Lawrence Cemeteries: Oak HIll Cemetery

Posted on October 18, 2013 by jgriffin1750

“What are you doing today?”

“I’m going to walk around in cemeteries.”

“Be careful; people do all types of things in cemeteries.”

This conversation with my mom had me wondering if I should paint my nails black, put on some makeup, and don a ritual robe to fit in with all the people I might find at the cemetery engaging in bizarre and unnatural rituals that day. Am I listening to the right music? Should I put on a Cure album or something by The Sisters of Mercy when I drive into Oak Hill Cemetery so the throngs of miscreants reading Baudelaire and smoking clove cigarettes don’t eye me suspiciously?

No, just act natural. Be true to yourself, I thought. And I pulled into the cemetery with Donna Summer singing “MacArthur Park” on the stereo, driving through the winding, circular roads, until I found a spot to park that wasn’t blocking one of the lanes.

Before I was struck by the beautiful, sloping hills, trees, and varied burial markers, I couldn’t help but notice that the cemetery was only occupied by a groundskeeper, someone jogging, and a woman on a yoga mat with her dog. No strange professors with shifty eyes dressed in Victorian suits lurking amongst the graves with hunchbacked assistants, no covens of witches chanting and drinking blood, nothing like that. What a let down! Or, perhaps a relief. You can’t be too careful these days.

For instance, there may be crazed, deranged history buffs who frequent Oak Hill Cemetery to see the graves of famous Lawrence residents like Lucy Hobbs Taylor, who was the first woman dentist in Kansas; or poet Langston Hughes’s grandparents; or the Quantrill Raid Monument, which memorializes those who lost their lives in the raid on Lawrence, who were the reason why this cemetery was built in the first place, because their first burial ground, Pioneer Cemetery, was too far from town, inaccessible, and difficult to upkeep. Historians and history buffs are a strange lot, perhaps even moreso than librarians or archivists, and you never know what they’re capable of. Especially in a cemetery.

But if you dare walk in Oak Hill Cemetery, the following is some of what you might see:

Lawrence Cemeteries: Haskell Children’s Cemetery

Posted on October 16, 2013 by jgriffin1750

Haskell Indian Nations University opened in 1884 as a boarding school for Native Americans. Due to poor conditions, many of those in attendance died and were buried at the southeast end of campus.

There is a marker just outside the cemetery that reads: “The Haskell Cemetery has approximately 100 students buried here. The child’s name, tribal affiliation, date of birth and death are engraved on their headstones. Some causes of death were listed as consumption (Tuberculosis), pneumonia, accidental death, typhoid-malaria, heart and kidney problems. The earliest burial was 1885 and the last burial was 1943. Please, be respectful of the offerings left on the headstones.”

Legend has it that the cemetery at Haskell is haunted, that you can hear the children buried there cry after dark.

As for me, I went during the day.

Beneath a Kansas Sky

Posted on September 30, 2013 by jgriffin1750

Kansas has a beautiful sky. I’m sure I’ve known this for some time, but it’s easy to lose your appreciation of where you live if you’ve lived in the same place long enough. Everything starts to look the same, like watching the same reruns on TV everyday. You pass by the same buildings, see the same people doing the same things same as they always do, make the same small talk about the same old stuff that matters for some reason you’ve long forgotten, have the same beer at the same bar you always go to, and do the same things day to day same as usual, always waiting for the same Godot, until you just wonder what the point of it all is and wish you could move somewhere just for a change of scenery if nothing else. But then you look at the sky.

I don’t know how, but the sky makes everything look beautiful. It’s one of the things I’ll always love about Kansas.

What It’s Like Being Stranded in Your Hometown

Posted on September 7, 2013 by jgriffin1750

9 am. Sitting on the foot-tall brick wall outside my apartment. The last full cigarette I had was at 1:30 am just before getting locked out. The locksmith’s on his way.

