My Journey Into Richmond...And What I Found There Part IX

The story thus far: Philip Gotz, an obstreperous travel writer known for his "What I Found There" pieces detailing his five-day visits to destinations, is in Richmond, Va. The savvy and sharp Tia Chulangong provided to Gotz as a guide from the city's hospitality bureau provides running color commentary on Richmond sights and history. Tia, however, informs Gotz that Jennifer Royce, his novelist ex-wife, is in town on a book tour and through a scheduling error booked into the Jefferson Hotel where he is, too. The writer and his guide enjoyed a travelogue experience from the rooftop terrace of the Jefferson. Gotz observes the city's bosky streets and plentiful green and open spaces, lack of automotive traffic or parking lots, the preserved historic architecture and the exile of high rise office and residential towers to the outer edges of the central metro. Tia leaves him to enjoy his first evening on the town. At the chic boho estabishment of Monrovia, in Monroe Park, he's intoxicatcd by not just liquor but the sounds of the house band, Deadly Nightshade. He's descending the spiral stair from the upper club into the lower bar.

The Metaphorical Implications


"Oh..my...Gotz!"

At the second turn of the stair Gotz was observing the activity of the bar below him when he turned to see what he'd almost forgotten to anticipate.

"Jen!"

She was upswept auburn hair and a sharp, tailored black suit and long white lapels and cuffs. Next to her, some big dark square-jawed guy who looked vaguely familiar.

She said, "In a city of three million people..."

"Out of all the gin joints in all the world," Gotz replied.

For a few moments the two blinked at each other, suspended there on the spiral stair within Monrovia's congenial atmosphere suddenly turned cold.

Then she said, "Well, Phil, looks like you have to come down for me to get up."

Gotz managed to remark, "Spiral stairmakers must've enjoyed long marriages." This sounded so oblique not even he knew quite what he'd meant.

"Phil, this is Kendall Reilly, my agent."

"Ah, yes," and Gotz saluted him with two fingers at his temple. "Your name. She mentioned you in the dedication of the latest."

"Phil? You've read it? I'm touched."

"I feel like a partial investor."

Kendall thankfully spoke up. "I enjoy your travel writing. And the show on TLC is fun. Are you here for that or which?"

"Glomar Explorer, the site, right now, maybe other things later. "

Jennifer tried moving up a few steps but Gotz, paralyzed, hadn't moved.

"Phil, we need to get by."

"Yes."

"We have to negotiate this."

"Um, well, yes." His hands remained resolute on the rails.

Jennifer inhaled, sharp, deep, looking around. "H'mmm. I don't smell a fire. Do you, Kendall?"

"Um ...no, I don't."

"Guess Gotz hasn't tried burning the place down. Like in Barcelona. At a flamenco bar he believed the time was right to demonstrate his skills. Until he knocked over a table with a lit candle on it."

"Why were they using paper table cloths?"

"Phil is the international war criminal of travel writers. There's some countries he can't go to because the police will meet him at the airport."

She faced him and laughed with some sarcasm.

Gotz tried to equal with her but his was a forced reaction. Kendall made a face that reminded Gotz of having a gas attack.

"So we're staying at the Jefferson," Gotz said, for some reason prolonging the agony. "Mix-up."

"Phil, it's a big hotel in a big town. So. A distinct displeasure to have gotten this out of the way. Now, we'll get up..."

"Deadly Nightshade," he blurted. "The band. You'll like them," and he at last began to move around them.

Uvilla Peyton's voice wafted down.

"Ah. She's quite something, I bet."

Another knowing smile.

"See you around, Phil," Kendall said.

Gotz got down the stairs and passed through the stained glass vestibule hall, nodding at the hostess, and into the warm night air without getting sick. Outside, he held hands to hips and paced around like a runner trying to cool down after a sprint. He kicked a tree a few times.

Did you hear that? he muttered to the air. 'Distinct displeasure! Damnit. She got it over me.

The prospect of returning to the Jefferson seemed suddenly fraught with dim possibilities even though this random encounter here precluded a similar occurrence in the cool calm halls of the hotel.

Now, I really need a drink. At least that's what he told himself.

