Cleveland does indeed Rock

Is it true what they say, that half the hot young comedians in NY and LA are from Cleveland, and that half their jokes are about their old stomping grounds in rustbelt heaven, the mistake on the lake, the flaming Cuyahoga, et cetera, et cetera, and that the joke works because the punchline ends with the word Cleveland?

Is it also true that when those now-famous people come back to the city they grew up in, it isn't there anymore? Chrissy Hynde wrote a song about it. Urban business districts have been replaced by strip shopping centers, housing blocks have been replaced by parking lots, factories replaced by empty factories. It's a strange phenomenon, a monumental industrial city well on its way into a long decline. Take Detroit - please.

The architectural gems of Cleveland are still there, and you can still drive through beautiful neighborhoods. The amazing shrines to art in University Circle are still alive and well, but there are also big holes blown in the landscape, and who knows what will fill the vacuum. If you enjoy a certain kind of midwestern city, it's a concern.

Gven and I drove up to Cleveland a couple of weeks ago for a play our friend Rick was in, stayed over with Rick and Angela, and came back the next day. They had a rare day free and showed us around to some of their favorite haunts - Coventry, Little Italy, the Coffee Cup in Bedford - your basic Grey Line Tour. As far as this roadtrip goes, Cleveland = Rick and Angela, like a single phenomenological entity.

Act I. Dramatic Entrance

Scene 1. Chagrin Falls

It's a Friday evening and we haven't really had a chance to unwind yet, so there's just a wee bit of tension in the air as we cruise north in Gven's Honda Discord. As we near the city on I-271, the dashboard goes dark momentarily and the engine quits, then immediately revives, and we drive the rest of the way around the east side to the charming village of Chagrin Falls. In the middle of Main Street in this pretty, upscale town, the engine quits again, but this time we have to wait a few minutes before it will start up again. We make it to the parking lot of The Little Theater in plenty of time to rendezvous with Angela, say hello to Rick, and find our seats.

Scene 2. These People

The name of the play is "These People," and it's a hoot. A musical comedy about a neighborhood threatened by gentrification, it's set in a bar frequented by a colorful assortment of characters. Rick has been in a million musicals, and he carries this one on his baritone and his back. It's community theater at its best: funny, warmhearted, and populated by nonprofessional actors with enough talent and guts to pull it off.

Scene 3. Cast Party

It happened to be closing night, so of course there was a cast party, and we were lucky enough to be included. We ate, we drank, and we met some of the cool people who have the time and energy to hold down a day job AND put in the work it takes to stage a decent theatrical production. It was even more fun than I thought it would be, and the car made it back to Rick and Angela's house with only one brief stall-out.

Act II. Everything Is Connected

Scene 1. Bedford

First things first, we called the local Honda dealer, which is just around the corner on Broadway in the blue-collar suburb of Bedford, and they can look at the car if we bring it right in. The guys in the service department will call when they have diagnosed the problem. Service technician Mutt thinks there might be a recall on the ignition of that year and model, but service technician Jeff is doubtful. We'll be at the Coffee Cup eating breakfast if you find out anything. We go and eat a hearty breakfast served by a shapely young waitress who speaks a Northeast Ohio dialect I can barely understand, and it's all Cleveland Browns jackets and big hair.

Scene 2. The Rec. Center

Rick has promised to help some people from a neighboring church set up the gym of the Bedford recreation center for their annual spaghetti dinner, so off he goes. Gven and Angela and I take our time finishing breakfast and meet him there. Three generations of men are in the kitchen stirring huge vats of sauce, adding a bucket of oregano here, a shovelful of basil there, talking about where so-and-so is going to college when the graduate in June. Three generations of women are just about done setting tables, so it's mostly stand around and talk. One of them happens to be the mother of the manager of the service department at the Honda dealer. I admire the spacious and squeaky-clean rec. center. Out in the hallway I spot a framed photo of Ohio Stadium, an image of the Horseshoe itself hanging there among the trophy cases like a holy icon.

Scene 3. University Circle

No word yet about the car, so we have some time to kill while we construct a contingency plan just in case. We could call Zelda to drive up and give us a ride home while they work on the car, and while she's here we could go see the Monet exhibit at the art museum. Rick and Angela have a membership, so we decide to all go. It's a beautiful sunny day, so we take the scenic route through some lovely old residential neighborhoods - Cleveland Heights, Shaker Heights, I can't remember the streets - and pass some places Gven and I remember from our years in Oberlin long ago. We end up at the museum of art and get in free.

Scene 4. Monet in Normandy

The throngs of people don't bother me because I'm caught up in the visual power of the paintings in the galleries. The four of us split up and wander at our own pace, and for me that's the only way to see it, moving around, stopping to look more closely, moving on to look from another angle or distance. Room after room of well-designed spaces hung with dozens of paintings in groupings that make it easy to see Monet's work changing and developing as he tried different approaches in different sites along the coast that he clearly adored. Something erotic about the way the light acts in the presence of cliffs meeting the sea and the sky.

When we are near the saturation point, we head downstairs for a cool lime soda at the snack bar and the obligatory stop at the gift shop. So many interesting people, or are my senses just juiced up by hanging out in the presence of world-class art? Rick says there is an outdoor event there in June, and I vow to go.

Scene 5. Sven in Cleveland

Long story getting longer, we got word from the Honda people that Gven's car was indeed part of the recall, so they replaced the ignition and it solved the electrical problem. No pun intended. No charge. We picked up the car and went back to their place to hang out for a couple of hours. I chose the back deck, lying in the afternoon sun and getting rejuvenated by a short workout. We ate a light lunch of Angela's special chicken salad, and totally high from our adventures, headed down the road toward home.

Act III. Denouement

Scene 1. Peninsula

Chance has taken us through Peninsula, Ohio, on several occasions, and I've gotten fond of the place. It's on state route 303 about halfway between Oberlin and Kent, so when Jessi and Zelda were both in school, it was a pleasant spot en route. It's barely a wide place in the road, down in a gorge where there's a nice bicycle path along the Cuyahoga River, where there once was a towpath for barges traveling up and down. We needed gas and weren't totally rushed to get home, so Gven and I stopped to look around, saw a few things we hadn't noticed before, and headed home. Note to self: go there again.

Mayday!

Today is the real Labor Day, but here in central Swingstate - or at least my small circumscribed, self-involved bubble - you'd hardly know it. So imagine my surprise when, simply by clicking the link at Priya's place, I stumble upon unexpected signs of life in the universe.

Like Mitt Romney's dad back in '64 (or was it '68?) I'm able to poke my head outside the news machine just enough to see that I've been absorbing a lot of fabricated history. But I'll grind that ax another time. For now, I'll just ponder the dilemma of whether to celebrate a proletarian anarchist workers Mayday or a pagan fertility rite of spring Mayday. What would a fusion of those two things look like?