August Wilson has left the house.

1727 Bedford Ave. Hill District, formerly Bella's Market on the ground floor + the 2 room, cold-water flat of the 7 member Kittel (later Bedford) family in which August Wilson was the 4th of 6 children.

So today I am ruminating on the meaning of family. Of the most ridiculous of contrived holiday bullshit that the United States has made up (and they've done a bit of it too). I'd riff here also about Kwaanza + Hanukkah, but they're not really my axe to grind. Everybody wanted in on the action after the Thanksgiving + Xmas thing, I guess.

I'm just talking turkey about Family. I grew up in this mixed up, messed up brew that I didn't think- I knew was Strange Brew. Then I started listening to others. Looking + listening deeply. Yeah, I was from Strange Fruit, but I was a part, a mere piece of the Fruit Cocktail. And yes that former word probably had a lot to do with the Salad.

I posted up the pictures from August Wilson's birthplace to illustrate what I call the FU Family. I had long awaited this journey to the Hill. Not because of Hill St. Blues (for even though it was set up there in those yonder Hills, it was written by an elite Anglo dude from NYC who happened to go to Carnegie in the 60's), but because like me and Franco Harris (yes, I once loved Franco AND the Steelers), August was a mixed-race baby. Yeah, yeah, yeah Barack was thrown into the mix, but he came on the scene so much later and never was a "poor black chil'." I had seen my first Wilson play in the 80's, and quickly ditched Lillian Hellman as my favorite playwright. I wanted to touch something of August's just as his plays had touched something in me.

Sorrow- it grabbed me in the plays, all of the ones I had seen, and it grabbed me on the Hill. A deep, deep visceral sorrow for the plight of the tribe from which I hail, but not for which I stayed. Staying was uncertain death, and I rathered the certain kind that comes with an ageing process and a life lived well. I had a life not lived well for a very short time and it SO sucked, I wanted it no more. So I packed my heart, and soul and went North. August left too. And as I stood at 1727 Bedford Ave I wondered if he ever came back. Or ever really left? I mean 9 out of 10 plays set in on this Hill! 

Did he ever come back here and get mad? Get mad at Fredrick Kittel? Wonder at what were Fred + Daisy thinking back in the 40's on that hill. We know what they were doing because there was spawn as proof. Not one, not two, but SIX. How long did the German baker stick around? Was it too tough to stay together? Because of societal pressures, or internal, or both? Will we ever know, or is the story now "whitewashed" (hee,hee,hee)? They stayed married into August's teen yrs. despite not necessarily being together. So many questions about that Hill. Now it is only 6% white and the rest black, but I imagine a time when the reverse was true. The Great Migration and White Flight, right. I know the history, I just can't pinpoint the intersections. How and When? Always- how and when? 

Was it hard for August, the white looking black, up there on the Hill? How did he prove himself? Prowess? At what? Was writing in his blood, his soul, festering in the despair of an impoverished hill? Did he have role models and why did he marry a Black Muslim? He converted to Islam for the marriage? What's up with that? Was there a movement afoot up there? 

But he divorced and left. August the autodidact, went West. Hung with that other crowd (whispered to be white) and even married white. Perhaps it was the cafe society of St. Paul that drew him. The need for a literary crowd. Perhaps he just couldn't get that on the Hill. So for 9 yrs. he was married to a white woman in St. Paul, and hung with a theater company, and wrote plays. Then, his time with the company and wife must have run their course, because he just up and continued West. He really was heeding the call to "Go West Young Man."

He found another theater company and wife, both of which once again had that white thing going on. I wonder if he, like me, because of the lightness of our skin, just found it easier to hang with folks who knew the roots, saw the soul, and disregarded all the rest. Problem being, when you go that route, it really is hard going back home. He produced a black child there in 1970. He produced a white child 27 years later. I so wonder what they think of each other. Do they even converse? What do they really share besides distant and likely altered dna. Is it possible that life experience can alter the genes? I mean really, is one the same at 20 as they are at 47? If change happens, at what level? Hmmm...

