Alan Baer Kingston, NYC The Far Side of Mayberry Midway into the run of the Andy Griffith Show, our family departed Mt. Airy (for Asheville), so, unfortunately, I missed out on the last four years, of what would have constituted continuity of school and friendships. I often wonder what would have transpired if we had remained, but suspect the “what ifs” may never be totally imagined. But, at a 50 year crossroads, while conjuring up the past, I’m beginning to feel an affinity with Billy Pilgrim’s world (in “Slaughterhouse- Five”) where time tripping allows one to face the proposition that:
Transcript
Alan BaerKingston, NYC
The Far Side of Mayberry
Midway into the run of the Andy Griffith Show, our family departed Mt. Airy (for Asheville), so, unfortunately, I missed out on the last four years, of what would have constituted continuity of school and friendships.
I often wonder what would have transpired if we had remained, but suspect the “what ifs” may never be totally imagined. But, at a 50 year crossroads, while conjuring up the past, I’m beginning to feel an affinity with Billy Pilgrim’s world (in “Slaughterhouse-Five”) where time tripping allows one to face the proposition that:
“All moments, past, present and future, always have existed, always will exist.”
And, I’ll wager that we’re all experiencing a form of this phenomenon……………..
So in lieu of having graduated with you all, I’m going to time trip a few memories of growing up in Mt. Airy and the time we had together, in no particular order, and interspersed with fast forwarding……….
4th grade at North Main: Mrs. Boyles departed from the curriculum and taught us French phrases, such as “opening the windows & doors” and “shutting our mouths”.
Mrs. Boyles also gave us, weeks & weeks of practice sessions for playing “percussion” alongside the NC Symphony, during one of their education concerts (at the “Y”). Years later, I heard the same piece during a concert, and realized it was still kind of playing in my head. The work was Schubert’s “Ballet Music No.2 in G major from Rosamunde”:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CJqVInRPXqE
At that moment, I also concluded that I have Mrs. Boyles to thank for a lifelong love of the classical mode (not to exclude all other musical forms, however). Somehow, I became a Mahler fanatic, seeking out live performances, regularly.
2nd grade at Rockford: Mrs. Poats taught us how to make paper mache. Still doing art, to this day! (and have an affinity for exhibition design and curating, as well)
6th grade at North Main: We all dropped our pencils simultaneously at high noon one day and really riled up Miss Cockerham. Years later, I stumbled across one of her relatives in NYC.
College: University of Cincinnati…..after prepping with the basics in Mt. Airy (pencils that not only draw, but coordinate perfectly with colleagues, experience in 3-D paper modeling, and the learning to play to a beat), I went through 6 years of architectural training.
8th grade at Junior High: Remember an amazing all day field trip to Raleigh (except for the prison visit). What really sticks in my mind are recollections of the original capitol building (designed by a team that included AJ Davis) in complete juxtaposition to the, then, newly completed State Legislative Building. Years and years later, it’s such an irony that I would have several architectural projects on a road in Barrytown, NY, with a significant AJ Davis designed estate, owned and improved by multiple North & South Carolinians, and ended up working on one of the gatehouses that had become a separate residence.
1st grade at Rockford: OK, this was a real test of what I was made of. On practically day one, we sang “Jesus Loves Me”, in class. No big whoop for the 50’s, before the so-called separation of church and state was “complete” (unless you happen to be Jewish). The worst part though, was not knowing the words! Then we moved on to “Onward Christian Soldiers” and that’s when I knew I was really outnumbered (LOL).
Much to my parent’s chagrin, however, was a few months later: with my describing to them how much fun it was to decorate the class Christmas tree (and I begged for us to have one, too).
My Father’s solution was: “let Alan decorate the window at the store”, meaning “The Fair Store”, which catered to the tobacco farmers and was frankly far more far out there than anything portrayed on Andy Griffith’s Mayberry.
It was always amusing to me that next to the Fair Store was the F. Rees Company, which was (and still is) the total antithesis to my Father’s livelihood. And, to see Dad on the street conversing with Flip Rees was
priceless. Years later, a friend of ours said she would be in Mt. Airy for the Fiddlers Convention. I implored her to drop in on Flip Rees (without setting the stage) and didn’t think she would, but she did. Flip told her this story: a huge shipment of black rubber galoshes arrived and was being brought into the Fair Store from the truck. Flip observed and commented to my Father that they all appeared to be “lefties”, and implied that there was surely a mistake. My Father responded: “Oh, the farmers don’t care. It’s just for them to wear in the tobacco fields, out in the mud”.
Everything was always on sale all the time at the Fair Store. All prices ended with .98 or .99 cents. Every morning, at breakfast time, the radio was tuned to WSYD or WPAQ and we listened to an absolute monotone minute (with zero voice inflection) of what’s on sale at the Fair Store.
OK, Barbara (Jones Archer Hand), you’ve opened the door with your recent recollection to me that I was raised in a strict kosher household: recalling that your Mother received a call from my Mother about appropriate food choices for little Alan during the class picnic in your backyard (first grade / Mrs. Fowler). Must admit: I had no idea all these years that she actually called around to arrange such things!
But, it meshes with another story that surfaced fairly recently. Up this way in Kingston, NY, I quite by accident met someone else born in Mt. Airy: Julie (Stevens) Plants. We compared notes and were amused to find out that our respective Mothers knew one another. Then she told me the tale of how her Mother “needed to borrow a big pot” as a young bride, and somehow my Mother lent one to her, with the stipulation that she could not, under any circumstances, use it for cooking ham, pork, bacon, or shellfish, or even “seasoned” green beans (or else the pot would have to be buried for 3 years).