The things you think about at times like this. A shower, for instance. Sleeping in a bed. The weather. It’s not hot out yet. A locked apartment. The coffee I put on is probably no good after 7.5 hours. A coffee sounds great, just not that one. The events leading up to this moment in time. An alley in Goussainville. The people who help you out. Roughly in that order.

The only thing on your mind just after getting locked out of your apartment is getting back into your apartment. Who do I know that lives near me? A couple of people, but I don’t know exactly where. Jamie just moved to . . . I forget. Jennifer’s place on Tennessee is within walking distance, but which building was it again? How do I know so many people and not know where they live? Maybe I could make it down to Harbour Lights before they close? Probably not. The Kwik Shop on 9th and Mississippi is just down the street and is open 24 hours. I’m sure I could use the phone. Get ahold of a locksmith.

Nothing. Now what? Oh yeah, Frank lives nearby. I know where. I’ll walk there. Lights are off. I could knock on the door anyway. No, there are kids in the house. Probably a bad idea.

Maybe the police station? Why not walk down there? Apparently, there are people hanging out on Mass. St. at all hours of the night (on a Wednesday? what are they doing?), but the police station is closed. Not sure what the police could have done for me anyway. My wallet and ID are inside my apartment. How could I prove I live there?

Back up 9th. People walk their dogs in Lawrence, KS at four in the morning, I guess. The things you learn. I find a couple of wires near some street work. Everyone in the world can rest easier knowing that I cannot pick a lock to save my life. It looks so easy in the movies. You even try wiggling the doorknob hoping that it will fall off or come unlocked if you keep at it. Finding out this doesn’t work, you realize that you’re locked out for the night. And resign yourself to it.

You roll up the doormat to use as a pillow and sleep on your balcony. The night’s still hot with that awful Kansas humidity that takes everything out of you. You get some sleep (maybe 1.5 hours?) and wake up freezing. It’s probably 5:30 or 6 am, before sunrise. You switch out your doormat pillow for a shoe pillow and use the doormat as a blanket to stay warm. You manage maybe an hour more of sleep to be wakened by the bizarre screeching of some animal (perhaps some angry squirrel?) and simultaneously by a hungry mosquito that has bitten your left arm three times, aiming for the vein, and then got the knuckle, apparently wanting to shake hands and be friendly.

At this point, you arise to greet the sun, scrounging around in your ash tray for mostly smoked cigarettes that may have a few drags left on them and manage to find a few. At least you still have your lighter on you.

Frank just got new office space downtown on Vermont. What time does he get in? Not sure, but, without a better idea, you decide to go down there and find out. There’s little foot traffic at this hour, but cars have taken over the streets. Some cars have personality. Everyone knows their own. But when people are rushing to work or to take their kids to school, all of them seem the same somehow.

“Is Frank here?” “No, not yet.” “Do you know what time he gets in?” His coworker Jeff texts Frank, who replies shortly that he probably won’t be in until around ten. I explain the situation. Jeff does a search on the internet for a locksmith. Lets me use his phone. I try Reuschoff. No luck. I do a quick search on Jeff’s phone. Find a 24-hour service. Everything’s set. The locksmith will be at my apartment in an hour. I thank Jeff and head back home after having three or four glasses of water. After nothing to drink for eight hours and walking for miles in the humid night, water is the best thing in the world.

It’s not until you know the problem’s resolved that your mind can finally relax and wander and think about Goussainville. The last time you were in Paris. Took the wrong train in the Metro. Locked out of Paris for the night. Stranded in Goussainville. No hotel near the station. Almost had to sleep in an alley. Two seedy-looking Frenchmen walked by and asked for a cigarette. I gave them one, happy they didn’t take my suitcase as well. The Metro had closed just after I stepped off the train.

I remember hearing trains still going and went back to the station to double check. A Metro worker was just ending his shift. He asked me if I needed help. I said I did. He offered to drive me to a hotel for fifty francs to cover gas. I accepted his offer. He took me to a nearby hotel, spoke to the front desk, helped me get checked in, and told me how to get back to the station in the morning. The next day, I found the hostel. It was a two-minute walk from the Louvre. Miles away from the suburbs. And much more beautiful. I wouldn’t say Goussainville is ghastly, but it’s not much to look at.

