Date: Wed, 28 May 1997 00:40:33 -0400 From: Charlie Ford Subject: The Folklife Festival of Seattle One of the things i have not had the chance to do so far on my trip is attend spring festivals which I dearly love. My first was this past weekend. Here is my trip report to you guys. if your ever in Seattle on Memorial Day Weekend, don't miss this event. it will be well worth your time. On Saturday I had the privilege of attending the Folklife Festival here in Seattle. It was a nice sunny day with a slight southern breeze blowing into the city. I left Michael Lewis's home at about 1:00 PM. I rode my bike since parking downtown would be almost impossible to find, and if I was lucky enough to find it, it would be so expensive I would have to finance it. I personally think that these parking people are some of the greediest on earth. I followed the municipal bike trail that runs across the river bridge from West Seattle along Spokane street. Not only is the trail in great shape, but the view of the city from this southern point is quite nice. The Seattle skyline is magnificent, it reflects itself in the waters of Puget Sound and reminds you of cities like New York or San Francisco although much cleaner, safer, and of course smaller. City skylines seem to carry a certain mysticism with them, we stand and stare and say "oh what a beautiful sight". It is only when we enter the city that we are confronted with all of the awful truths that dwell within; homelessness, poverty, crime, polution and the like. I am not an avid cyclist, most folks can see tell that by the inner tube looking bulge that runs around my mid-section. I do not own any skin tight cycling shorts, and in fact if I did I would probably have to jump off the top of the house to get into them. I am not exactly the slim trim body type. But I like to do it, and try to as often as I can, or when the spirit moves me. Actually I started cycling in the early 80's. A friend of mine had just bought a new Ross "Force One" mountain bike, which was one of the first fat tire bikes that Ross produced. Andy, my friend, didn't like it so he sold it to me at a greatly reduced price. Andy Bledsoe was the type that would buy something, pay thousands for it, lose interest, and then sell it for hundreds even though it was still virtually brand new. He was not only a great friend to have for the more common reasons, but needless to say, a great one to have when you were looking for a bargain. I started riding somewhat religiously and found that I enjoyed this sport. I rode everywhere I went for the first few months. I did bike treks across North Carolina, down the Outer Banks from Manteo to Moorehead City and took my bike with me everywhere I went. I had legs that looked like stumps. But eventually winter came and I lost some interest, mostly because of a new job and the cold weather. So goes the life of a person that enjoys food more than anything else. I regained my interest in the bicycle when the Olympics came to Atlanta. All you could hear on the news prior to the world coming to Atlanta, was how traffic would be awful and how the transit system, walking, or bicycle would be the only way to get anywhere on time. I tuned up the bike and started once again. And once again I found myself enjoying this mode of transport. During the games I rode all over the city, as did many other folks. We could get anywhere twice as fast as anyone driving a car, that is very pleasing to the cyclist, it is a sense of power. When I left on this journey around the country, the one thing I knew would be included in my gear list would be my bike. I found a great deal on a Specialized Rock Hopper, $50.00 at an Atlanta pawn shop, and this was going to serve as my dingy on my trip. If the bus broke I still had some transportation that would get me from point A to point B, and so on. So far it has served me very well and provided me with some adventurous entertainment. I would recommend to anyone trekking to carry a bike, and ride it whenever possible. Just a recommendation. West Seattle is like another city from the rest of Seattle. It sits across the river and is encamped by the mostly "blue collar" force of Seattle. The rent is lower, and the diversity, socially, culturally, and economically is greater. The middle working class lives in West Seattle. The people are friendly, cordial, but at the same time seem to have a rough edge to them. This section of the city is constantly growing, and so are the problems of gangs, crime, and Mostly you see the more popular races of black, white, and hispanic, but this area is seeing and influx of many Asians as well, such as Vietnamese, Japanese, and Chinese. Many of these folks are first generation immigrants, and though they don't speak the English language well, they all seem to be good folks, just trying to make a life for themselves. this influx is indicative of the fact that America is still building on the original concept of "America", after all how many of us come from immigrant families? I have always loved to talk with people, people from different backgrounds, hell for that matter I have just always loved to talk. I think I would attribute most of this to the fact that I was raised by a local politician. My Grandfather taught me at a young age that in order to get along one must communicate. He taught me that if we didn't talk to one another, we couldn't ever get anything done. In my years of working with gangs or non-profit groups of varied types, I have learned that communication is the key to keeping problems at a minimum. I carry this practice over to my daily life in order to learn as much as I can. I do this by meeting and talking with whoever I can whenever I can. I love to speak with different nationalities most of all. As an example: The other night on my way home from the festival, I was riding along the bridge that crosses from Seattle to west Seattle. I came upon three Vietnamese gentlemen fishing from the bridge. I stopped and started a conversation. One fellow looked to be about 25, another looked to be maybe 20, and another looked more like 55 or so. Neither of them spoke English that well so we all had to speak very slowly, which suited me just fine being from the south and having that type drawl. Come to find out, the older gentleman had fought for the South Vietnamese during the war. He had served as a battalion commander for the US/south Vietnamese forces and had served in one capacity or another since 1959. He told me that toward the end of the war he was shot four times, showing me the chest wounds, and had been taken POW. He was a POW for 8 years. I believe every word he said. This man had an air about him that was more strong than weak, more truth than lie. It was a privilege to meet him and offer my thanks and respect. Sort of fitting on Memorial Day come to think of it. Anyway..................... I arrived at Seattle Center, a large complex that lends its effort to maintaining and growing Seattle's art and cultural influences. The complex is laid out in about a five block area. It is anchored on one corner by 600 some foot tower called The Space Needle which was built for the Worlds Fair back a few years ago. The park has many concert halls and museums, a couple of amphitheaters and several grassy knolls on which one can lay down and rest the tired bones brought on by walking the festival grounds. The Folklife Festival, now in it's 26th year has grown to be the largest festival held by the city. Over 200,000 people were expected at this years gathering, and I think they all showed up, plus some. The festival is free, except of course for the food, drinks, and trinkets you buy from the entrepreneurial vendors that dot the market way. The music is totally free, the only thing you have to bring is your ears. I brought mine so I was ready for sounds. When I arrived I entered at the Space Needle. I was immediately greeted by the Cascades Bicycle Club "Bike Coral". An elderly gentleman, a volunteer, ask me if I would like to park my bike in the coral. He explained that it required a two dollar donation, and the coral would be attended until 8:00pm that evening. I gave my two dollars, locked up my bike and headed off into the maddening crowd. The first thing I noticed after entering was a group of latter day hippie wannabees dancing to the beat of drums, no guitars, just drums. Along the walkway where this event was happening were other wannabees selling bongs, pipes and stuff such as that. I sat down on the grass and started up a conversation with a couple of these kids. Come to find out, one of the guys was from Snellville Georgia, a city about five miles from Lithonia, where I have called home the past few years. We sat and spoke about things we both had in common, Georgia and the sunshine. They reveled in the fact that I, this old guy, knew what a bong was, and the fact that I was traveling the country in a VW bus to celebrate turning 40. When I told them I was searching for the beginning of wind they asked "what do you mean?". I explained that mid-life crisis can be rough on a person, and that one day they will also face it. one of them said, NO WAY Man!, I'm gonna stay young forever. I guess we all said that at one time. I told them that this reminded me of my high school days. But back then we were all called "freaks". Hippies had fizzled out, yippies had fizzled in and then died, so we were called freaks. In fact this whole setting reminded me of the Grand Funk Concert I attended in 1973. The whole place was filled to capacity with folks that had that far away blank stare in their eyes. Tie dye was the fashion of the day, and free love was still safe. What a great time to be alive. The only difference was that we celebrated life. We didn't wear black gothic drab, worship witchcraft, or wish for death to come upon us. We just loved to party, for party's sake. They said they knew exactly what I meant and that they were just making some money for the summer then they would go back and continue college back east. They explained that they had to "look like the Romans in order to sell to the Romans". I had to laugh. One was studying Political Science, and the other was a Business major. What a racket. The kids and I said our good-byes and I eased off into the crowd. I came on another venue. A crowd of people standing and listening to a group of drummers from Africa. The crowd changed faces just like the music did. They were comprised of mostly white yuppie types, most with small children. Some of the parents were dancing with their children and trying to help them keep reasonable time to the beat. This one little girl of no more than three was doing her best to entertain the crowd by herself. She was bouncing and swaying and keeping time to the rhythm of the ages, she had everyone in her locale looking and smiling. Kids, unpolluted by greed, or crime, or vengeance, or money, so precious are they to us, but we so often raise them up to be purveyors of all of the above. Going on into the park I came upon a bluegrass band, not on stage, they were just pickin and grinnin on the lawn. The folks playing were made up of three men and two women. They were of varied ages, and later I found out that none of them knew each other. There were two of the players that were wearing Rastafarian hair and playing fiddles like they were going out of style. Isn't it amazing how music seems to bring people together. I am always amazed at how folks gather and communicate with music, it is truly a common thread that we all share. That is as long as one lets it be that. I was getting a bit hungry so I found my way through the crowd and to the food court. I saw that Taco Del Mar had a booth set up and seeing as how I love their fish Burritos, I set my sights toward them as fast as I could. I purchased my codfish fare, stopped and bought me a Coca-cola to wash it down with and sat down on the lawn to devour it. What a meal! Good! and good for you. There is not much more pleasing than sitting on a lawn, in the sunshine, at a festival, to have some food, some drink, and do some people watching. After I finished my scrumptious meal I had to lay back and let my food settle. My Grandma started that habit in my life early on. She wouldn't let us go swimming for at least one after eating, and it was a requirement that we set on the front porch after each supper. Just the way things are done in south Georgia. I leaned back on my elbows and continue my "people watching", and having a great time doing it. I was supposed to meet a friend, Todd Phinney and some friends of his at the Charlotte Martin Theater at around 4:00 so I got on my feet and headed that way. I waded through crowd after crowd, all enjoying the festivities in their own way, whether dancing, playing, watching or singing, all were having a fine time. I finally made it to the theater, but Todd had not arrived yet. Or they had already arrived and thinking I had not arrived yet decided to go on in. I sat down in the sun and once again found myself people watching. Eventually Todd and his friends showed up. We all went into the theater and enjoyed some fine Northwest Native American dancing. the group on stage entertained us with dances from a culture that has for a long time been a favorite of mine. The Native Americans of our country have so much to teach us, but we most often don't seem to recognize or want the lessons. In recent years there has been a surge in learning more about this culture of people and their way of life. I was happy to be in the presence of such a noble clan. I especially enjoyed the Salmon dance. This dance depicted the celebration the people sent up to the Gods thanking the for the arrival of the Salmon, a mainstay in the native diet. I had to wonder how many of us thank whatever God we believe in for the food we receive, me included. After the show I broke away from Todd and the group and once again went my own way. I went over and listened to some more music, did some people watching, made some friends, and once again visited the Bohemian colony. I found they were still listening and dancing to the same drum beat as before. I decided it was time to head for home. It was already 11:00 PM and riding my bike at night is not especially pleasing to me, especially on the dark streets of West Seattle. After stopping and speaking with the Vietnamese fellows I told you about earlier, I made my way back to Mike's house where the Motherhip greeted me with a nice soft bed, some television, and a good nights rest. It was a fine day, and I found myself giving thanks to my God for letting me share it. I had seen Seattle's finest festival, and it was well worth the effort. Life was good in Seattle over Memorial Day Weekend, and I was proud to see the city at it's best. Thanks for tolerating my rambling's. Charlie Ford "79" Transporter, dressed for the road The Mothership The"Turning 40 Nostalgic VW Service Tour, and Search for the Beginning of Wind". http://www.armory.com/~y21cvb/charlie/charlie.html "Wider still and wider.....shall thy bounds be set"