In this issue: NYC-Chicago-Rochester, MN Next few days (suggestions welcome): Rochester, MN, to Black Hills/Mt.
Rushmore, South Dakota
Tamar and I have been looking for the appropriate title for our trip across America and back. I had started calling it "Tamar and Jer's Excellent Adventure" or alternatively, the "Journey in Search of America." I had settled on the latter until I found out that ABCNews and Peter Jennings were promoting some trip of the same name.
No matter what, our 'search for America' has commenced and is in full force and this attitude, that it is not so much destinations (though some are
important) as it is people, has fueled us to this point.
Just to bring you up to date (I am writing this in the Ellen R. Epstein Ford Explorer with a car lighter adapter for my Dell laptop-compliments of the Dell Computer corporation--I kid you not, they gave it to me), we are now on the road from Dubuque, Iowa to Rochester, Minnesota.
We just left the Bison farm of Gary Lenz, yes you read that correctly, the Bison farm, where we met his 2 year old, 1100 lbs., pet buffalo--Bogey, who enjoys Miller Lite beer (I have a picture of me pouring beer into Bogey's mouth).
In our search, we couldn’t have asked for more than to find Gary. He dropped out of high school after 9th grade, has traveled all over the world and the US, but decided to settle down about 2 miles from where he grew up.
He is involved in at least 10 different businesses and has done rather well for himself, but his attitude is simple, down to earth, common sense, and pure generosity.
We were not even planning on coming through Iowa (though now I find myself waving at kids on school buses throughout this state), but at the suggestion of some Bears fans in Chicago (if you remember the old Saturday Night Live skits about 'Da Bears', well then, these guys fit the bill to a tee-except for the fact that they were Orthodox Jews, but otherwise right there), we changed our plan to go through Madison, Wisconsin and come to Iowa instead.
>From Chicago, where we spent 2 glorious food-filled days with Tamar’s
extended family (including Aunt/Uncle, Sister/Brother-in-law, niece, and
Grandmother) as well as my 93 year old Great Great Aunt, we drove across the northern portion of Illinois (look for Rockford) and stopped in Galena, Illinois, which was the adult home (sort of) of President U.S. Grant (whose tomb is on 122nd and Riverside Dr. in NYC). Though we had certainly seen some farmland in parts of Ohio and Indiana, we didn’t really feel like the trip had begun in earnest until we left Chicago. Now, we are watching farmers harvest their fields, the land is flattening out around us, and the distances are feeling greater.
Chicago, in addition to being the place where we visited family, was also our staging point for the trip westward. Much like St. Louis was for Lewis and Clark (about whom the book Undaunted Courage by Stephen E. Ambrose is written and to which we have been listening while driving), Chicago was for us. It was the last place where we really knew anyone (aside from Rochster, MN where our connection to our hosts is a bit more loose); it was the last place where we could count on buying kosher food; it was probably the last place where we’d stay for more than one day. So, when we left Chicago, we were really ready to find America.
Now back to Gary Lenz. Gary is a customer of a man I met in Chicago, David Weinstock, at whose home I watched the Bears play the Packers. David told me that my proposed route through Madison and Wisconsin to Rochester, MN was stupid.
Illinois, he told me, was far more scenic (it was scenic) and Gary was “a trip.” And a trip he really was.
We arrived at the Buffalo Ridge Ranch around 1.30pm on Wednesday. Now, I’ve never been much of a beer drinker, not even when I lived in Germany, but that didn’t matter to Gary. After he pulled up in his mini-tractor, he went to a big soda vending machine, which he had converted into a beer dispenser.
A look at his recycling bin indicated that when it comes to beer, Gary does not joke around.
I thought I could get out of drinking too much beer by giving mine to Bogey (the pet buffalo), but that just became an excuse for Gary to give me another one.
Anyway, in between beers, Gary answered our numerous questions about the life of a bison (interchangeable with buffalo) farmer, the growth in popularity (leaner, less fatty, lower cholesterol), the price of the market (significantly higher than beef), why Buffalo survive the winter better than cattle (they face the wind and use their manes to break the wind, cattle turn their backs to the wind and thus freeze), and at what point they slaughter the buffalo (around 1200 lbs.).
Then, Gary took us to the neighboring Abbey called ‘Our Lady of the Mississippi’ (remember the Mississippi river goes all the way up to Minneapolis), where they make homemade caramel candy, and to the bar he owns called “Fisherman’s Wharf” in a small inlet off the River.