In travel or at home, it’s the people who help you out along the way you never forget. At times, you think of them and hope they’re doing well. It’s the hotel and the locksmith you’ll forget about after a while. But, either way, after a night like this, there’s nothing better than taking a nice, long shower and sleeping in a bed.

Quantrill’s Raid Sesquicentennial

Posted on August 21, 2013 by jgriffin1750

August 21, 2013.

I don’t normally read the newspaper, but today’s headlines caught my attention.

Realizing that I’d missed the re-enactment on Twitter earlier in the day (#QR1863) of Quantrill’s raid, I decided to finally go on the historic sites scavenger hunt outlined in this flyer I’d picked up at Watkins Community Museum of History a few weeks ago.

1. The Miller Home:

As stated in the pamphlet, this house marked the first point of attack in the raid.

2. Plaque on New Hampshire:

Now the site of a parking garage, in 1863 this was the site of an encampment of recruits that was attacked by the raiders.

3. Eldridge House:

The Eldridge was one of the raiders’ primary targets. It was a headquarters for the Kansas abolitionist/free-state movement. Room 506 has a cornerstone from the original hotel and is reported to be haunted.

4. Griswold House:

This marker is at the entrance of an alley, between Louisiana and Indiana Streets, in a particularly beautiful part of Lawrence. It reads, “Here Griswold, Baker, Thorp, and Trask were shot Aug. 21, 1863.”

5. Bell House:

Until recently, a friend of mine was living in this house. I didn’t realize it was significant to Quantrill’s raid until today, but it’s gorgeous on the inside with a simple design. This was the home of county clerk Captain George W. Bell, who, in 1863, was killed while rushing to the city’s aid.

6. Plaque on Vermont:

On Vermont St. between 7th and 8th. A church stood here at one time, where the bodies of the slain were taken after the raid.

7. Pioneer Cemetery:

Located on the west campus of The University of Kansas, Pioneer Cemetery was the original burial ground of those killed in Quantrill’s raid. Later, most would be moved to the Oak Hill Cemetery.

8. Oak Hill Cemetery:

This monument reads: “Dedicated to the memory of the one hundred and fifty citizens who defenseless fell victims to the inhuman ferocity of border guerrillas led by the infamous Quantrell in his raid upon Lawrence. Aug 21, 1863.”

Lawrence by Instalight

Posted on June 29, 2013 by jgriffin1750

I enjoy romantic walks under the moonlight as much as anyone, but being distinctively single, I’ve been going for walks alone, perhaps hoping for a random encounter with a beautiful woman. Here are some photos I’ve taken along the way, all made pretty via Instagram.

A view of 10th and Mass from the top of the parking garage downtown. Later there will be a drunken mob wandering about, looking for love. Perhaps they’ll find it under the tarps at The Replay (in the foreground).

Liberty Hall–temple of the film nerds. Seriously, the Film Church series is super-cool. It’s too bad I have to work on Sundays right now.

La Prima Taza. Next door to Liberty Hall and Free State Brewing Company. You can sit outside and enjoy the view of Starbucks across the street.

A bicyclist in front of The Bottleneck. Maybe he’s on his way to meet his girlfriend for a game of pool. I don’t go to The Bottleneck much anymore, but there were some great bands that came through in the ’90’s.

A silhouette of a trumpet player outside of The Jazzhaus. Looks like he’s playing the blues because of a broken heart. His woman probably did him wrong. But you know how Jazz musicians are. She had an excuse.

Harbour Lights. If I could get paid for sitting in a bar drinking beer, I’d be making a good living right now because of this place.

Kansas on Dwellable

It’s a Disaster!

Posted on June 17, 2013 by jgriffin1750

I sat down to write about the present state of politics in Kansas and ended up watching some disaster movies from the 1970’s instead.