Family. Odd that it is all about the dna. According to who? Oh yeah, the biologists. Those studiers of all things cellular. The make-up, the movement, the creations. Family creations. Not the messes, hurt feelings, pain, anguish, and sometimes just out-and-out misery. No, it's all about the dna. 

So then another mystery pops up. August got the big C diagnosis in June of his 60th yr. on planet Earth. Not a good diagnosis, not much longer to be here. So did he plan in those 4 months he got? What did he think about? Who did he reach out to? In the end, was it all about family? If so, then I ask myself this: How the hell did he end up in Greenwood Cemetery? Now, there are 42 cemeteries in Seattle where he'd lived for the last 15 yrs. of his life with a wife and daughter. Why not there?

Greenwood Cemetery is a cemetery in the Pittsburgh suburb of O'Hara Township, Pennsylvania, United States. The cemetery was opened in 1874 and is located approximately six miles northeast of Downtown Pittsburgh at 321 Kittanning Pike321. What the hell were you thinking August, What? You got memorialized at Soldiers and Sailors Memorial Hall, one of the oldest historic landmarks in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Why there? You didn't even complete your military service! The funeral service included Wynton Marsalis playing the trumpet, and actors, such as Charles Dutton and Phylicia Rashad, reading monologues from your plays. The clutch of recognition had begun. But you staged this play. You were the playwright, you created the scenes. You even wrote the famous final scene that is in fact now being performed in NYC, How I Learned What I Learned. I guess I'll have to go to New York (again) next for some of those answers I crave.

O'Hara Township is a suburb of about 9,000 humans, of which over 95% is white, and .84% black (that'd be >1 for our visual readers). 

So here he rests, roils, rolls, rocks, does whatever dead bodies do (I think they just decompose.

I thought the marker unremarkable, the quote disingenuis. Even if he wrote it himself, I was disappointed. Was he really right there? Well, okay yes- literally, he probably still was. Especially if he got the super-duper deluxe, hermatically sealed deal, then in 2013, 8 years since his death, then he still probably was there. So I had a little chat with him. 

Why August? Why here? Such a displaced place to call your final home. I just want to tell you, I don't like it. The gorgeous old brick farmhouse and the funky old hearse in its makeshift garage are cool, as was the man who without a moments hesitation agreed to guide us to this hillside to find you. But this is bullshit. Way out here, Pittsburgh'ish I say. A hill, yes, but definitely NOT the Hill District. Maybe you didn't belong there, you inbetweener. Maybe you were always an outsider looking in. Maybe your later choices of an Anglo world forever solidified the chasm that already existed. What were they saying on that other Hill in the ensuing 27 years that you were gone? Were they mad at you for abadoning them, just as your Anglo/German dad abandoned you? Did you know August that everyone is grabbing pieces of you now. Theaters named after you (I just love that NYC gave you one), centers, and even historic markers. But did you see that rundown piece of shit property that everyone swore to rehab and make something out of? It's a downright dirty shame. Word on the street (not the ones around this hill), word up on The Hill is that there is a black woman who has a catering business who has the support to start a cafe at your birthsite. But of course there was all this talk of a museum too. Sometimes people are so full of bullshit August, it's really sickening. They're grabbing onto your genius like it is their own. And it isn't even in your DNA! I'll let you go rest in peace dude. I just wanted you to know that "I feel you." Or perhaps it should be, "I feel like you." Or just- I get it. We don't share DNA, just wavelengths, and in my FU Family schema, that's all we need. I can call you my brother, my family, my home. 

Western PA Vaca (11/15-18/13

What? Why? Did you really? Yes we did! With an anchor visit in mind- the Conflict Kitchen (conflictkitchen.org/) in Pittsburgh, PA, we had a destination! So, building off this was a whirlwind of activity crammed into 4 days. 

