Signs of the Times: Losing My West Virginity

Confronting one's own prejudices is an odd task.  Realizing that the time was drawing near for me to board a plane to West Virginia (well two planes actually because there are no direct flights from California to West Virginia) to visit my sister's family, I wondered if I was ready for the seed spitting contests, the backwoods fashions, the roadkill cuisine, the hollers, the homemade haircuts, the inbreeding, the all-banjo orchestras, the bare feet, the fascinating (mis)use of the English language in that distinctly-Appalachian accent, the jugs of white lightning, the baby bottles filled with Mountain Dew, the fine layer of coal dust on every surface, the dental disasters, the necks of red, the readiness of firearms, the family feuds, and prejudice itself.  It seemed more than slightly hypocritical to be so terribly concerned with others' prejudices when I clearly had a laundry list of my very own.  I spent much of the flight considering what I had gotten myself into by going to West Virginia and wondering if the stereotypes would be justified.  Our pal, Deke, had done nothing to dispel my preconceived, if totally predicated on Hollywood depictions and cartoons, notions about West Virginia with his musical contribution to The Wild and Wonderful Whites of West Virginia, which I watched as mandatory viewing in my Daniel Day Lewis-esque preparation for the role of "Visitor" to their fair state.

Although they'd only been there two months, my sister rolled
up with freshly-minted, West Virginia license plates on her car.
"Wild & Wonderful?"  We'll see about that.
(Source)

Upon leaving the tiny airport in West Virginia's capitol city, I looked around and found immediate beauty; the verdure of the rolling hills was absolutely breathtaking.  Charmed by the southern homes (unlike anything in Southern California's architectural vernacular), with their deep porches, scalloped awnings, and shade trees, I was being taken in by a place that was in the country of my birth but felt so very foreign.  We drove over and back the broad rivers on bridges built by the WPA into landscapes I had never seen before.  We saw names of streets and buildings and towns that were unpronounceable to a tongue raised on secondary Spanish rather than Native American.  We saw so many wonderful signs - neon, engraved, hand-painted, light box, corrugated - that I was reminded of my own credo, "wacky tacky is where you find it."  Almost at once I thought to myself, "I kind of like it here" and in that instant (it doesn't take long), I knew I had lost my West Virginity!

To think that Mt. Hope could have existed with only a handful of partial department
 stores before Aide's "Complete Dept. Store" came along is truly beyond belief.
 Sadly, I think Mt. Hope is once again back in the dark days; Aide's is long gone.

It must be said that I can't stand the flavor of Coke (or any cola for that matter),
but there is something so delicious, refreshing, and fatigue relieving about
advertisements painted on the sides of buildings!

We met a nice husband and wife who remembered this
 building when it was first painted; henceforth, we referred
 to them only as "The OTT Couple."

I am fascinated by secret societies but even more
fascinated by old neon signs.  Add another entry
 into my "Neon by Day" file... 

There is something special about this not-so-special sign.
It has weathered many years on Mt. Hope's main drag and its
steadfastness has been rewarded; no one has ever thought to
 relieve it of duty...a good sign is a good sign.  

It seems like our world refuses to think
 in these shapes and colors anymore.

"Soggy Bottom," that is all.

I live in an area prone to wildfires but I can't

remember the last time I saw Smokey the Bear.

Again with the secret fraternal orders.
There aren't many qualifications one must have to become a Knight of Pythias,
 so it just tickles me that membership is basically guaranteed as long as one
 is not a drug-dealing, professional-gambling Communist.

I can appreciate his ambition, his sacrifice, and his desire to rise
 above a truly unfair lot in life...also his name is "Dick Pointer."

Lewisburg is a little "bougie," but it is
 also historic and quaint...and timely.

Double exposure?
Coca-Cola/Coca-Cola and Gray & Gray Druggists at the True Reformer Building

More Masonic neon

High-class, hillbilly jewelry.

Like the Hatfields & McCoys, this battle rages on.

Dogwood blossoms are always a welcome sight.

Signs that have seen better days are always a plus in my book.

Thanks again, Smokey!

My sis wondered how I even saw a sign painted on this building.
I knew it at once because on the very rare occasion that I drink a
soda pop I prefer it to be Nehi Peach.  We had one local retailer,
Galco's, who stocked it until California's rigid and over-zealous
restrictions against lead contamination banned the importation
of Nehi's glass bottles.  Aargh!!!

Wait a minute? Where are we?