He meandered along the gas-lit radial path to Belivdere and Main where he took in the imposing window festooned walls of Ginter University dorms and class buildings, the turret-and-finial capped townhouses and the Jefferson looming above all, like some great Spanish galleon come to port. (Image: Library of Virginia)

Gotz had an idea.

He looked around for a call button pole for one of the pedestrian pods he'd read of. These were intermediary personal transports that filled the space between trams or trains, and, controversially, taxis.

A push of a green button and within a few moments one of the glowing transparent distended beach ball pulled up with a comforting sigh. The things ran on underground magnets.

The door slid open and exposed the small, three seater interior and a curving dash for a few controls, speaker and a slot for his transit card. He pushed his temporary passport into the reader.

A warm female voice said, "Welcome aboard Richmond Transit's PedPod. Where may I take you this evening?"

"Mongoose Civique."

"Do you mean Mongoose Civique Bar and Lounge, eight sixteen East Main Street?"

"Yes."

A slight pause as the robot brain considered his response.

"I can get you to within a two-block distance. Is this OK?"

"Fine. I'm not crippled."

"I'm sorry I didn't quite get that."

"Yes, yes, yes."

"Very good! Click your safety belt and we'll be at 9th and Cary streets at Gallego Plaza in about two and..a...half minutes."

The pod eased along Belvidere and then down the hill of Cary past splendid antique buildings bulging with Romanesque flourishes and sculptural details, and others simple, elegant and workmanlike. The pod seemed like a bead of water from a summer rain sliding down a window pane.

"Ninth and Cary streets at Gallego Plaza," the pod voice said and the tinted roof slid away. "Please check the seat from any personal belongings."

Gotz emerged and the pod, responding to another request, hummed away. He stood, pausing next to the Great Turning Basin and Gallego Plaza, and music from an unseen street jazz combo echoed among the grand arcades, terraces and loggias adorning the Basin. Spectral globe lamps lit the architecture giving an expectation of romance or song. A break in the plaza's girding structures was sufficiently wide where he could see sail boats riding at anchor, and some other small craft, one illuminated with Japanese lanterns. People meandered at the waterside. The invisible band received applause and cheers from an invisible audience. He'd be seeing plenty of this later.

He turned left, trudging uphill on Ninth to Main.

Note on image: These are derived from the mid-1960s Richmond Esthetic Survey & Historical Building Survey archived at the Library of Virginia's web site. The first is at Belvidere and Main; in our version of Richmond the right hand side of the image would be occupied by variant Union Theological style campus buildings. Note the Jefferson at left center; the bad International style high rise at far left wouldn't exist.

My Journey Into Richmond...And What I Found There Part VII

The story thus far: Philip Gotz, an obstreperous travel writer known for his "What I Found There" pieces detailing his five-day visits to destinations, is in Richmond, Va. The visitors bureau has assigned to him as a guide Tia Chulangong -- who pretty much has his number from the moment she meets him at the Richard Evelyn Byrd International Airport. She provides running color commentary on Richmond sights and history while riding the train to bustling Main Street Station, and from there to Gotz's accommodations. Tia, however, has informed Gotz that Jennifer Royce, his novelist ex-wife, is in town on a book tour and through a scheduling error he's booked into the Jefferson Hotel where she is also staying. The writer and his guide have now gone up to the rooftop terrace of the Jefferson, where Tia is giving Gotz a travelogue explanation of the city's sights. Gotz observes the city's bosky streets and plentiful green and open spaces, lack of automotive traffic or parking lots, the preserved historic architecture and the exile of high rise office and residential towers to the outer edges of the central metro. Tia leaves him to enjoy his first evening on the town. (Image: 400-500 blocks of West Franklin this from the north side near Belvidere, looking west, toward Monroe Park, via Library of Virginia).


"Richmond: A Laughing Matter"

All images in this section via the Library of Virginia's archived Richmond Esthetic Survey, 1965. View and weep what was, and the record of how ugly interpretations of Modernism chewed up the city's aesthetic qualites.