THE TOWERING INFERNO (1974)

Paul Newman plays an architect who has designed the tallest building on earth. Shortly after the dedication ceremony, he discovers that his electrician managed to save several millions of dollars by using cheap wiring. Cutting costs on necessary things just doesn’t pay, however. An electrical fire breaks out, sending the skyscraper up in flames, trapping the mayor of San Fransisco, a senator, and three hundred other bigwigs on the top floor. It’s a good thing Steve McQueen’s Fire Chief had a proper education or he might not have known what to do.

THE POSEIDON ADVENTURE (1972)

Several people on an ocean liner are in for the ride of their lives when the ship capsizes after being hit by a massive wave. Only six passengers survive, thanks to a renegade priest played by Gene Hackman who does everything he can to lead them to safety. The debacle could have been averted if the ship’s company representative had heeded the captain’s warning to take on additional ballast for stabilization instead of ordering a full speed ahead. But no corporate representative likes to be questioned, no matter what the consequences.

AIRPORT (1970)

AIRPORT is less a disaster movie than the progenitor of disaster movies, setting the stage for the genre which, in the ’70’s, saw its peak in the two previously mentioned films. In the midst of several embroiled love affairs, a detainment of a stowaway, struggles with bureaucratic management, disenfranchised spouses, a snowstorm, and a plane stuck in the snow blocking a runway, a maniac walks onto a plane with an attaché case containing a bomb. He then proceeds to blow a hole in the side of the plane, thereby threatening the lives of all the other passengers and creating a challenge for pilot Dean Martin, who must then steer the vessel to safety. Airport security measures, aparently, were quite different in 1970 than they are now.

So I watched movies all day instead of writing about Kansas politics; what else would you expect from a film major? If you want to know more about Kansas politics, I’d suggest reading this article from ROLLING STONE.

14 ways the apocalypse could start in Lawrence, KS

Posted on June 4, 2013 by jgriffin1750

Thinking about the TV show SUPERNATURAL and its apocalyptic vision. The two central characters are born in Lawrence, KS because of its proximity to Stull cemetery, rumored to be a gateway to Hell. In the series, Lawrence bears little resemblance to the real Lawrence, KS, and Stull cemetery looks nothing like it does in real life. But the basis of the show seems plausible enough. So I’ve come up with a list of scenarios Lawrence could be the basis for.

Ways the apocalypse could start in Lawrence, KS:

1. An infected monkey with the mark of the devil has drinks at The Replay.

2. A brick falls from the top floor of the Eldridge, knocking out a bearded singer of a local band. He is taken to Lawrence Memorial Hospital. The brick jars loose psychic powers that threaten existence as we know it.

3. A horde of demons manifest at The Bourgeois Pig. Fueled by nihilistic philosophy and Moscow Mules, all hell breaks loose.

4. An anthropology professor discovers that the Jawhawk is an ancient symbol of the Otherworld. The Jayhawk, when combined with the consumption of alcohol, produces rambunctious behavior in the locals with one inevitable cataclysmic outcome. Apocalypse!

5. A rabid rodent bites a homeless man camping out underneath the bridge. The man runs amok downtown, inciting a real-life Zombie Walk.

6. An attractive KU student is hit by a car while crossing Mass. St. The interesting bracelet she bought from the Antique Mall breaks open on the pavement and unleashes the dead upon the earth.

7. A dark spiritual cloud looms above Lawrence. Something like the climax to GHOSTBUSTERS happens at The Oread.

8. Native legends are always great for apocalyptic visions. The wetlands outside Haskell are paved over by developers. Think POLTERGEIST, only worldwide.

9. The OZUFO people are really space aliens, diverting from the fact by stating an interest in UFOs. Their plan is an apocalypse.

10. The witches at The Village Witch mess up a spell. Result: apocalypse!

11. One of the poets at The Red Tail Readings held at The Gaslight makes the mistake of reading a poem by e.e.cummings backward. This happens to unleash evil spirits all over the world.