Day/Night 1: We got to town early so we could tourist + play. So we took the Smithfield Bridge (one of our many bridge trips back and forth over the rivers, coupled with tunnels under hills, I really stretched myself) over to the Monongahela Incline, built in 1870 + is the oldest continuously operating funicular (you look it up, I had to) in the USA. Not hard to imagine that there were once 17 of these inclines ferrying humans to the industrial base.  Sure wish I knew where the original/former American Indian trail steps were. No mention of them in the little museum at the top. Here is some wiki knowledge (everyone needs a little wiki knowledge now and then): Pittsburgh's expanding industrial base in 1860 created a huge demand for labor, attracting mainly German immigrants to the region. This created a serious housing shortage as industry occupied most of the flat lands adjacent to the river, leaving only the steep, surrounding hillsides of Mt. Washington or "Coal Hill" for housing. However, travel between the "hill" and other areas was hindered by a lack of good roads or public transport.
The predominantly German immigrants who settled on Mt. Washington, remembering theSeilbahns (cable cars) of their former country, proposed the construction of inclines along the face of Coal Hill. The result was the Monongahela Incline. More on this Mt. includes: Mount Washington gave birth to the country’s bituminous coal industry in 1754, and local history is full of stories of coal being dug directly from the hillsides, and even depression era "thieving" of coal from neighbors' yards. By 1830, the City of Pittsburgh was consuming up to 400 tons of coal per day, and mining operations, timber removal, and early settlement left Mount Washington’s hillsides scarred and denuded. By the mid-1800s a mile-long set of wooden stairs had been constructed along an ancient Native American trail up the mountain to make the daily trek up the slope easier for those who lived or worked there. Eventually, alternate forms of transportation up Mount Washington were created, including inclines (funiculars), trolleys and roadways, and the hillsides were left to become reclaimed by nature, helped by reforestation attempts throughout the 20th century.We adored the Mt. Washington area and strolled around for several hours, ate lunch, and even found some of the famous Pittsburgh steps to climb (yes I did!). After check-in at the Hotel (yes one shared by Detroit Lions fans, we were so clueless to the mania of professional football) we went back out to the Carnegie Mellon/Univ. Pitt area for dinner at the Conflict Kitchen for yummy Cuban box dinner eaten outside on a mild November night. Two young employees shared info about the surrounding college area. Rents are really cheap + the Hills are alive with different districts (Squirrel Hill, Polish Hill, and then that other one- The Hill District). When I mention that one and the name August Wilson, I get a slightly confused look. "Oh the August Wilson Center is downtown," she told me. "Yes, but we are going to see where he was born." She suggested we look at here area, Polish Hill, as it is a nice place. We stuck with our original plan. Next we went to the Phipps Conservatory and what a treat to be there on a Fri. night (they stay open late). It was just room after room of awe. Such flora! And of course the Chihuly glass was an added bonus. And to view an exhibit in the making (plus chat with the artists doing the work) was so interesting. The process of creating is such a labor-intensive thing and then the public only sees the exhibit. Or moans at the cost of hand-crafted items. I get it and if I have the money, I buy it. Talent needs to be recognized, nurtured, and grown. 

