Welcome to Tracktown USA – Eugene, OR.

Sunshine in Kesey Square

Our welcome to this area was ordinary by Eugene standards: it rained for three days straight. But that didn’t take away from the rustic beauty inherent to this part of the country.

Facilitators Carl Scott and Alex Kelly enjoying the statue of Ken Kesey.

Parked in an area of downtown commonly known as Kesey Square (named for the famed author of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and Eugene native, Ken Kesey), our first interview was most appropriate — it was between Ken’s mother and daughter. Looking out over a bust of her son reading to his grandchildren, Geneva Kesey shared her own stories; stories that would kick off a day that brought an end to the rainy season and began a string of amazing Oregonians that would step into our booth.

Facilitator Alex Kelly, Ken Kesey’s mother, Geneva, and former wife, Faye.

I’m looking forward to the mountains forests and Saturday Market which stands as the first of its kind created in the United States.

On your marks… get set…

GO!

The back of this book was a “self-teaching” section that gave the how-to procedures on a plethora of activities that Bill and his brother Tom would use to learn anything they could imagine. Bill happened upon the page titled “How to fly an airplane”. The brothers took the instructions and coupled with Bill’s 6 year-old ingenuity, they built an airplane. They took a floor model radio, which didn’t work but it did light up. This was their cockpit. They would put books down on the floor that would serve as their rudder pedal. A 78rpm record broken in half was their control wheel. Throw in a national geographic magazine and you have a host of locations to fly to off to. The seed was planted.

His first actual flight as a passenger really caught him off guard. He was used to building sturdy airplane models by hand. When he stepped into the real thing, it shook. While taxiing to the runway he was beginning to have second thoughts. If he turned back now, he could have sturdy ground under his feet and the five dollars he had paid to board in his pocket. But before he could voice all of these thoughts, the plane was cleared for takeoff. It was only when Bill’s plane was singularly suspended in mid-air that he looked down at his own neighborhood…

At his own house…

He was hooked.

Against many odds he continued to fly. Even the movie theaters in Knoxville were segregated. But not aviation. That same 6 year-old eventually got his pilot’s license and became manager of the US Airways Boeing 737 operations.

Ah, the wonders of radio.

Our first street sign perched high above Winston-Salem Streets.

We arrived in Winston-Salem to unrivaled fanfare. During the opening ceremonies, Winston-Salem Mayor Allen Joines bestowed upon us the honor of having a street named in our honor.  A StoryCorps first! We each discussed wanting to bring home a sign after our stay, but that was before we actually saw the signs… They are enormous! Needless to say, our comfort level in a city so warm and hospitable is a considerably high. Our first participants included H’Tuyet (Snow) Rahian, a member of the Montagnard community in North Carolina.  The term Motagnard means “mountain people” in French and refers to the indigenous people of the Central Highlands of Vietnam. Greensboro, North Carolina, is now home to the largest community of Montagnards in the world outside of Vietnam. Additionally, we had the pleasure to record Jimmy Ballew, a piano tuner who has been a pillar of the Winston-Salem community for decades. Couple these great interviews with the fact that our opening event was catered by the wonderful people at Mellow Mushroom Pizza and you have a formula for success.

I think we’re going to love it here.

Winston-Salem Mayor Allen Joines declares the street naming.

Participant Jimmy Ballew is a well-known face in the Winston-Salem community.

Facilitator Alex Kelly poses with StoryCorps Participant H’Tuyet (Snow) Rahian, of the Greensboro Montagnard community.

By foot.

By car.

By air.

People lost their lives in attempts to protect some semblance of what both sides considered to be right.

Currently, a highway separates what are considered the “Black and White sections of the city.” A reminder that some of the sentiments that were shared in 1921 are still bubbling under the skin of the city calmly waiting for agitation. One that it will not find easily.

Every morning the sun shone down on Tulsa and smiles filled our humble booth. Each day my co-workers and I took part in the city which we called home for 6 weeks. We attended concerts and dinners together, camped out with local citizens, spent Thanksgiving in their homes. Watched as they too witnessed the events of November 4, 2008.

As the saying goes, “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” Well, for 6 weeks Tulsa was Rome. And as we watched a town quietly and proudly rebuilding and redefining itself, we found ourselves being quietly rebuilt and redefined. In many ways it was a mirror for us all. And in it we saw ourselves growing closer.

So not only do I dedicate this blog entry to Tulsa (you hold a special place with me as a city), but also to Sara and Alex. It was a great place to get to know you both.

A very special thank you to Bernice who made our 6 week hotel stay feel as close to home as possible.

While there isn’t enough space on this blog to indulge in the many theoretical answers to this question, it does play a large part in how StoryCorps is perceived. Since 2003 we have worked diligently collecting oral history and the voices of the common person. But what defines a voice? If the participant cannot or chooses not to speak audibly can we still hear them?

It’s not a trick question. The answer is yes.

We recently had the unique pleasure of serving the deaf community in Tulsa, Oklahoma through The Total Source of Hearing Loss and Access. TSHA is an organization that provides services promoting independence to deaf and hard-of-hearing individuals. The interviews were the result of a well orchestrated collaboration with StoryCorps providing stories that varied between speaking and non-speaking, domestic and international participants.

Interpreter/hearing-impaired participant pairs were arranged to allow the interpreter to voice the entire conversation. Although some participants utilized the voices of the interpreter, others had lost their hearing during their teenage years and were comfortable voicing for themselves. The stories were those of struggle, triumph, love, and achievement. It was pretty exciting to get a new perspective.

It was a rewarding experience for everyone involved. One of the participants even decided to blog about hers.

I’m so grateful that communication isn’t limited by the voice, otherwise we would have missed out on an entire community of important stories.

“When I was 4 years-old, my mother told me that I could be the first Black President of the United States. I should have told Barack that.”

Both of his parents were college graduates. A teacher by profession, his mother brought a then two-year-old John Hope Franklin to the one-room school where she taught in Rentiesville, Oklahoma. She sat him in the back of the room with only a pencil and paper as his babysitters. Day after day, his mother would educate the many grade students left in her care while John occupied himself with the utensils left responsible for his own care taking. One day his mother decided to take a look at John’s paper. Not only had that pencil and paper kept John quiet, it had served as a depository for what he was learning. At two, he was able to read write and do the homework his mother had been administering to the other children.

It’s interesting to notice when the path a person’s life will take is made apparent at such a young age.

We at MobileBooth West had the pleasure to receive a visit from famed historian John Hope Franklin and his son, John W. Franklin. Now 98 years-old John has taught and been awarded the world over. Both of these gentlemen have been integral to the collection and documentation of an unprecedented and varied amount of Black History including our own Griot Initiative. It has been our honor to work with them outside of the booth. And I was truly inspired by the bit of that amazing history they shared inside.

Here’s to many more stories.

Sara and I just missed the off-ramp. As we discuss how that could have happened and take an unexpected detour, I feel the excitement welling up inside. We start heading up an inclined expressway. At its precipice, we are greeted by the bright lights of our new destination. My cell phone rings. It’s Alex.

“Hello?”

“I love it! Tell Sara I love it!”

She hangs up.

We have landed in Tulsa, Oklahoma: the home of college football, and one of the largest collections of art deco architecture in the country. It’s late October and the weather is exquisite! We are given a grand welcome by the Tulsa Public Radio team and invited to see a performance by a fellow NPR mainstay, Garrison Keillor and his “A Prairie Home Companion.” He and his talented team of colleagues are performing in the Tulsa Performing Arts Center just steps away from where our booth will be parked for the next 6 weeks.

To a packed venue Garrison delivered a two hour history on what is termed the Buckle of the Bible Belt. Additionally, Tulsa is the birthplace of the Route 66 highway or the “Mother Road,” whose length spans from Chicago through to Los Angeles, California.

The history of this town is evident in its people and buildings. Tulsa was once the Oil Capital of the world and has no shortage of amazing dwelling spaces that were built during its hey-day. The highlights include Oral Roberts University, which has a seemingly endless supply of futuristic architecture. The Philbrook Museum, once an Oil Baron’s Estate, is now home to one of Tulsa’s most beautiful landmarks: an Italian villa complete with gardens that instantaneously transport you to a quaint European country home.

The end of the road for many on the Trail of Tears, Tulsa boasts a large number of Native American reservations and sacred lands just outside of its borders. Tulsa’s rich music history reveals itself in the city’s claim to being the home of Western Swing music. Virtually every bar or restaurant has a stage to showcase the multitude of local talent which include the GAP Band, Garth Brooks, and David Cook. Local residents even join the tradition as a stage was created for a “living room concert tour,” where we enjoyed a couple traveling the country and sharing their music in private homes across the country.

Tulsa features wonderful scenery, people, food and music. And we, like so many of the home grown citizens here, are “so OK.”

On July 14, 1994, Mary was in the top shape of her life. A hobby cyclist, she had biked 6,000 miles that year. This would prove to save her life. While outside of the Caterpillar World Headquarters in Peoria, she found herself suddenly pinned under the body of a drunk driver’s automobile. The incident, which Mary makes a point to call “the crime,” left her blind in the left eye and partially paralyzed the right side of her face. This traumatic experience marked the day she and her husband became “soul mates.”

Mary and Bob met through a mutual friend and were married 3 months after spending 10 consecutive days and a weekend together. After Mary’s rehab, they moved to Arizona and spent countless hours riding on a tandem bike to continue sharing the hobby that resembled their lives before the accident. During this time they made a pact: to honor how close they had become in life, they vowed to die together. This innocently romantic pledge of eternal companionship became all too real in May of 2004 when Bob was diagnosed with lung cancer.