12. In the basement of Liberty Hall is written a prophecy . . . of apocalypse.

13. Local burlesque act Foxy by Proxy puts on a show which causes the devil to leave Stull cemetery unattended so as to attend their show. The hordes of hell decide the time is right for an apocalypse.

14. A tattoo of the state of Kansas turns out to be able to predict the future and that future is apocalypse.

Lawrence People: Curt Yazza

Posted on May 23, 2013 by jgriffin1750

Curt Yazza is a line cook at the ever-popular 715. I’d probably eat there more often if I didn’t spend so much money on beer at Harbour Lights, escpecially after talking with Curt about the restaurant and what it’s like to work there.

Curt Yazza’s always got something cooking at 715.

Joseph Griffin: How does your day at 715 start?

Curt Yazza: I usually get to the restaurant around 9, clock in, scope everything out in the kitchen, make sure everything’s in place, turn on the oven, the pizza ovens, get the water flowing in the pasta drop, turn on the oven that’s underneath our range, kick on the salamander, turn on the fryer, turn on the panini presses, open up our cold tables, set up our steam wells that hold our pork balls, lamb balls, cauliflower soup, split pea soup, and other miscellaneous items. Once the kitchen’s good and ready I go downstairs, change, get into my uniform, get all the pots that I need, the third pans, the six pans, utensils, bowls and pretty much whatever we need on the line and take that up, get that squared away, get all the lamb balls and pork balls going and the soups going, go back downstairs, start prepping our quiche–and that takes a little bit–go back upstairs and start doing finer detail. If we need more stuff on a cold table, make a list, go downstairs and get what we need, and go back upstairs and start prepping. By that time it’s usually about 10, maybe a little before 10. Start going and figure out what specials you’re going to run for the day on a sandwich station, what specials you’re going to do for a sautee station, what specials you’re going to run for a pizza and grill station. Service begins at 11 o’clock. And, usually, by 11 there’s people waiting outside.

JG: Do you work a lot of 12 and 13 hour shifts?

CY: I work two doubles a week. Monday and Tuesday. Come in at 9 and usually leave about 9:30 or 10 o’clock in the evening. Doubles are pretty rough.

JG: What are some things you like to do when you’re not on the shift?

CY: On my days off I like to ride my fixed-gear bike on long-stretch rides. I also like to cook in my free time. It’s more like in-depth cooking where you actually go in and prepare your own bread. I make my own pasta. I make my own soups and everything’s from scratch just like in the kitchen I work in. Nothing in that kitchen comes in a bag or is pre-made. Everything’s made from scratch in that kitchen and that’s a really good point. It builds a really good work ethic. Makes you a better cook.

JG: How did you get into cooking? Was it something you always wanted to do or something you just stumbled into?

CY: When I was younger, I would watch cooking shows on PBS, and I started messing around in the kitchen. Then I went to college, dropped out, played in a bunch of bands, toured for a little bit. Went back to college, dropped out a second time, joined more bands. I play drums. Tried to fuck around on other instruments but I felt percussion was the most interesting. And maybe five or six years ago when I came out to Lawrence from Arizona, I got a gig through Jimmy John’s, delivering. And when we weren’t delivering, we would help out on line making sandwiches. It’s only making sandwiches but then at the same time it rekindled this cooking aspect in my mind. So after working at Jimmy John’s for about maybe six months I got a gig working at Jefferson’s.

JG: Making oysters?

CY: Oysters, yeah. Burgers, fried food, did that for, I think, six months. Then from Jefferson’s I got a gig over at Dempsey’s, and that was when they revamped their menu and they had the old sous chef from 715 take charge of the kitchen. We made all of our own sauces: ketchups, mustards, three different aiolis. We prepped our own salmon for salmon burgers. I started working with an actual grill, and kitchen etiquette came in to play in a big way. A lot of communication skills. That kitchen is fucking small as shit.

JG: At Dempsey’s?

