all that land

in between, and you'd see, interspersed

here and there, the ragged remnants

of what used to be; and in some

places it all looked as if the poor

souls had just abandoned the places

last month and not ten years ago.

There was so much dispossession

and loss always going on that I had

a hard time some days figuring

what the whole idea of holdings

and property and ownership and all

was supposed to be about. Were these

people driven off their lands by banks

and realtors because they had no

more money? Just so the places then

could remain idle, and rot, and fall

to pieces? That was all the same as

any NYC slumlord hoax and I was

always surprised it went on. I figured

it did, and I figured there was a pail-ful

of hurt and sorry people in each case

too. Yes, no one seemed to care, and

all those local Elmira bankers, at

Chemung County Trust Company,

and/or Marine Midland Bank and

the rest, they were all just able to

sit back in their half-swank offices

driving back and forth to work each

day in their new Chevy Novas and

hold these life and death futures of

all these kids and families in their

hands and just heave them out in

the cold. If any of that was ownership,

then I wanted to know who or what

ever owned anything? It was all on

the whim of some pointy-pencil

geek deciding fates over dollars and

cents. Inside every shirt I always

thought there was a heart; but in

the case of these hardened banker

types, I guessed not. Not even with

their sailboats and stuff out along the

Finger Lakes and pleasure places

just a few miles north. Yep, they

sure knew how to live after hours

and on weekends, leaving all these

local beggars in the lurch.

-

I should have been a revolutionary,

from the very first day I was born.

Things like this always pained me

and got me angry enough to want to

take a scimitar to plenty of necks and

heads.There's nothing you can do

about that, it's just sort of ingrained

in you, and if it is you sure know it's

there. Painful Toothache Syndrome,

it's called, PTS. Because just like

that it's always there and gnawing

at you. PTS, and I got it! Maybe

sometimes even now I hope I'm

alive when some sort of whatever

'revolution' comes around, before

I die off anyway. I'd just like to

take a whack or two at certain

select people. I'd maybe feel

better in an instant.

-

At some point every lecture

becomes a bore. I can see that. In

Elmira there used to be a contingent

of late, leftover, airhead hippies,

in the most hapless of situations,

across from Sears, and in front

of the local, downtown McDonald's,

who for some reason all one Summer

had a table out front, (it seemed

everyday, as I passed it to and fro,

but maybe it wasn't), and on that

table they had and were handing

out, and taking collection-money

for, [I never understood this. It

was 1974, Muslims and Arabs

were still fairly unheard of, unless

maybe you grooved on the Six-Day

War and the Yom Kippur War after

that], a young Colonel Qaddafi, of

Libya. They viewed him in a religious

sense as a Messianic figure. He

was shown, in his photos, almost like

a desert warlord, with a head-wrap

and sword, very exotic, and with

all the desert sands and trappings.

Now, these were regular, white-trap

American kids; nothing foreign

about them, nor where they black

or any other non-white group. I

never engaged them but for the

first time when they started

bantering me (our kid liked

McDonald's) about politics and

this Qaddafi guy. I let them

spiel, and gave back as good as

I got. At least I knew who the

guy was, which actually surprised

them. Elmira College was right

up the street, maybe 5 blocks,

main entry and college post

office. I don't know if those

kids had any connection, nor

did I care. Over at that post

office, every morning, there'd

be 30 or so copies of 'Granma'

the Cuban Communist Party's

ruling newspaper, in English.

(Granma was the name of the

boat that Castro and his guys

landed to Cuba with for their

'Revolution' - and which now,

in the land of Elmira banks and

farm foreclosures, was handed

out daily for free at the local

college. Pretty odd). So, I did

figure, maybe there could be a

connection somehow with these

two things - the hippie Qaddafi

fey thugs and this Granma daily

operation. but, really, who cared?

-

It seems often enough that things

are connected - all things - and that

life itself is just a convenience for

making that connection. I don't know

why that is or would be, but, in any

case, I never thought I'd be writing

here about a town that made silos. In

any case, let me quote Will Kessler:

"I recently met someone who lives

in Grand Rapids, Michigan. It's on

the way to Muskegon and I'm not

even sure whatever happens there.

But ever since that meeting, in

newspapers and emails, on the web

and social media, I see the words

'Grand Rapids' every day, and I

really mean every day. I don't

know why. It's weird. And now

you will too."