David Michael Burrow

University of Southern Mississippi (1991-1992)

David Burrow and friends on the balcony
of the Royal Cafe in New Orleans (1991)

I didn't take an actual vacation this year. Instead I was a student, enrolled in fifteen hours of graduate courses at the University of Southern Mississppi. In a way, though, going to school out of state was a lot like a vacation. Indeed I think I may have spent more time on the beach and in New Orleans than I did in class. So, when Sister Dolores asked me at Garrigan's opening liturgy whether I was writing a travelogue this year, I thought about it and figured this summer's activities would certainly be as interesting as most of the trips I had taken. Keeping in mind that there are nearly eleven weeks to condense into one flashback, here's this year's essay on "What I Did on My Summer Vacation".

THURSDAY, MAY 30, 1991
Algona, Iowa to Mount Pleasant, Iowa

I got up early this morning, finished my grades, and then spent some time putting finishing touches on cleaning up my apartment. It was strange, and in some ways sad, to think that this was the last time I would see the place for a long time. It was enough to make me feel more than a bit apprehensive.

I packed the last stuff in my car and wondered one more time if I was packing far too much or not nearly enough. It's an odd situation to have to sort through a house-full of possessions and pick just a handful to use for a summer. When I was in college before I would never have dreamed that I would ever become so materialistic that I would own all this stuff--and now here I was finding out that most of it was about as unimportant as I thought it was back then.

Eventually I finished packing and went out to school. I said my good-byes to everybody out there, threw my room together quickly and carelessly, and went through the rest of the end-of-the-year routine. Finally it was time to really be on my way.

I bought gas, and set my trip odometer to zero, so I could record the exact mileage to Hattiesburg. I then set out on my journey.

I drove eastward past flooded fields to Mason City and then southward to Waverly. From almost the moment I left Mason City the flooding stopped, and the crops were up and looked healthy. I stopped briefly at a Wal-Mart store to pick up a few supplies I had forgotten and then drove southward to Cedar Falls. Highway 218 is a mess in the Waterloo area right now. They're building a freeway through the city, and at the moment 218 is one detour after another.

I drove east to Independence and then headed south to Rowley, the town where my mother was born. I had seen Margaret and Steve on Memorial Day at the cemetery where my parents are buried, and the topic of our grandmother's grave had come up. I don't think I'd visited it since 1968--the year she died--and it was certainly not out of the way on this trip. I pulled into a neat little cemetery and proceeded to look for the proper stone. Steve had told me about a grove of trees that was supposed to be a landmark, but his directions would have described almost every grave in the place. Eventually, though, I did spot the name "Miller", and with just a bit more work I found "Willard" and "Edna Miller Fishel"--as well as all kinds of distant relatives I had heard of, but never really knew who they were.

My brother Paul has been doing a lot of geneaology work this past year. He has traced the family back literally hundreds of years to New York and New Hampshire, and eventually back to Europe (basically England). Sometime Id like to wander around upstate New York and find the graves of those pioneer ancestors. The cemeteries are probably sandwiched between shopping centers now, but it would be fun to imagine what things were like in the 1700s. ...

I left the cemetery and drove southward to Cedar Rapids and then followed the beautiful new expressway around Iowa City. Then it was southward to my old hometown of Mount Pleasant.

Driving south from Iowa City it became instantly clear just how important of a manufacturing and distribution center Mt. P. has become in these past few years. It seemed like solid truck traffic both directions all the way from I-80 south to Mt. P. Wal-Mart has its northern states distribution center in Mount Pleasant, and I saw no less than twenty Wal-Mart trucks just in this fifty-mile drive. I also saw trucks for Goodyear and Motorola, and endless trucks that were obviously carrying stuff to supply all the factories in Mt. P. A friend of John's (who is moving from New York back to Iowa) had heard that there are now several times more jobs in Mount Pleasant than people. It appears to have replaced Burlington as the major employer in southeast Iowa. Mt. P. has always been a prosperous and progressive place, but things certainly have changed since I left.