Bob passed away in July of 2004, and Mary found herself making extensive plans to carry out her promise, including the arrangement to have a dual memorial. She moved back to Peoria and made her plans known to a very good friend of hers who accompanied Mary to the Pere Marquette Hotel. That night Mary took a host of sleeping pills. Shirley (the accompanying friend), unable to live with the idea of witnessing Mary’s death, rushed Mary to the hospital to have her stomach pumped.

Neither the suicide attempt nor the drunk driving accident registered in Mary’s memory. A new lease on life had come as a result of these experiences, not in spite of them. After the car accident, she became affiliated with the Red Cross’ Victim Impact Panel where she began to speak to 80 people a month who receive DUI tickets, hoping to influence their future decisions to drive while intoxicated. She also travelled Peoria, speaking to high schools and community organizations to spread a message that she hoped would save lives.

Mary proceeded to explain another issue that is close to her heart.

“If you take a US dollar bill out of your pocket, hold it in your hands and close your eyes, you can’t tell how much money you’ve got. We were in Australia right before the accident and I noticed that they had different sized bills. I thought ëWow how neat that would be for someone who is blind.’ Not knowing that in the next 3 months, I would be blind.”

Mary goes on to describe her crusade to assist the 1 out of 30 Americans who, because of visual impairments, are unable to identify their currency. The issue of making U.S. currency tactile has gained steam from a number of organizations. Among these is Mary’s own website, www.blinddollars.org, where she prompts citizens to contact their local legislature to bring the issue to the forefront of political debates.

“If our currency was tactile, Unemployment would go down because then people can work where cash gets dealt with.”

Mary’s efforts describe the printing of tactile monies as a “win-win.” And as I leave her home in downtown Peoria, she hands me certified proof of that victory. Federal courts have ruled that upon the next redesign, all U.S. dollar bills MUST be made accessible to the blind and other visually impaired persons. Mary admits to believing this triumph is one of the reasons she is still alive. She has found purpose – hers is a life seemingly destined to affect the lives of others.

Even Mary’s dog Cruiser, which she received 2 years ago, is getting into the act. She has signed Cruiser up to be a therapy dog. He visits people in nursing homes and hospitals to give the love and support he has given Mary in some of the harder times in her life.

So goes the story of Mary finding herself at the Pere Marquette once again. The Heartland Hero Award was confirmation of Mary’s efforts to simply live her own life to the best of her abilities. When asked, Mary doesn’t see herself as a hero. She can, however, attest to the fact that this hotel is home to a failure that sparked a mountain of successes. A champion for all walks of life, Mary’s heroism will prove most visible to those who can see the least.

Peoria, Illinois has become famous for its ability to most accurately represent a microcosm of the United States of America. Due to its diverse demographics, and perceived mainstream Midwestern culture, Peoria has often been used as a primary test market for a variety of products, services and policies that subsequently reach the whole of the U.S. Peoria’s utility as America’s litmus test was certainly not lost on the theater industry. During the days of Vaudeville, the phrase “Will it play in Peoria?” was coined as a reference to a show’s ability to appeal to the mainstream American Public. This mandate has undoubtedly lived on for 90 years in the care and keeping of the Peoria Players Community Theater.

In its 90^th season, Peoria Players is the longest continuously running community theater in Illinois, and the 4^th longest running theater in the U.S. Throughout its lifespan the stage has never gone dark for any season, even when faced with daunting obstacles ranging from economic hardship to national crises.

During World War II, the city of Peoria experienced a shortage of men, opting to cast mustache-laden 8^th graders in lead male roles to remedy the problem. In the 1950s the creation of the “super highway” I-74 forced the company to move, with construction plans calling for the new transit artery to run directly through the space they inhabited. The 1960s found the Peoria Players in a leaking building and in a financial bind. A partnership was arranged with the Peoria Park District to transfer ownership, unburdening the Theater from the onus of maintenance, and allowing the group to focus more intently on filling the seats.

Let’s be clear that none of the aforementioned challenges stopped the Peoria Players from putting on a show. Be it Gypsy, Singing in the Rain, or I Never Sang for My Father, the Peoria Players have maintained a nucleus of artists and citizens dedicated to the survival and success of the Theater.

Emerging from the long line of passionate players are Jerry Klein, Bob Brandes and James Wilhelm. All have been with the Theater in some capacity for a number of years. From actors, to critics, to board members and even president, these gentlemen discuss the strengths and challenges of maintaining their rich artistic heritage in a small town.

“The first commitment of a community theater is to entertain. And if you don’t entertain, then you’ve missed the boat” says Bob. “It has been proven time and time again that comedies and musicals pay the bills.”

Discussing the finer points of commercially viable theater versus more artistic and intellectually challenging work, they reminisce and relive more than 50 years collectively spent supporting the Peoria Players: a period representing nearly half of the Theater’s existence. Differences aside they rest on a single agreement: Community Theater cannot exist without strong community. And it is their success in reflecting Peoria, IL that has sustained the Peoria Players for 90 years.

“We have people today that the only difference between them and professional actors is that they don’t get paid.”

Coupled with the support of a devoted community of theater-goers, 90 more years are sure to follow.