Okay, so I won't be awarding this one a "World's Greatest Sign" mug at the
awards ceremony, but for a state synonymous with the hillbilly lifestyle,
this is one of the very few markers acknowledging West Virginian identity.

Small town theaters are great.
Small town theaters that are still operational are even better!

"Defunct dairy bar," three of the saddest
words in the English language.

I don't even know what The Snake Pit is/was but I was glad to have managed to snap the
 picture before they released the hounds; no sooner had I closed the car door than a couple
 of angry dogs came out to greet me.

A new sign paying homage to the old gets high marks in
our book for keeping with a time-honored tradition.

Familiar face, strange name...It took me a moment to remember that east
 of the old Mississippi, Carls' Jr. is "Hardee's."  Hardee har har!!!

While not technically a sign, I couldn't help but get a kick out of
 a graffito's washable work on the back of a panel truck - crude but fair.

10 WEST VIRGINIA REALITIES (from my perspective):

1. West Virginia has some wonderful signs - rusty, rustic, and sometimes rude, but wonderful.

2. There are more naturally red-headed people there than I have ever seen in all the years of my life combined.

3. Many people speak with an accent but the depth varies.  That said, the stronger the accent the more I love (and try to impersonate) it.

4. West Virginians like their food sweet (even the savory food is incredibly sweet).  It's like many years ago some jokester made his way to every restaurant and filled each salt shaker with sugar; the restaurants, getting no complaints, maintained the shenanigans and the world's oldest practical joke thrives as a culinary tradition.  I would almost believe that except that the sodium level in all the food is enough to bring on instant heart failure as well.

5.  West Virginia is THE smoking section!!!  I thought the "e-cig" was an uber-annoying trend but I'm almost ready to cheer the presence of nicotine-laden water vapor rather than traditional tobacco smoke. (note: I have plenty of friends who smoke but in over-regulated California the number of areas to do so has dwindled to the point where I am almost always treated to simply good, clean smog everywhere I go). 

6. In hillbilly territory, Wal-Mart is NOT the best place for viewing said specimens in their natural habitat. Super Wal-Mart is the go to spot for everyone in town so there is plenty of diversity (read: normal people).

7. Coal mining is still a common career path for West Virginians and coal trains are often seen chugging through the landscape.  If I had to choose, I think I'd prefer to work in a drift mine over a slope or shaft mine any day (yeah, I totally know the difference between mine styles).

8. Mountain Dew is a popular beverage.

As if we needed added incentive...

9. For every hillbilly stereotype that is proven true by a member of West Virginia society (let's be honest, it seems like the White's kin extend far beyond Boone County), there is an equal number of educated, hard-working, thoughtful people who are determined to make a difference in their community (I'm crossing my fingers that this doesn't sound too condescending).
10. The Whites scare me to death...and that's probably the way they like it.

Wild AND wonderful after all.

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

p.s. We have so much more coming from our wacky tacky West Virginia adventures; be sure and stay tuned for all of the fun.

Square Pegs: The Real L7!

If I told you to "Weave the Ring,"  would you know what to do or would you stand there, panic stricken, furtively glancing around the room hoping that someone close to you would understand the direction?  Dazed with fear, would you grasp desperately for the nearest basket-weaving materials as your trembling hands fumbled in a futile attempt to fashion a crude ring before you melted into a weeping mass of tears and humiliation?  If you would find yourself doing the latter, I would have been in your company - before Saturday night.

A strange and undeserved bit of luck befell my family as we enjoyed my birthday weekend in the California desert.  I love the desert of Southern California; it is breathtaking in its beauty and is magic in its ability to offer up some unexpected opportunities that are not to be had in more humid climes.  We were there but a few days, but the exciting sights, sounds, and senses we experienced were so varied and plentiful that the next few posts will be dedicated to our adventures.  But at wacky tacky, rule #6 is "When in the desert - Dessert First!"  So, here is the highlight of our desert vacation!

A room with a view - of gray skies and rain.

The weather was less than desirable when we arrived at our destination.  It was raining at home as we were preparing to leave and we were hoping that we would not take the inclement weather along.  Our hopes were dashed by the pouring, desert rain.  As we sat by the fire regrouping and determining how best to spend our rainy weekend, my brother got a call from his friend whose in-laws were participating in a local square dance.  All we had to hear was "square dance," and we were in the car and on our way before we even got the particulars.  Well, the last time I square danced was over 20 years ago in the music room of my elementary school to a record.  I have heard the terms "Right & Left Grand" and "Promenade," but to be perfectly frank, I didn't know my "Allemande Left" from my elbow.