I arrived in Mt. Pleasant about 4:30 and checked in at the new Super 8 Motel. It's part of a major development strip along Highway 218 north of town. The hotel is directly in front of the Wal-Mart complex, and I could see from the parking lot just how large of a thing the place is. Later I drove past it, and the building alone is a full half mile long. Trucks surround all four sides, and more truck trailers are parked all around the building. There have to be close to a thousand trucks there all together. ...

* * * * *

I was going to try to look up a few people in Mount Pleasant, but no one I cared about was home. I did run into a girl I once knew though--a classmate of mine at Lincoln who moved away to Tennessee. She's back in Iowa now, working as a night manager at the new Hardees. ... She was gorgeous in fifth grade (one of the few people we didn't talk about as having "girls' germs"), and she has turned into a truly stunning woman. While I'm not sure she remembered me, she did remember Lincoln, and we had a nice little conversation as I waited for my supper.

I drove all around Mt. Pleasant. ... There are whole new neighborhoods ... that didn't exist ten years ago, and parts of town are starting to get so many apartments that they look like Iowa City.

Mt. Pleasant is also one of the few places I have seen in recent years that truly has a healthy downtown. Lots of new business has located there. Restaurants, especially, seem to be multiplying. There's a new Subway and a Baskin Robbins--both right on the square--and there are two new Asian restaurants and a taco place. ... As far as I could tell, there was only one empty storefront anywhere. In Algona it seems as if downtown is just for lawyers and brokers. People still shop and eat in downtown Mt. P.

* * * * *

Overall, though, Mt. P. is a good example of the old cliche that the more things change, the more they stay the same. The overall feeling you get is of freshly sand-blasted elegant brick buildings, tree-lined streets, and friendly people who like the mix of small town and city they find here. Lots has changed since I grew up here, but its still very much my hometown.

* * * * *

While I was driving through Saunders Park, it was interesting to see a car from Mississippi parked by the shelter house. I could only hope it would be a good omen for things to come.

After driving around town and seeing all the sights, I watched "The Simpsons" and a bit of other television and then went to sleep early. Day 1 had gone pretty well.

FRIDAY, MAY 31, 1991
Mount Pleasant, Iowa to Union City, Tennessee

I left Mt. P. around six this morning, stopped briefly at Hardees, and then headed south on Highway 218. I fought traffic south of town, as a steady stream of commuters drove to work. Finally the traffic thinned out; and I drove through familiar hills down to Keokuk, crossed the Mississippi River, and entered Illinois.

I dont know how many times I have been in Illinois. (Since I was born there, it probably is literally countless.) Almost every time, though, I have the same reaction to the roads. On this trip I coined the term "Ill-annoying" for them, though I wonder if even that isnt generous. Illinois is one of those places where all the highway money gets funneled into expressways--which leaves the two-laners in pathetic shape. To compound the problem, Chicago dominates things so much in this state that almost all the down-state roads--even the interstates--are just left to rot.

I fought potholes and narrow, curbed roads as I headed eastward to Carthage and Macomb. I found that the worst feature of the Illinois highway system is that they have yet to bypass most of the towns along the route. Not only that, but they seem to have chosen the longest possible route through each town. ...

Once I finally made it past Macomb, I stopped briefly in Beardstown to have breakfast at the local McDonalds. The waitress there had the thickest Southern accent I had heard in a long time--and this in a place that's still in the northern half of Illinois. Then again, when I think of how the newscasters talked on the "Tri-State" TV stations in Hannibal, Quincy, Kirksville, and Ottumwa, it's not really all that much different. (In fact, the "Tri-States" seem to have a thicker Southern accent than any I head in Mississippi.)