CY: Yeah, at Dempsey’s. Three people is pretty much max that can work in that kitchen. Four’s pushing it. So, after Dempsey’s, I talked to the old sous–his name’s Matt Lawson–and he’s currently cooking in Saudi Arabia. He’s over there making bank and cooking all this crazy, awesome shit. He got me a gig over at 715 doing prep on the weekends. So for about three months, I was working seven days a week–five at Dempsey’s and prepping on the weekends at 715. Then I transitioned over to 715. Started doing more prep work, worked my way up on to the line and I’ve been there ever since. It’s been about a year–maybe a little over a-year-and-a-half–that I’ve been at 715 Restaurant. I was at Dempsey’s for about a year. And here I am now.

JG: How do you think 715 compares to some of the other places you’ve worked?

CY: There’s no comparison. 715 Restaurant is fucking awesome. The amount of work and effort that’s put into each individual dish that comes off that line is far more substantial than anywhere else that I’ve worked and all the other kitchens. It feels good to be able to work in a restaurant, in a kitchen of that calibre.

JG: 715 is a popular restaurant in Lawrence. What do you think makes it so popular?

CY: I would have to say the food. The food is where it’s at. There’s also the atmosphere. High ceilings. It’s kind of dark. No TVs, which is awesome. We don’t have any taps, like beers on tap there. Everything’s just straightfoward. The service is really good. Also the open kitchen is pretty fuckin’ rad. At first it took me a while–probably took me about a week, maybe a week and a half–to get used to walking up on the line and having all these people watching you, watching you cook, really checking you out. But it’s pretty awesome. You get going and you tend to forget about it. You do what you have to do, do what you love to do, and just cook.

JG: I was going to ask you what it’s like cooking in the open kitchen, if you get nervous with customers watching you do your job.

CY: There are some times when people sit at the chef’s table, which is six seats right in front of the kitchen. It’s probably a two foot distance from the kitchen to where they’re sitting. From time to time that still weirds me out. There’s people that come and just hang out and some ask questions and a lot of them, most of them just watch, you know, like wide-eyed; “Oh, it’s like a show! Whoa!” Like it’s cooking theatre or something.

JG: On a busy night, how do you stay on top of things and keep track of it all?

CY: Usually when it gets really busy, it’s up to the expediter to sort everything out, call out what’s next, what’s coming up, on this ticket we need this, we need that, where is everything. He’s pretty much the traffic conductor that funnels all the traffic out, all the food out on time. And when I’m working on the grill or on the pizza station, I try to get everything out on time in order to fulfill each order, each ticket that’s called out. It’s pretty strenuous, pretty tedious, working expo station. But it’s great. It’s a lot of stress, and once you get done with it and the rush is over, you’re just like, “Fuckin’ sweet! Nothing really failed, nothing blew up.”

Duck Pillow. 5.11.2013. 2:28 a.m.

Posted on May 14, 2013 by jgriffin1750

I want to name this duck pillow, I do, but I can’t because it’s not mine to name. It belongs to Kelly’s friend and is hers. A duck pillow like this must have a story behind it, and I want to know that story, I do, but I can’t because it belongs solely to the nameless duck pillow and will only be revealed if the duck pillow so chooses to reveal it.

We all have such stories, I feel, and can either choose to remain reticent or share them.

A string of events lead me to this duck pillow. A walk down Mass. St on arguably the nicest day of the year at that point.

Beers with friends at Harbour Lights and then Frank’s North Star Tavern for the Andy Stowers benefit, where Jamie played pool.

I went home around 9:30 p.m. and was just going to call it a night until the German entry to Eurovision, “Glorious,” by Cascada, got me in the mood to go dancing. Went to The Taproom and then The Replay, where things were getting crazy.

Then the duck pillow. It is what it is, just like Lawrence, KS.

So there you have it: drinking, dancing, and a duck pillow. Sounds a bit like a traditional blessing: “May your day be filled with drinking, dancing, and a duck pillow!” It’s another way of saying “May life be good to you.”

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