Day 2 (Sat): In the car and head Southwest to Western PA in the hills. Car rides and vistas, nothing better if you ask me. Getting off the beaten path too. Destination this day was the Masterwork of Mr. Frank Lloyd Wright (FLW to those in the know, which we now are)- Fallingwater. Attached, but not really is another of his designs completed 18 yrs. after FW is the Kentuck Knob residence. Seeing this beautiful work tucked into these far-flung places was just as enthralling as was the views of the other side= impoverished places and very, very oddly religious landscapes. There were too many to count ten commandment postings throughout, as if some door-to-door religion salesperson had been through the region, demarking the nice from the naughty.
We also were able to visit the town of Perryopolis, PA famous for George Washington's haven purchased land and built a sawmill there in 1776. The mill is a replica on the land, but still interesting to see. Of course for me was the other mill in the town=Searight's Fulling Mill. It was built about 1810, and is a 2 1/2-story, sandstonebuilding with a gable roof. As we wended our way back, we could not resist the urge to chase about looking for the infamous place of the Kecksburg UFO incident. What a bizarre trip that was. The museum is in a bar with a restricted entrance (like it had a code pad entry that only members had the code to and we had to ring a doorbell to be let in). It made our trip to Rosewell seem...well, almost normal! We eventually found the model of the crashed object, originally created for the show Unsolved Mysteries, and put on display near the Kecksburg fire station. The alleged event took place in 1965, and still is debated in some cirlces (not ours unless you count our son + his magnificent obsessions). Yes we loaded up on paraphernalia, the town looked like it certainly could use our tourist dollars. We ended the day by going aboard an iconic Pittsburgh attraction, the Gateway Clipper, for a river dinner cruise on the Captain’s Dinner Dance. We did not dance, but we enjoyed the food and the views we spectacular (another mild November day to our benefit). Amazing to think that this whole area is at the convergence of 3 rivers, had a long, hard-scrabble time digging out coal then producing steel and now is all shiny and a cultural downtown draw w/ lots of shimmer and athletic fields (the lights from the Steelers place were almost blinding). 
Day 3 (Sun): Up and out early to be tourists. We were going to the Hill District early on a Sunday b/c we knew we would look and be out of place in a space that long ago lost its Anglo color. Unfortunately the morning news told us that Police were investigating after two teenagers were injured in a Hill District shooting Saturday night. We were unsure of the time or place so we decided to give it a few more hours before we went up there. We instead found the lower factory streets that were still left and paralleled the numerous highways that attempted to hide or obscure the ugly view of old industry. But some of it and it constituent Mill housing was still right there along the river in Blaw-Knox, PA! Wiki time: The name, Blawnox, is derived from the Blaw-Knox Company, which had a manufacturing plant there providing much of the town's employment. Blawnox had previously been called Hoboken, but postal regulations required that the municipality change its name since Hoboken, New Jersey had a prior claim to the name. The town's approx. pop=1500. We drove directly into downtown Pittsburgh from this route. We were in search of something that didn't exhist anymore, the old Strip District. In the early 19th century, the Strip District was home to many mills and factories as its location along the Allegheny River made for easy transportation of goods and shipping of raw materials. It was the home of the Fort Pitt Foundry, source of large cannon before and during the American Civil War.  Early tenants of the Strip District included U.S. Steel, Westinghouse,The Pittsburgh Reduction Company (ALCOA), and later The H.J. Heinz Company, famous ketchup and condiment manufacturer. The area has developed into a historic market district with many ethnic food purveyors, some art studios, antique dealers, unique boutiques, and other businesses setting up shop where trains once delivered produce by the ton. The Strip District comes alive primarily on weekends during the summer months when street vendors are selling their wares, the open-air farmer's markets are in full swing, and party-goers sit outside and enjoy a drink.