* * * * *

South of Springfield, I went through Vandalia and Centralia, places whose names started giving me that Southern feeling. Southern Illinois does seem like Dixie, too. Its very hilly and wooded, a much more attractive landscape than in the northern part of the state. The people talk like bad country singers, and everyone seems to drive a pick-up and live in a mobile home. The women have enormous hair-dos and caked-on make-up that make them look like cheap prostitutes. What's more, there is a much higher percentage of Black people than you see further north.

* * * * *

I stopped for a bit of at an ancient shopping center in the city of DuQuoin, another of those nothing places (pop. 6,500) that took forever to get through. I picked up some socks and a pair of thongs at the local Wal-Mart--which was so run down, it looked as if it ought to be historic--and then had lunch at a Subway outlet. It intrigued me that the waitress just assumed I would want mayonnaise on my sandwich. Up north they ask you about the various condiments, but she piled on the mayo until my ham and cheese became ham and grease. I made a mental note to be very specific in my request if I found myself eating at a Subway later this summer.

* * * * *

Just south of Carbondale is Makanda, where Senator Paul Simon comes from. You may remember that he ran for President a couple years ago. To show how absurd junk mail gets--after contributing to his campaign back in 1987, I have gotten "personalized" Christmas cards from the Simons every year since. I almost had the devious feeling that I should stop by for supper; after all, they seem to think I'm a friend of the family. Reason got the better of me, of course; but even if I had stopped, the Simons were probably in Washington.

Carbondale marks the start of "Little Egypt", the triangle where the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers come together. I have never figured out how this area got that name. It's heavily forested hills certainly look nothing like the Sahara. ... But some stupid settlers named all the towns here after places in the near East, and those town names seem to have been extended to the area as a whole.

Little Egypt has to be one of the poorest places in America. The homes here look like they belong on an Indian reservation. As I drove through here, it reminded me a lot of the Delta region I went through last summer.

Eventually I got to Cairo (pronounced with a long "a" sound--and a twang). This is a city that saw its better days generations ago. Today most of the buildings are boarded up, and lots of teenaged boys seem to be just "hanging out" with nothing to do. I tried to imagine ... the kids I teach doing this. While Garrigan kids can certainly get bored, tand while they can get into their fair share of trouble, it just isn't the same thing. In Cairo boredom and trouble seem to be chronic diseases.

I wound my way through Cairo and eventually made it to the confluence of the rivers. Legend says that if you toss a coin into the water at the confluence, you will return to the place again. Last summer I threw a penny into the Ohio, and here I was now proving that legend true. That, of course, wasnt my reason for coming back to this pitiful little city (although it did amuse me); it just happens to be right on the most direct route from north to south.

I gave a shout of joy as I crossed the Ohio. It seemed to take forever to cross Illinois. South of Cairo is Kentucky. I crossed this state in less than an hour--not surprising, since it's exactly forty miles wide at this point. Unfortunately, Kentucky's roads seemed identical to Illinois', with the added bonus of rickety old bridges.

Around 4pm I entered Tennessee. The road suddenly became a lovely new expressway, which I followed for fifteen miles to the town of Union City, my destination for the night. ...

Union City is a one-industry town. Goodyear makes most of its radial tires here, at a plant that would dwarf the Wal-Mart facility in Mount Pleasant. I have no idea what Union City was named for (my bet is that it goes back to the Civil War), but it might as well have been named for the United Rubber Workers. Between their union hall, their credit union, their lawyers and doctors, and their members-only store, they seem to run the town.

I had dinner at Shoney's, a Southern chain restaurant. ... I don't suggest you eat there. Every time I have eaten at Shoney's, I've found it overpriced and disappointing; my lasagna tonight was no exception. I paid $9.50 for tasteless food and indifferent service. ...

* * * * *

I read in the local phone book that the Union City area is a major nesting area for eagles. I can't say I saw one, but it got me in the right frame of mind for the rest of my journey--the eagle is the official mascot of the University of Southern Mississippi.