All is clear now that after Mom’s “networking”, the other Moms of Mt. Airy were really looking out for me: out of all the times I had meals at friends’ homes, no one ever offered me ham, pork, bacon, or shellfish!
That is until Mark Richard and I camped out in his backyard, which was really a small farm. Yes, Mrs. Richard got the memo, but Mark decided to override the chain of command and very slyly offered me a slice of bacon, fried up on the campfire, early the next morning, before his Mom would notice. OK, I was in heaven, sheer heaven and could not stop thinking about what I had missed all those years.
Emboldened by the bacon, I was ready to disobey:
Back to the 4th grade at North Main, I was in the lunch line one day and purposely took a hot dog (which obviously was not Hebrew National). I sat down and was about to indulge. But, my sister, Phyllis (6th grade), spotted the unfolding travesty and sprinted across the lunchroom and grabbed the hot dog out of my hands, right as I was about to take the first bite……and in one continuous / fluid / rather athletic motion, kept on target to the garbage can,
and slam dunked it. The entire lunchroom saw this sordid commotion (& blatant waste of perfectly good hot dog)!
Trying to remember who was at the table that day……but, seem to recall Calvin Crutchfield (6th grade / same class as Phyllis) at a nearby table laughing his head off…..
The aftermath: was afraid to go home (and a bit hungry too). Phyllis must have run home ahead of me that day to tell all the tale of Alan gone bad (and thankfully, my parents were in stitches for three days straight). It was all as if out of a Woody Allen movie.
Back to real life: after graduating college, I traveled the country, looking for the ideal job and a place to settle in. Ironically, the best offer was back in Cincinnati, so I stayed there and eventually met Jan Harrison, my life partner, who is a phenomenal visual artist.
On Easter Sunday, 1979, a few hours after we first met, Jan served me ham at a holiday gathering (oiy vey)! A few months later, I bought a key work of hers, so it quickly became a threesome of her, her work, and me (inseparable). She grew up in West Palm Beach, & when we began to trace our whereabouts over our respective lifetimes up until 1979:
We had crossed paths closely, serendipity style, at least 15 times before we finally met(in NC, South Florida, Athens, GA, Bay area CA, and finally in Cincinnati). We even spoke on the phone quite by accident about a year before we met, when she called the architectural office I was working for. We also each have family origins in Mobile and Birmingham, Alabama.
In 1989, we decided to move to the northeast, to be close to, but not directly in NYC. Kingston, 90 miles north of NYC became home (between the Hudson and the Catskills). Jan is a painter and sculptor, exhibiting in the US and internationally, and has a following. She sometimes “performs”. Her work is on the cover of several books. I maintain a small architectural practice, but also participated on NYC related projects when I worked for a firm, here. One of my current projects is a felt-making studio and another is a small arts center. Once in a blue moon, Jan and I will collaborate and currently have done so, with an installation at Unison Arts Center in New Paltz, NY.
Jan and I love to hike, especially in the Catskills, and always cook out when we’re on the trail. We have a lifetime of kitty rescues. Our current two are a handful…….one of them being part Bengal (and rescued from a Georgia swamp, during a hurricane, a year ago). We participate in animal rights efforts and this is many times embedded in Jan’s art.Strange but true tales & other minutiae:
OK, I’m writing this on 9-11-18, and exactly 17 years ago, I was arriving in NYC, in the morning on Amtrak (Penn Station), just as the first tower was
being hit. I almost didn’t make it home that evening. When trains were finally allowed to leave, I was able to get on the first one (totally packed), and sat next to a survivor from the north tower, who was able to help save lives. Other survivors were in deep shock and still covered with debris.
While on the topic of close calls, I was caught in a rip current in November 1971 on a remote beach near Ft. Lauderdale (and it took me way out). After treading water and floating for about 3 hours, the current eased and I finally made it back to shore, OK.
Also, survived a Grizzly attack in Canadian Rockies! (1975)
And, lived to tell about being on a plane coming back from the Caribbean that lost its wing flap control and had to make a semi emergency landing (with Jan in 1987).
Jan and I were chased by a Babushka (guard) in St. Petersburg in the Church of Spilled Blood……..(for not following the photo rules, and she was about to spill our blood).
In the 90’s, I was the project manager for the restoration of Fort Apache, the Bronx.
Jan worked on the Saturn rocket launcher (for NASA) and helped get to the moon.
I still have “family” in Mt. Airy. My sister, Jo Ann (class of ’62) is married to Charles Myers, so his sister, Sylvia Myers Chilton (class of ‘67) is a current Mt. Airy resident.
Spotted an Andy Griffith look alike the last time we were in Mt. Airy, at a gas station (after he had passed away)……It had to have been a cousin (or a ghost, pumping gas).
Jan is related to Winfield Scott (“Old Fuss and Feathers”).
We have a hopeless addiction to old “Perry Mason” episodes…..
I attended the Mt. Airy “premiere” of “No Time for Sergeants” at the Center Theater.
My Mother was tapped to be an extra in “Dirty Dancing” (but declined due to an unforeseen circumstance).
I am curating a major art exhibition (in Woodstock, NY) in association with the 50 year anniversary of the Woodstock Festival (summer of 2019).
I watched Martin Memorial Hospital burn (in 1953).
Jan and I took clog dancing lessons in Kentucky around 1982 (and were dismal at it!).
My DNA report says I’m 1% Native American!
And, part of my ancestry is: “we were kicked out of Spain in 1492”!………………………………………………………………………………………………………
