If you draw a 250-mile circle around Kansas City, the choices of major metropolitan areas to visit on a leisurely road trip are slim – St.Louis, Omaha, Tulsa. There are plenty of small towns within reasonable distance worth a visit but not warranting a special trip.
I had Tulsa, OK in my sights for a long time but every time I inquired about it, hardly any answers didn’t include some combination of a word “-hole”. It was time to discover Tulsa for myself, so over a long weekend I booked a 3.5 star hotel (the highest level available on priceline) in downtown Tulsa and after detours to Iola, Coffeyville and Chanute we finally crossed the border into Oklahoma. Before leaving I thoroughly checked my wardrobe – the shirt with some Arkansas sport team was out just in case, and my Larry the Cable Guy and Toby Keith t-shirts were in. I also practiced my best Oklahoman accent in front of the mirror to unsatisfactory results.
Some things about Tulsa turned out to be true, there was hardly anything to do there on a Saturday night. There was a concert in Cain’s Ballroom, but the line to get in was so long that only an ABBA reunion would make me consider standing in it. Two football teams from Oklahoma were playing on TV. Everything else was more or less dead. I know, I know – I just didn’t know where to look, but maybe I shouldn’t be expected to look so hard. Eventually we found some guy singing and playing guitar at the Gypsy – a hipster yet pleasant hangout not too far from Cain’s, maybe just a bit farther than the end of the line to the concert. We stayed there for over two hours and my kid enjoyed every minute of it, while I didn’t feel my usual for this type of place urge to kill myself, even as the performer switched from guitar to sitar(!).
We visited some Tulsa landmarks; drove around hunting for the best view of downtown skyline; ate some of the best hamburgers ever, served without pretense and reasonably priced; checked out parts of Route 66; and overall had a good time. So if you are itching for some weekend travel, Tulsa is not a bad place to visit, there is plenty to see and maybe even something to do.
Tulsa has a great-looking downtown famous for its Art Deco architecture (view from our hotel):
Starting with this post and continuing here, I promise this is the last one using the set of photos from 1938 Kansas City. There are many reasons why I do this, but the main two are: I enjoy it and I feel like somewhat of an explorer, possibly drawing attention to the photos that haven’t been seen for many years if ever. Any old photos of this quality are fun to browse through but I especially enjoy finding the ones related to this area or to my previous life in the USSR. You may find all my previous photo-posts here.
Just like the previous batch, this one ends with some vintage NSFW, not that I am trying to compete with TKC, but the fact that a Life Magazine photographer even submitted these in the end of the 1930’s is in itself amusing. Interestingly enough, this is not a unique occurrence in the Life Photo Archives, I had few more shared in my post about the Persephone.
All the photos are linked to the larger images, feel free to click and look at the detail.
Last year I wrote about the day I was drafted in the military. I tried to convey the atmosphere of that day, the feeling of getting into something scary and unknown, leaving one’s home and family, and realizing that there is no way back after one crosses the gate. Yesterday, when the photos of a modern day military draft in Ukraine went around the Internet, I realized that besides the new uniform not much has changed since the day when I showed up at the draft processing location.
The military didn’t allow to keep the civilian clothes, so whatever possessions we had were either thrown away or taken by older soldiers who were allowed to bend the rules a little. I thought I was being clever when I showed up with a short but not bald haircut, like some of the recruits on this photo. Clever wasn’t one of the desired qualities in the military, so I was told to cut my hair again.
Here we see a group of “fresh meat” and a group of soldiers already processed. Typical barracks on the left.
I never looked this good, nor was I ever a fan of walking around naked around people I don’t know. When I was taking my pre-draft medical test, I was lined up together with 5 or 6 more recruits in front of the table with several doctors; we were told to drop our pants down all at once. I guess they were trying to see that all of us had correct equipment down there, they were sitting a few yards away and couldn’t have possibly determined anything else. The arrow-sign on the wall says “doctor”.
In this shot the recruits are united with their new long underwear. In summer it was usually blue boxers and who-knows-what-color tank top. Winter season came with long underpants and long-sleeve undershirt. Every week at the showers the dirty underwear was taken away and the clean underwear was brought in a big stack. If you were slow you’d end up with a wrong size underwear for the whole week or even worse – see the streaks from the previous owner.
Somewhere along the way they were issued a piece of soap.
Now on to the uniform.
Boots are a definite improvement from what I had to wear.
Hats stayed the same but there is mo emblem on the front.
Last look at the old life.
And now all ready to go. I have no idea what’s in these boxes.
What stands out in all these images is a scared look in these kids’ eyes. Some things never change.
I was going to write a reply to the discussion about the Jews and Christmas trees, but then I thought that there is no point in doing so: everyone who wants a tree in their house probably will have one, and all others will probably find a reason why they won’t. My only contribution is that you haven’t lived until you smelled a real pine tree inside your house. Just call it a winter tree, New Year’s Tree or a wreath and bring one into your living room.
During the first half of my life, we always had a tree for the New Year holiday. My Jewish Father, who spent a part of his childhood in the ghetto, made sure to find the biggest tree to fit through the door. Having a tree doesn’t make you any less Jewish, and, for certain, it doesn’t reduce the amount of antisemitism directed at you. Not the “someone looked at me funny” antisemitism, but a real, hardcore, state-sponsored harassment.
The tree of my childhood wasn’t associated with anything religious (definitely not for me), but it still had lights, presents and a five-point red star on top.
I used to be better at remembering useless dates, I blame the atrophy of my memory on the iPhone. It’s the iPhone’s fault that I am posting this photo three days late. Vladimir Illyich Lenin died on January 21,1924.