SATURDAY, JUNE 1, 1991
Union City, Tennessee to Meridian, Mississippi

I left Union City comparatively late this morning. Leaving town on a two-lane road, I realized that Tennessee, too, has a long way to go in modernizing its highway system. I don't pretend that Iowa is ideal by any means, but even our county roads have level grass at the side of the road. These days almost every U.S. highway has a true gravel shoulder. On U.S. 45 in Tennessee, though, there are inches at the side of the road before a steep drop-off. What's worse is that all of Tennessee seems to be urban. They show towns on the map, but you can't really tell where one ends and the next one begins. It's like driving through a housing development the entire time. There are farms in the background (mostly tobacco fields), but there are houses, mailboxes, and traffic everywhere.

Just a few miles down the road from Union City I stopped in Rutherford to see the last home of Davy Crockett. They weren't open (which was OK; that way I didn't have to pay the admission), but I saw the cabin and its grounds. I always pictured Davy Crockett in a woodsy, hilly setting. It's flat as a pancake in western Tennessee, with hard, red clay under those tobacco fields.

* * * * *

Rather oddly, the road became better when I entered the poorest state in the Union (or should I say the Confederacy). For a while the highway in Mississippi was four lanes, and when that petered out, at least we had a good wide two-lane road, even if there still was no shoulder. (In fact I would have to wait for Texas before I saw another shoulder anywhere but an interstate.)

* * * * *

Before long I made it to Tupelo, a place which to my mind is the redneck capital of the universe. A couple of those "fundy" religious shows on TV come from Tupelo, and the town was the sight of numerous lynchings during the Civil Rights movement. More recently "60 Minutes" visited a group of mercenary survivalists here. You can see how I formed my opinion.

I must say I was pleasantly surprised by the place. They have a gorgeous new shopping mall .., a pleasant downtown area, nice parks, and beautifully wooded residential streets. The people seemed friendly, too--even if I was waiting for them to pull out a sub-machine gun and blow me to bits.

Oh, by the way, you may know Tupelo best as the birthplace of Elvis Presley. I avoided Graceland last year, as it was far too expensive. His home in Tupelo, on the other hand, costs only a buck to get into. It's a nice little white two-room house with sparse Depression-era furnishings. Elvis' father took out a forty-dollar loan to pay for it. Today they surely take in more than that in an hour from the tourists.

At Tupelo I got on the Natchez Trace Parkway, a modern highway maintained by the National Park Service that follows an old trading route from Nashville to New Orleans. Tupelo is almost exactly the half-way point, and it serves as the park headquarters. I made a brief tour of their visitors' center and then started down the road. I had followed the parkway last summer from Jackson to Natchez, and it's not much different up here--a gently curving road through the woods. The 50 mph speed limit is no way to make time, but it did make for a relaxing drive.

A couple of hours later I got off the parkway at the town of Koscuisko. I turned onto a state highway, which looked a lot like the parkway. My overall average speed was probably lower, though, because I had to go through town after town. I stopped for gas and something to drink at a Junior convenience store in the town of Philadelphia. ... I then made the short jaunt eastward to the city of Meridian, today's destination. I drove all the way through the city and eventually made it to the east edge and yet another Super 8.

The motel was at one end of a long strip of businesses along an access road to Interstate 20. None of the restaurants around the motel seemed interesting, so I set off walking along the access road to see what I could find. I walked, and I walked, and I walked. I didn't realize it until I looked up at a sign along the interstate, but I had walked from well beyond Exit 154-B to the other side of Exit 151 without really noticing where I was. Figuring three and a half miles was enough of a walk, I settled on having dinner at Wendy's. As it turned out, I spend most of my time at dinner mopping my from my face the sweat that had accumulated during the walk. I went through a full dozen napkins just trying to make myself look presentable. Don't tell me it's not humid in Dixie.

* * * * *

CONTINUED IN PART TWO

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