The area has seen interest by residential developers recently, as old factory and warehouse buildings are being transformed into apartments and lofts. We saw what was left of the huge Heinz complex, which also included the Heinz Lofts. We ran into the Steelers thongs of people out early (10 a.m.ish in constant drizzle and grey skies) and realized if we stayed downtown for long we would be in trouble. We quickly tried to view H.H. Richardson's Masterwork, the Allegheny Courthouse and managed to run down into the subway station to see Romare Beardon's Mosaic Mural that was painstakingly taken apart and transplated to this new subway station. "Pittsburgh Recollections," was originally Created for the subway in 1984. Both were amazing + I can see how they could be part of the cultural draw of downtown Pittsburgh. We wended up the hills to search for August Wilson's birthplace. The Hill District was just awakening but there was an edgy and tense feel to the mostly guarded individuals we viewed on the largely impoverished and somewhat blighted streets. The August Wilson sight did have a hx'ic plaque, but oh, oh, oh...the sadness of the decay rivaled the sorrow of broken promises. Despite a big to-do when the plaque was installed and all the talk of refurbishing the Bella Market storefront in which the family lived above, nothing has been done, except neglect and it's effects. I had such a hard time imagining a time when a black woman migrating from North Carolina could get together with an immagrant baker from Germany at this degraded site.  Words can't show the disrepair of the house and of the Butera house next door. Paul Ellis (August's lawyer nephew), who owns them both, was supposed to be taking steps to deal with and reverse the deterioration so as to look forward to making the houses landmarks to be proud of and also useful for artists and writers, but the only thing we saw that was in great shape was the new Cadilac that was locked into its funky carport with an awning to protect. This troubling visit made more distressful with the news that the center the waitress at Confilct Kitchen had mentioned was looking to file for bankruptcy. Some black folks can't catch a break for nothing. I then avowed to go to August's graveside and tell him I was sorry (yeah I get maudlin that way sometimes when my hopes are dashed). So off we head to gravesites. I forgot to mention we had Andy Warhol's gravesite on our itenerary as well, but for a wholely different reason. Everyone asked us if we were going to the Warhol museum (No thank you to multiple floors of Andy, all, only Andy, a freak-of-luck self-promoter who struck and mined the gold of fame much as the Pittsburgh folks who worked at getting all they could from the coal in the land). We said no, but we were going to check out the gravesite and bizarre project being run there. So off we went to graveyards. August's was far flung from the Hill District, although it was itself on a hill in Greenwood Cemetery, Sharpsburg, PA. We had the details (Plot section 7, Row 25, Grave 10), but after like 3 rounds of frustrated attempts we finally stopped a man and inquired. He was friendly and told us to just drive on up to the old house (with an old hearse to match), honk the horn and someone with a name like Bob would drive us over, which is exactly what we did. It was surreal and strange to see these white folks in this seemingly privately owned/run cemetery take us- the only live inhabitants besides the staff to see this black dude's grave who grew up miles from here. Bob man offered up only a few facts- that August bought all the plots around him (make that 4), which left us wondering who the next lucky deserving descendants would get there bodies to be buried there. Well certainly not that Paul Ellis I telepathically told August before we left. Oh then there was Andy. Straight out of the New Yorker's Culture Desk section (of course I didn't read it, I googled it) was the mention of The Andy Warhol Museum has instituted a twenty-four / seven Webcam feed of the artist’s grave, near his home town of Pittsburgh. We wanted to see if Warhol was getting the relic treatment in line with Basquiat's grave in NY (they certainly were matching $ fetched for their art), and check out the Earthcam deal. So with the Burger King crown I snatched at the last pee stop we headed to the St. John the Baptist Byzantine Catholic Cemetery  to be brushed by the wing of fame via an Earthcam and a QR code reader. We left our relic and then I mugged for the camera, not quite Marilyn Monroe style, but close, then we headed on our way. No need for words to Andy, he wouldn't get me, just as I don't get him. 