Little did we know that this was the biggest square dance festival in the southwest;
couples and square dance groups came from all over to attend.
The picture above shows one of the two dance halls.

Ben, Erika, Mary & Mr. Tiny
You might be wondering, " Why, if you had no idea there would be a square
dance, Mr. Tiny, would you have taken square-dance-appropriate clothing?"
I tend to be a bit of an "over packer" so I have options should an occasion arise. 

We were not sure what to expect.  Would we be learning to dance?  Were we merely spectators?  The packed floor of expert dancers deftly twirling through the most-complicated of formations told us that we were far outclassed in the dance department and our lot was to spectate only.  Any disappointment was whisked away by the constant flash and flurry of endlessly-ruffled petticoats providing more entertainment than was deserved by the cost of admission - FREE!

Vendors were present and selling all the skirts and petticoats that a square dancer could need.

The waves of pure joy that crashed over me as we entered the main dance hall were so powerful that I spent the entire evening with a smile on my face and my camera at the ready.  

Petti-pants & Petticoat
I have seen vintage square dance dresses but the current
crop of square dance fashions have reached new heights -
in hemlines.  The prevailing trend is short skirts. 

The hall was a wacky tacky wonderland of crazy square dancing dresses.
Average looking seniors who normally wouldn't be caught dead at Hometown Buffet wearing these outrageous, and often homemade, frocks wore them without reservation at the dance.  Every person there was also highly decorated in badges and ribbons.  Because it is a social dance, square dance protocol dictates that dancers all wear name tags and badges indicating their dance group, their city, and state.

Hand-painted silhouettes of dancing couples, decorated
with miniature sombreros and boots, were adhered to every available surface.

Typically, I would call myself a bit of a purist; I expected (wanted) hillbilly fiddlers and a grizzled, old caller with straw in his mouth clapping out the beat.  What I got instead was a new generation of callers who called to pre-recorded tracks on their laptops.  The caller in a square dance directs all of the movement on the floor.  The neat thing about this aspect of the dance is that, while there are traditional progressions, there are limitless variations because the caller can call whatever movement he desires - and what the caller says, goes!  Standard square dance calls like "Bow to Your Corner" were heard but with new callers come new calls; our favorite calls of the night included "Merry-Go-Round," "Jump the Ocean," and "Acey-Deucey."

The callers rotated and the dance floor was relatively-full the entire evening.  There was one "young" caller in particular who had the entire floor packed.  In honor of Veteran's Day, he sang Neil Diamond's "Coming to America" while he was calling.  One would have thought that he was a rock star; it was apparent from the overheard whispers that he had more than one lady's heart doing a full "Do-Si-Do."

The star caller in action.

This lady is spun from the very fibers of wacky tacky.
I saw her across the crowded hall and forced Mary
to hunt her down so we could snap a photo.
You might notice that her badge reads "Boy."
In the square, it is of vital importance to know who is a
"boy" and who is a "girl."  Since the real girls almost always
 outnumber the boys, many women will dance the "boy" part.
 Some women were even switch hitters and wore badges that
 flipped to "boy" or "girl."  You may also notice the banner in
the background.  Square dancing is especially social and not
limited to couples; "Solo Corner" allows unaccompanied
 dancers to find a partner and join the square.

Speaking of couples, here are some of our favorite couples of the evening.

The first couple whom we asked to pose for a photo
was a bit confused but happy to oblige.

Lucky in love & dancin'!!!

This sweet woman wouldn't let us take her picture
without her husband because they "matched." 

We couldn't catch this couple off of the dance
floor, so we had to settle for an action shot!

A peek-a-boo view of her gold, lame´ petticoat.

I loved this couple.  Her butterfly-covered skirt coordinated with
the butterfly embroidered on the back yoke of his shirt.
It might sound absurd, but their outfits (when compared
to every other couple) were the most wearable for everyday.

My favorite for the best-dressed couple of the evening.
They say the devil's in the wacky tacky details
 and these two were wickedly wacky.
Somehow, I feel that they may have known Lawrence Welk personally.

It is fairly amazing to watch the sea of seniors respond with one accord to the caller.

Doesn't it look like fun?

As you are more than likely aware, it is my belief that there is an occasion for every cartoon and a cartoon for every occasion.  For some reason, however, blogger will not let me upload "Hillbilly Hare," an ideal Bugs Bunny cartoon that shows the true power of the caller, so follow the link and enjoy.

Now just so you leave this post fully informed, to "Weave the Ring" is, in essence, to "Right & Left Grand" without the right and left.  There you have it.

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny