Doing The Zoo

There was almost a real zoo in my hometown. In early 1987, city leaders launched a campaign to build one with the slogan "Do The Zoo!" It seemed like a good idea to a ten-year-old: animals, and... animals. I didn't know where the menagerie would come from, but I was okay with putting them all in pens and going to visit them on occasion.

I don't know what else was going on in Shreveport in 1987, but this zoo business was huge. It was going to be big on somebody's ballot, and in Louisiana every year is an election year. There were posters, bumper stickers, and buttons. My entire fourth grade class had green T-shirts with yellow lettering proclaiming we were all in favor of "doing the zoo," as if twenty-something ten-year-olds were going to be the swing votes on the issue. We all wore them on the same day once, a show of solidarity. There was likely a group photo. We were all educated on how great a zoo would be for our local economy. It was a solid platform. We were sold!

The real mystery was how and where I actually acquired that shirt. I have no memory of going home to my parents and explaining to them the fiscal importance of bringing grizzly bears to the sweltering north Louisiana heat and putting them behind bars, though I assume it was my duty to share the message, having been brought to the front lines in the fight, dressed for zoo success.

My parents had taken us to the zoo in San Antonio a few years before the great campaign of 1987. We spend a long time laughing at a baby rhinoceros and later, my brother and I rode an elephant. Beyond that, we were not a "do stuff together" kind of family but I was smart enough to know that "doing the zoo" meant we might have the chance.

By May of 1987, school was out, my wearable propaganda was probably at the bottom of the laundry pile (where it likely had been for weeks), and voters had decided not to do the zoo. And it's a safe bet that I came to my senses about the whole spending time together plan. My brother and I would likely have ended up in a wolf enclosure, our parents so utterly exhausted by our bickering that they would have left us there to either become dinner or assimilate (the latter more likely as my brother and I were often uncivilized children).

No longer behaving like I was raised in a wolf pack, I'm a huge fan of zoos. I especially love when children get to "do the zoo," their eyes wide when they are truly amazed by magnificent creatures and nature's awesomeness. You just know they're not faking those "wow" moments when they come face to face with a giant hippo, only glass standing between them.

And I love the peaceful parts. Wandering through the Memphis Zoo today, there were many of those moments among the crowds, when I focused on the sounds of the singing birds, the gentle nudge of a giraffe reaching for the lettuce in my hand, the slippery skin of a stingray as it swims in a circle, and the smells of funnel cake and sugary snow cones.

I wonder if anyone brought up that stuff in 1987.

It does what it's supposed to do

There's an art installation waving high above the Edge District in Memphis, which, if you're not familiar, includes the infamous Sun Studio. You know... Elvis, Johnny Cash, Carl Perkins, Jerry Lee Lewis, the whole gang. What I did not know was that Marshall Avenue, running along the studio toward downtown, was once known as Automobile Row long before the Million Dollar Quartet taught America how to rock.

Picture it: Memphis. 1911: Ford Motor Company opens up shop amid more than half a dozen other dealerships hawking cars you've never heard of. (Shady Pines, Ma!)

But roll off the lots, they did! And by the time Thunderbirds and Pink Cadillacs roared onto the scene in the 1950s, colorful streamers flapping in the wind (like the ones on display ) were the popular soundtrack to customers signing on the dotted line (when they weren't listening to That's All Right or High School Confidential).

Today, the breeze had those pennants playing that old plastic tune up and down Marshall Avenue, shimmering in the sun as the final hours of winter wound down. They even look sort of like piano keys.

Artist Cat Pena is lady behind the banners. Her installation is called "There's More To Be Proud Of", which is a fitting considering the Edge District is literally on the edge of revitalization. And current business owners are happy to give a wink and a nudge to the past.

If I close my eyes, I can almost smell them, that tell-tale plastic scent. Even if my memories of retailers flying those colors proudly only reach back to the 80s, this high-flying piece of nostalgia does what it's supposed to do. It makes me remember. It makes me think about what I recall: a time when more than just car lots were looking for ways to make customers feel like they were stepping into something special... When something akin to a grass skirt was the grandfather of that obnoxious inflatable tube man dancing outside every cell phone store.

And if you walk down Marshall Avenue, you're definitely strolling through something special... an important part of Memphis, and, arguably, American history.

Eight realities, eight journeys

When I was first asked to participate in the 2017 Memphis Monologues, which is an annual benefit for Planned Parenthood Greater Memphis Region, I was hesitant. I wasn't sure what to expect. I knew women who had told their stories before, but don't think I've had that many eyeballs on my, listening intently, since Dr. LeMaster's speech class my freshman year of college. And I certainly wasn't taking that super seriously.

So I finally said yes. 

Weeks went by and I fussed and fretted over what story to tell, and whether anyone really wanted to hear what I had to say, a nagging doubt that creeps in every time I tap the keyboard. And I was convinced that the seven other storytellers would "out story" me by a long shot. I mean, who cares what Meg thinks?

In the end, I told the story of my reality for the past year: making life choices I did not want to make, uprooting my life and carrying it halfway down the country, saying goodbye to people and places I love, and coming "home" to friends and a city that were the same yet so very different. I pared that life experience down to six minutes when I could have rambled for an hour, then opened up the floor for questions!

I put it all on paper and took it to Amurica down on Cleveland Street (oh, the irony). If you've never been there (which I had not), the studio is probably best described as a mildly absurd, eclectic mix of American bits and pieces. Or, better said, the most fabulous venue for storytelling and more in Memphis!

It wasn't until the night finally arrived that I stopped saying "I", and started listening to those other seven voices talk about their journeys. Seven women whose realities and life experiences lift you up, break your heart, and humble you before their power.

Through the course of the evening, I met them all and stood in awe of their strength, character and commitment to themselves, their causes, and what is most important in their hearts.

Nothing but respect for Raquel, Brittney, Emily, Faith, Carolyn, Kayla, and Laura. Thank you, ladies, for making me laugh, tear up, and most importantly, think.

Compared to the rest of the world, I know that my experiences are not as bad as some, but perhaps worse than others.

We each live our truth, and what we choose to share with others should never be dismissed. I learned that about myself thanks to  the seven other journeys I was honored to be a part of last Thursday night.

I get by with a little help from my friends!