Now, in a bazillion years, we NEVER would have found this bar and if we had, I am not sure we would have gone in, but Gary is the BMOC and we sat and spoke with the local Iowans. One thing that pervaded the conversation, in my mind, was that plain, common-sensical approach to life for which Midwesterners are so well known. I was thinking about the Iowa caucuses and why it’s a good winnowing ground for would-be presidential candidates.
Everyone we met was Caucasian, so in that respect some would argue that they can’t be representative, but from the way they spoke, the Iowans just don’t have time or energy for bullsh*t. They approach things directly and expect direct answers.
For example, Gary stopped by the side of the road to ask a friend how much he wanted for a tractor he had for sale.
Gary: “What do you expect for it?”
Friend: “I’d like about $16000.”
Gary: “I know you’d like $16000, but what do you EXPECT for it?”
Friend: “If you’re serious, I’ll give it to you for $15000, but no lower.”
Business, and we saw more than one transaction discussed or conducted in our
2 hours with Gary, was not complicated. He knows everyone and everyone knows him. As Gary says, “I try to work hard and not screw the other guy.” That pretty much sums up his philosophy.
Gary kept handing me beers and I kept trying to not drink them (fortunately I had driven in the morning and Tamar was slated for the afternoon shift), and we eventually departed for the afternoon shift (we did leave him with some of Tamar’s banana-chocolate chip muffins) and began our way up the Mississippi River Valley across the corn fields and rolling hills of northeastern Iowa.
Now, of all of the things you would expect to see while driving through this part of the country, a kosher restaurant and kosher grocery store is not one of them, but that is exactly what you will find as you come along US Route
52 North and arrive in Postville, Iowa.
About 12 years ago, a bunch of Orthodox Jews from Brooklyn found out about an abandoned meat packing plan and brought a number of their community with them. This plant, Rubashkin’s, is apparently the largest kosher meat packing plant in the world and produces something like 80% of the kosher meat in America.
Beyond that, however, is how this little town of 1300 people has been transformed over the last ten years.
Now, there are 200 Jews there, and we’re talking about hard-core, black hat, Jews. What’s more, though, is that the town has doubled to 2600 people and now has representatives of 27 different nationalities, with a lot of immigrants having been attracted to the jobs in the meat packing industry.
Postville has become a poster town for multi-cultural America and will soon have a radio station that broadcasts in Spanish, Russian, English, and Hebrew. 25% of the students in the high school are minorities and 50% of the elementary students are minorities.
It’s just such cognitive dissonance. Here you are in the middle of Iowa and you see one town that is straight out of Brooklyn, from so many perspectives.
We spoke with the proprietor of the grocery store, Shulamith, who gave us a t-shirt and who told us that anti-Semitism had been rampant a few years back, when no one would sell her a building, which has since changed. This fact was mildly confirmed by the woman at the Tourist Information Office who told us that when the non-caucasians moved in, that some people couldn’t take it, so they left town. Since then, and this is confirmed by all parties, things have gotten much better, but no matter how you slice it, it’
s just weird.
Out here, as we are on the fringes of ‘big sky’ country and we move quickly through small towns of one or no stoplights, we think about the types of people who live here, what we share with them, and how we differ. Each person in his own way a part of the American experience.
I’ll tell you, though, compared to Lewis and Clark, we have it pretty darn good. While it took them a full day to move 20 miles (and that was on exceptionally good days), we cover that in 15 minutes. We have two cell phones, a laptop (alas, no wireless email though I tried, but in reality most of the time, we’re not going to have any cell coverage anyway), we have a driver’s seat chair massager (thanks Marianne for the wedding present), and a plethora of other devices (I synced my Palm Pilot @70mph the other
day) to keep us in touch and to keep us comfortable.
Nevertheless, we are seeing America as it is in October of 2002 and appreciating every moment, feeling nostalgia for a mythic frontier past of which we have no direct relation and a strange affinity for the people going about their daily lives, as we, the travelers who pass through just for a moment, watch them and try to learn something about them and ourselves as a result.
Most of all, I find myself most appreciative for this opportunity, for the chance to drive to California and back alone with my wife at this special time in our lives, to celebrate 18 months together, to prepare for our new lives in the DC area, and to think about our future together. This is marriage therapy of the greatest kind.
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