We headed back to the College area, I guess you'd call it Oakwood (Pittsburgh has a lot of little enclaves or sections within it) for museuming it for a few. I was going back to the Phipps for an Aruyvedic Med. Herbs talk, Peter to the Musuem of Nat. Hx. We popped into a few of the Nationality Rooms at the Cathedral of Learning (I was more impressed with the building and wrought-iron work than the classrooms), and then also went together to the Carnegie International 2013. We both were drawn to the Zoe Strauss exhibit about the current inhabitants of Homestead, PA as we had plans to visit there the next day. We dined near our hotel at a Ponderosa (yes they still exist somewhere, like in Harmarville, PA). I think Harmarville reflects its roots as salt-of-the-earth farmers and coal miners, at least what we saw at this dining establishment. We were about done with the yellow and black motif's everywhere, but forgot that the game was done and many, many of the folks here were sporting their black and yellow.
Day 4 (Mon): Off to the other side of the Allegheny to the Monongahela Riverside to see the famous site of the awful history of conflict with workers in the Homestead Strike of 1892 (I feel another wiki moment coming on). The Neil Young song, "Rust Never Sleeps" reverberating inside my brain as we pulled up. A long view down 8th Ave. and it looks like any other small milltown that grew in the vast industrialization of our country in the 19th century. Hidden from view is the history: The town was chartered in 1880. The building of a railroad, glassfactory, and in 1881 the first iron mill began a period of rapid growth and prosperity. In 1883, Andrew Carnegie bought out Homestead Steel Works, adding it to his empire of steel and coke enterprises. Carnegie had recently acquired a controlling interest in Henry Clay Frick's coke works on the Monongahela, setting the stage for the dramatic labor clash in Homestead. The violent strike happened on July 6, 1892 with a day-long armed battle which resulted in eleven deaths and dozens of injuries.
The history is contained in a hx'ic bldg. at the end of the street. The town which once had 20,452 people in 1920, now has about 3100, along with blighted, neglected, and condemned buildings, with a Family Dollar Store at the end of the main thoroughfare, which often tells me lots. There just wasn't any good energy of revitalization, although a few hints were visible. Vestiges of ethnic groups of old along with an influx of color made for an intersting view for me.  Almost completely gone from view is the mill history. In 1984, the mill closed and the Homestead Works was demolished, replaced in 1999 by The Waterfront shopping mall. Rust never sleeps, but the burnout process can be interrupted, changed but yet and still sometimes history lets things just fade away. Neil was right, "there is more to the picture than meets the eye," the wiki moment tells us so: Homestead Steel Works was a large steel works located on the Monongahela Riverat Homestead, Pennsylvania in the United States. It developed in the nineteenth century as an extensive plant served by tributary coal and iron fields, a railway 425 miles long, and a line of lake steamships. Now it exists no more, they paved over history and put up a shopping mall.
So, back over the bridge to Braddock, PA. Another small town in the Rust Belt that grew outof the Steel world of Western PA. I had heard and read so much about this place. Documentaries, and exemplarly done media campaigns had put this once rusting little mill town on the National Scene. We rolled up to an artful mosiac welcome sign and began our fun sojourn to find the multitude of murals that were posted on a cool site of murals in the Pittsburgh area. Our idea of a scavenger hunt. Plus of course, the 1st Carnegie Library in the US! And as well, a real and true Steel Plant that has been operating since 1872. Cool stuff to be taking in on our last day of vacation. Funky is the only word I can use to describe what we saw. Old and new. Struggle, change, and poverty. Just cuz artiste's come to town and paint it pretty doesn't change the condition of the impoverished. But there seemed to be real and genuine efforts at trying to. I left feeling hopeful about there journey. Why then oh why did we have to stop at Mt. Lebanon, PA? Oh yeah, the quick gift pick up at the Himelayan Institute they mentioned at Phipps Conservatory. A Himilayan Institute in Pittsburgh should have been a big, big clue. But the lovely woman who welcomed us into the small shop and Yoga center secured the knowledge with her introductory, "Did you know we were just voted the Best place to live by," our eyes and minds were already receding from the woman, but she wasn't quite done yet. "And our school system is supposed to be excellent and the best..."I so wanted to turn to her and match her superlative-to-superlative, "Yeah well our hometown was voted #1 Worst place to live, and our school system sucks," but alas, I bought my oils, neti pots, and checked my chakras at the door as I bid her a Namaste and we headed for the airport. Ah the beauty of our vacations is we really do take in a variety of sights and sites, and in this way we get to see how the other side of the world, town, country, works.