Ain't Going to Study That No More

In black dialect, the word "study" has a negative denotation, referring to an object or issue that should not be pondered. Perhaps the most popular use of this definition of the word is found in the old spiritual, "Ain't Going to Study War No More. But far from being an antiquated useage, "not studying" is commonly used in everyday language by many African-Americans in St. Louis. When people use the term, they are saying they refuse to be bothered by some annoying trait exhibited by others. The people who are most prone to "not study" the bad behavior of others usually have migrated from the South, specifically Mississippi or Arkansas.

Where Are All the Flowers From?

St. Louis' wholesale flower market is located on bustling LaSalle Street, one block south of Chouteau near the intersection of Jefferson. Here, in the early morning, drivers who work for florists retrieve orders that are transported throughout the area, to funerals and weddings and lovers.

Movie Marketing in the Ghetto

Abandoned buildings at intersections throughout North St. Louis have been plastered with movie posters for the current low-brow comedy "40 Year Old Virgin." The star of the feature film, Steve Cassel, is featured on the poster, smiling like a caucasian idiot savant.

Maffitt Mayhem

An after-school fracas broke out in the middle of Maffitt Avenue this afternoon near the corner of Sarah. From a distance, I could see a cluster of kids watching two others sparring. By the time we drew nearer, pandemonium had taken over. Kids were shouting, and laughing, and blocking traffic, while one frenetic youngster did a series of forward rolls across the asphalt.

For the Birds

The over-sized prefabricated out building, which has the shape of an old-fashioned barn roof, is overpopulated with winged residents. The pigeons that flock here can be seen from the Vandeventer overpass on Highway 40 (Interstate 64). The reason for congregating at this location is also visible. In the background are a series of towering grain elevators. Birds of a feather flock where there's food.

The End of Summer

Between successive heat waves, the respites of August arrive, harbingers of autumn. With the shortening of each day, the evenings cool down and there is both relief and longing for days gone by. The sycamore leaves are falling, falling.

Tribute to a Fallen Worker

A tiny white cross painted on the back of the parking meter marks the spot where he fell. Having worked the better for of his life, he died on the street doing his job. The spot where he had his heart attack on Spring Avenue near Forest Park Boulevard can be easily passed by without notice just as his passing was overlooked by the larger world. As Labor Day approaches, it is worth noting that every day countless anonymous workers sacrifice their lives while doing their job, their daily tasks never acknowledged as anything heroic.

For Goodness Sake

Black slang has a way of expressing the peculiar slant of people who live in the ghetto. One term that is popular now is "it's all good," a catch-all phrase that is used when events are anything but all good. "It's all good," for instance, might be trotted out when the landlord is clamoring for the rent or your paycheck is short a day or you just lost your last dollar on a lottery scratch off.

"It's all good."

Beauty for Sale

They are ubiquitous on the Northside, taking the place of old-time variety stores or five and dimes. In this case, however, they advertise themselves as the purveyors of beauty. Beauty supply stores, as they are called, hawk cosmetics, of course, but also carry a wide line of sundry merchandise, everything from pirated DVDs to identification holders.

Changing Cityscape

Slowly the city changes before our eyes. Houses topple, bridges fall, the old ways disappear, as if they never were.

In Rome, a modern subway stops across the street from the Colleisum, a tribute to the city's ancient past. But here fewer and fewer architecural reminders survive "economic redevelopment" and the urban planners' bulldozer mentality.

As people flee the core of the city for the outer suburbs, they have left their fading memories, too, of the forgotten places they once knew.

More often than not these changes limit rather than expand our world view, constricting our movements by implicitly proscribing old routes, pushing people into an ever-tightening grid.

For the cabbies, and the coppers and the nighthawks and all those who hold to the alternate ways in the city, these changes are sad passings.

A little-known road still snakes through the railyards east of Vandeventer and Tower Grove on the near Southside. It passes warehouses and factories, some shuttered. With the moon shining down on the silvery rails on a warm August night, the meandering path transports its solitary travelers through the industrial underbelly of the city. The route used to lead up to the intersection of Spring and Chouteau, but it is now a dead end due to the razing of the century-old Chouteau Avenue viaduct.

At the terminus of this new cul de sac, sit idle cranes and tractors amid the concrete ruins. When the new bridge is completed in a few years, I have no doubt that public access to the old way will be cut off.

The Place Where Giant Puppets Sleep

One block south of Forest Park Boulevard, near the corner of Spring and Clark, there is a non-descript warehouse that harbors the Fair St. Louis floats of the annual parade formerly associated with the secret Veiled Prophet organization. The Veiled Prophet has its orgins in the post-Civil War era, when two Southern businessmen who had moved to St. Louis, decided to create a celebration akin to the New Orleans Mardi Gras. Over the course of the next century, the pageant grew into a huge civic event that was marred by the exclusive nature of the organization, an organization dominated by wealthy, white males. Each year, the Veiled Prophet, whose legend revolves around an historic Middle Eastern potentate, is selected from among his elite peers who control power in St. Louis. The masked man then briefly oversees his mythic kingdom and a selection of a queen, a debutante who hails from the same social class. The ball that honors her is a private affair that created controversy during decades past. But the parade was always a suitable diversion for the masses, having been first staged in the wake of a general strike by immigrant workers in the 1870s.

Today, the giant puppets that festoon the annual parade floats sit comatose, with glazed eyes, in there little-known-about hideaway, waiting patiently to prance through the streets once again.

Arkansas Traveler Asks for Directions

The driver of the pickup truck, which bore Arkansas plates, ran his fingers through the hair on this chinny-chin-chin, pondering with awe the Gateway Arch in the distance while stopped in rush-hour traffic on Market Street downtown. Turning to an adjacent motorist, he asked which leg of the souring monument was accessible for he an his traveling companion to ascend.

Either one was the reply.