Gotz returned to his suite like a wary cat. Armed with this knowledge of Jennifer’s presence, he expected to see her around every corner, or the elevator door opening to reveal her. It wouldn’t be so bad. There’d been only minor bloodshed in their fight, and it got messy only toward the end, and four of their six years had been quite enjoyable. But it was that fifth year, and, oh, good God, the sixth. The whole fiasco ended in tears and lawyers.

Why Tia, this presumed efficient hospitality diva, allow this to occur? Gotz wondered if, indeed, he was as annoying as many believed. Tia couldn’t be that passive aggressive, could she? Say it ain’t so. For all she knew, Gotz could take it personal and write a fierce and vehement assessment of Richmond. Just to teach her a lesson. But he’d much prefer other methods.

Gotz arrived at his suite without incident. Perched on the soft beckoning bed he investigated the CVB gift bag feeling like a raccoon rummaging through the trash.

He formed piles on the royal blue bed covers.

Interesting: final copy of the itinerary Tia designed, the DVDs, guide books, the most recent Richmond Tempo for the what-to-do and where-to-go; Not Now: slides, brochures. Junk: Coupons. On the topmost of the first division was the DVD loaded with “trailers.” He decided to slip it into the big plasma screen machine the Jefferson hung on the bedroom wall like a magic portal. He kicked off his shoes, propped himself on pillows, and aimed the remote.

Richmond: A Laughing Matter featured a series of comedians, chosen for broadest appeal, a white guy in a double-breasted suit and tie, Jerry something, he'd have to reverse it if the name mattered; a back guy in a skull cap, Ronnie Wilcoxen; a sharp fast talking woman—Sherry Ressen he’d actually seen her on HBO— “I’m Jewish, from Richmond, Virginia, so deal with it -- ya’ll.” They were shown speaking “before live audiences” at various Richmond entertainment venues; The Laff Riot in Shockoe, Galloping Comedians downtown; and The House of Mirth on something called Staples Mill Road.

There was fun with classifieds designation about house and apartment locations. The skull-cap comedian Ron paced the stage, his temples gleaming, “ So listen up, chirrun—that’s children for you up staters—for your insider info. “ITWNRVU’ means Inside The Woods River View, or even more detailed, ITWNSRVU, Inside The Woods North Side River View, or SS, for South Side – I hear we got some South Side in the house tonight--which is where the best views are, (hoots). Inside the woods don’t mean you’re like Hansel and Gretel and you live in a gingerbread house in the forest. No, uh-huh. Means you’re rich. You are very, very rich (laughter, applause) You’re making large sums of money. That’s what it means.”

Guy in a suit, Jerry. More conversational, leaning on his mike stand:

“What comes down to is: Are you an innie or an outie? (laugher) So, if you live In The Woods, means you live in the old part of town. And if you’re a single guy trying to hook up, and she asks if you’re in the Woods or outside of the Woods, and you say,” he lifts one arm and nonchalantly scratched his neck, “Yeah, I live in the Woods,’ she’ll make this sound – they all do – “Oh,” like she just got pinched but she kinda liked it, you know? It’s weird, weird, it’s like that’s the sound you want. That little ‘Oh!’ adds a real or imagined $50,000 to your paycheck. Seriously, seriously.

But, if, like what happens to me, I say, (self-consciously rubbing his forehead) ‘Oh, I live Out of the Woods.’ (pause for effect) In Chester. (chuckles) And she makes this, ‘Ah,’ sound. Not so good. Not the sound you want. Very different from the, ‘Oh!' which is a whole tilt of the head with interest-in-you kind of thing. ‘Ah’ is you get a nod and this expression of, ‘That’s almost 15 minutes on the Centralia train. Bet he reads a lot.’

Sherry Ressen, in her floral pattered summer dress, and easy delivery. She’s quite pretty, sharp featured, long black hair that she tosses with alarming abandon.

“So my buddy comes to visit me from New York. Says he’s nervous. Says he's worried because Richmond impounds cars with out-of-state plates and fines the owners. He says this to me. So I had to, you know, talk him down, that no, we just lock up your car for your safety and ours.” (knowing laughter and big applause)

(change of angle on her)

The Car Docks. (mixed applause) Strangest thing for some people. You drive your car into this thing that looks like it was used for anti-aircraft guns during World War II, and you just leave it there.

This totally freaks people out. Totally freaks’em out.

They don’t want to leave Betsy behind, you know? Like it’s their kid: ‘Now, now, Mr and Mrs. Johnson, she’ll be completely safe in our hands.’ It’s a parking garage, not summer camp. (laughs)

Skull cap Ron:
Richmond’s missing making a mint on this whole car dock deal. We should have package plans, you know? Park in the dock and we’ll wash your car, vacuum, detail it… We could say: Leave the heap with us in North Tower and three days later you pick it up in the South Tower she’ll look like she went though an automotive self-improvement class.” I’m telling you, you could reduce our taxes his way.

Guy in suit Jerry:

Trolley cars and Richmond, Richmond and trolley cars. We love’m. We invented’m. We’re very proud of this. But after a century, you’d think we could tell you how to get someplace on one of the things. (laughter, clapping)

It’s kind of confusing. There’s a rainbow of options (holds up multi-colored route planner and lets it unfold to general amusement). It’s like there should be a leprechaun involved. (big laughter and steady applause as camera lingers on route schedule)

Skull Cap Ron:
This is what you got to know about Richmond neighborhoods. So listen up, know and learn this. I’m gonna tell you it to you straight like nobody else will. Gonna start far east, not China, but Fulton, OK?
Fulton: hippies and the black folks who tolerate them. Rocketts: tourists, gamblers and the boat crews that blow into town for the weekend push and shove, you know. Shockoe; One of Richmond’s oldest hoods, gamblers and drinkers and people who live there who’re shocked, shocked to see gambling and drinking going on. And gambling.

Sherry:

Church Hill: They’re on a hill and they know it. It’s old. Poe hung out on Church Hill. And Shockoe, too. See what happened? Downtown: people wandering around looking at the people wandering around, you got your students and the hipsters and the gamers and city hall stuck in the middle of it.

Highland Park and Northside: Oh, you mean there is another part of the city? We like it over here just fine. Buppies and post-graduate newlywed breeders and gays. And some of the best coffee in town. It’s true.

Skull Cap Ron:
Ginter Park: More established, upper class folks, houses big enough to need intercoms and camera systems to find your wife or husband or your kids. “Timmy, what are you doing in the garage? I can see everything. Don’t touch that. Don’t touch that, either.” (whistles, appplause)
Union Theological is there, so people are more holy, or holier than you, anyway.

And, the Fan, man, the Fan. (big reaction, whisles and hollers) Yeah. You know. Ginter University types, people that go there or people that teach there, are people who can afford the scenery, if you know what I’m saying. There's more bralessess in the Fan than anywhere in town. (laughter) You got Carytown on one end. All that stuff to buy, my wife loves it, 'nice' stuff that you put on a shelf then knock over and bust when you're playing with the soft basketball when she's away and you know you shouldn't but you do it because she's gone and you have to go buy another one of whatever it is, and, of course, the're out and won't get any more for years, and so are you, too, if you follow me. (big laughter) Manchester, yeah, Dogtown. Nothing doggy about it. Well, maybe on some streets. Artists. Fan refugees. Computer nerds. (hoots) Alright, alright, I hear ya.

And so on it went for another few minutes. A city that could laugh at itself. That was refreshing.

Gotz stood up, stretched, opened the curtain to look upon Franklin Street and the the city beyond. A human-scale city. Some higher rise buildings over on Broad and one Deco-style tower that rose above the others.

He decided to stride up a few blocks to this Monrovia place.

*************************************************************************

Franklin Street's sidealks smelled of wisteria and honeysuckle. The clots of people moving along by him were young people, laughing, there was a pleasant holiday air to the place. The grand houses, Richardson Romanesque brownstones, whimsical Queen Annes and each compelling him to stop and gander to comprehend their individual natures.

The stuccoed, somber Monrovia building's ends had high arched stained glass windows. A crayon-box color assortment of scooters clustered around the place. The placard he stopped to read indicated that from the mid-1910s on the building was the fire and police alarm station but the 1930 acquisition by the Monroe Park Improvements Commission rescued it from demolition. Subsequent purchase by various entrepreneurs followed with several incarnations of restaurants and gathering places, but as Monrovia, from 1968 on, it had become a cultural landmark. ("Monrovia" is to the left in the Monroe Park image)

Gotz was greeted in the stained glass enclosed Italianate vestibule by a smiling hostess in a tiny floral-pattered summer dress standing at a podium surmounted by a sculpted wooden eagle. She asked him Gotz if was here for dinner, and he replied just a drink or so. He entered the dim dark wooded bar adorned by onlooking oblong African masks and old photos and prints of Monrovian street scenes, intermixed with Monroe-ania. A bust of the president near the entrance wore a high purple velvet fez.

Brass wall fixtures with globe lights cast an eerie glow across the place. Gotz flashbacked on a book about ghosts that purported a photography of phantom monks going up a stair. The flash captured the deep creases of their robes and the grasp of their hands on the rail. The furnishings are random, old and plush, the tables heavy and wooden. Above stairs a small performance space, where the semi-regular house band Deadly Nightshade holds forth.

The diners and drinkers clustered in high-backed, plush cushioned booths were a mix of Ginter College students, professional bohos and tourists. Gotz checked off Monrovia in a mental box as an Richmond-centric place that suits both regulars and discerning visitors.

Deadly Nightshade’s lead singer's voice called him upstairs. Uvilla Peyton , tall, redheaded, bare shouldered in a slit-sided black dress. She had with her a tall, stout goateed upright bassist, a youthful dread locked pianist and a bald, mustached trumpeter, dressed in khakis like he'd just come off safari. Gotz wondered if his mufti somehow mattered in Monrovia.

He drank in his Glenmorangie and her, too, crooning, wailing, whispering, tossing back her head and howling then grabbing the mike and sing-speaking tales of love gone awry and bitter jagged tales of life's disappointments using a voice so soft and compelling everybody leaned forward to hear. These were mostly original songs so he didn't know any of them, and this didn't matter. For a couple of songs she sat, eyes closed and didn't move. Gotz, who'd seen cabaret performers all over the world, hadn't seen anybody quite like this. Her audience roared and stomped their feet. Gotz did, too.

Istanbul or Constantinople?
They Might Be Giants/Bread and Puppet Theater/RVA

No, this isn't Monroe Park, but there was a guy who had a banner flag
and the bus, and its handpainted backdrop, was there, too. This is
via the Bread and Puppt Theater photo gallery.


Far as weekends go, this was about as good as Richmond can make them. Amie and me started on Wedensday with our first visit to the Richmond Toad's Place to see They Might Be Giants. You can read about the experience, and the set list, here.

We were pleased to find Tyler and Moira there, and to learn that the event also marked the anniversary of her nativity. Moira hasn't owned a television in 15 years. I find this admirable and commendable, as we have three that we don't watch that much, and the big debate here on Colonial Avenue every month is whether to cut off the cable.

Toad's Place is the fantasy Flood Zone, as Amie described the sleek and techno space, as opposed to the bare concrete of the nontheless beloved venue which deteriorated then was claimed by the Have A Nice Day Café. They don't allow wearing of hats there, a textured irony, since on New Year's Eve at the Flood Zone, Ignatius the Hatmaker used to sell his wares for Shockoe Bottom prices.

The effort that went into converting a former Lady Byrd hat making factory into a music venue rendered notable results. Toad's opening filled a gap for a moderate-sized venue that Richmond has lacked ever since the Flood Zone shuttered in 1997.

But since I'm old, the flat hard floor got to my knees a bit and I was glad Amie nabbed us a perching place available on the left wall. I guess the high up shelf space contains a trunk for wiring or plumbing, something, but the ledge also provides seat of sorts. One of the staff members whom I know from Around told me that a sound person from the Toad's in Connecticut came down to tinker with the sound system all day, and, well, where it wasn't bad, sometimes I couldn't distinguish the lyrics. But, the two bars served cold Legend brown and that was excellent.

I really want to see Regina Spektor when she comes.

I enjoyed the Giants; John Flansburgh reminded me of a stouter Elvis Costello, and John Linnell a slighter David Byrne. Their smart, quirky songs warmed my nerd rocker heart.

That they could goof around on stage with the Toad's Place mascot endeared them to me.

Thursday I was reminded by ACORN's David Herring about the Virginia Center for Architecture's opening of its exhibit celebrating 50 years of historic preservation in Richmond. Amie dashed down to the splendiferous Branch House, location of the Center and the Virginia's AIA headquarters. There was some reminiscing and speechifying, and Rachel Flynn, the year-and-change director of community developmnt for the city was wonderful, and it was good to see HRF's new dynamo director, Mary Jane Massad Hogue, and its first full-time director, Jack Zehmer. Then I ran down to the Firehouse to attend the Spinning Into Butter premier.

Then, on and exquisite Sunday afternoon, we got to converge upon Monroe Park to see the commedia dell' arte/political satire stylings of the Bread and Puppet Theater. The self-sustaining group could come here through the good offices of Amanda Robinson and Gallery 5.

They are a circus that I'd run away with and join. Well, if I was 25 years younger. Oh, the zest and energy and fun and pointed criticism, done with painted cardboard and decorated gunny sacks and musicians playing accordian, sax, drums, and trumpet. Their "Merry Pranksters"--esque painted school bus served as stage and prop box as the players circled it, dressed one way, then came around, outfitted another way.

The weather was splendid, and the Monroe Park audience diverse, including a number of the the folks who, um, hang out on the benches who were both puzzled and amused by the show.

One of my favorite parts was the parade of "government mules" who were herded across the grass. On their flanks they each carried a word that formed the Jeffersonian sentence, Whenever The Government Becomes Destructive It Is The Right Of The People To Alter Or Abolish It and a wee mule came galloping from behind the bus and pushed along by the herder, bearing a ! for the end.

There was also a wonderful little bit about how third party candidates are excluded from the system in a Debate Of Extremely Pertinent Points. Two grim masked politicos flanked a bespectacled scruffy Third Party representative. A moderator asked about global warming, the money supply and the issue pre-emptive war-making. The Republican, ("Lock and load America!") would crow, "Problem? What problem?" and the Democrat retorted, "This is a verrry serious issue!" and as the Third Party character tried to form several complete, thoughtful sentences the Repubocrats would lean in and shout, "Ta-dahhh!" as though they'd accomplished something. The final question was about reforming corporate support of political candidates and before the Third Party could answer, he was beaten down by the other two.

And that about says it all. I recall watching a Third Party candidate debate on C-SPAN during the 2004 cycle and there they were, Green, Constitutional, Libertarian and even Natural Law and all of them made more cogent and even eloquent statements than anything most of the mainstreamed candidates either fell compelled or are allowed to say.

One of the best parts of the weekend, though, was seeing our good friends John DeShazo and Susannah Anderson, and their toddler son, Toby. John and Susannah were intimately involved during the early years of the Firehouse Theatre Project, with acting and technical aspects, and Susannah played Aphrodite in a collaborative piece titled Venus Rising produced through an exhibition of Amie's at the 1708 Gallery and a play I wrote, (with Amie's assistance) which presented the Venus de Milo coming to life and giving her side of the Greek myth stories. We took this production on a barnstorming tour of the deep South, including New Orleans and the now gone Zeitgeist space. They toured Amie's current Plant Zero show.

We really need to get out to Seattle, where they've lived now for--what?--six years? Whew.

After departing from John and Sooz, Amie needed to go further down Hull Street to her studio to put away some materials and conduct some cleaning up operations. She gave me a big trash bag and asked me to undertake litter removal around the property. I actually enjoy this because a place always looks better after you've removed trash. What never ceases to amaze me is the callous, cavalier and careless regard people seem to have for their surroundings. I filled a big three foot long bag with refuse. And this is just one portion of Hull Street near Pilkington. Magnify this, increase the amount geometrically, world-wide. You can understand why, as Laurie Anderson sang years ago, that the history of the future will be about the tranformation of waste.

C'mon, somebody, invent a Mr. Fusion Home Energy Reactor that we can attach to our cars.