Arkansas

part five

[Travel journal Saturday Stories…]

The concert in Fort Smith wasn’t going to start until 8, so a nap was in order. We headed out to our Air BnB. It has a Van Buren address but it was a good twenty minute drive from downtown. It’s not that Van Buren is that big, but, like Claremore, they must have a large postal delivery area. This was actually closer to Fort Smith than Van Buren, but it was also out in the woods.

When I say out in the woods, I mean out in the woods. We turned down a narrow dirt road and drove to the end of it which was about 2.5 miles. The signs they put out helped: “The Hudson.” Not sure why it was named that, but I liked it since that is our youngest grandson’s name. It is an old house that sits back in the trees down a rugged washed out driveway. Fortunately, my truck was built for such things. If you have a low-riding car, I wouldn’t recommend it.

After a brief nap, we headed out to Fort Smith to find somewhere to eat. We decided the best plan was to park near the music venue, which was near downtown, and walk downtown and find a place to eat.

We parked in a church parking lot across from the venue because the venue itself doesn’t have a parking lot. I don’t think anyone cared because there were no signs saying not to.

The music hall is called Temple Live. It is thus named because it was at one time a Masonic Lodge/Temple. It is a good sized auditorium. Old. And the seats in the balcony aren’t the most comfortable. They are small, vinyl covered and old. But doable.

We parked and then headed downtown. Fort Smith downtown on a Saturday evening – its interesting. We passed by a ground a Black Hebrew guys preaching. That’s the second time I’ve encountered them recently. The first was a few weeks ago when we were walking to the Gathering Place in Tulsa. They don’t seem to be preaching to anyone because in both instances they weren’t in high foot traffic areas. Just a ground of guys reading the Bible out and preaching. I didn’t hang around long enough to get the gist of the message.

We found a BBQ place and a Mexican place close together. I asked M which she preferred. She deferred to me, but I insisted that this was the Summer of Monica, so, she chose Mexican. The La Huerta Grill.

We, like we usually do if we have a choice, asked to be seated outside. The server handed us menus and told us to pic a spot. There weren’t a lot of them left so we sat down at a black wrought iron table near the stage where some guys were setting up their sound equipment. It didn’t take a lot of observation to realize we were the only outsiders outside.

Everyone there seemed to know everyone else. They were their for the band. They knew all the band members too. We had inadvertently become party crashers. I hoped the band didn’t get going until we got going because we were too close to the speakers and just the “Check 1 2 3” was enough for me.

The crowd was, to put it nicely, people my age who were trying to capture what they had and what they were in 1975. I assumed the band was going to be doing a lot of Neil Young and Meatloaf. One guy – I went to calling him “holey shirt guy” because he had on this see through kind of shirt that a man that age shouldn’t be wearing, was throwing down the Michelob’s at a steady pace. Just about the whole gang was feeling a good buzz by the time we left.

We walked back to the Temple Live and the line for entry wound around the building, spilling out on to the sidewalk outside. There is a black metal fence surrounding the whole building so you can only enter the grounds from one spot. We made our way into the gate and there was a door right in front of us with a sign that said, “Box Office,” and another sign that pointed at the line that snaked around the building that said, “Ticketed Entry.”

Well, we assumed the only people going in the door right next to us would be people who were “will call” or trying to buy tickets that night. We accepted our fate and turned toward the line when a young lady sitting on the steps said, “Yeah, you don’t have to go that way. You can go in that door. I know it says, ‘Box Office,’ but trust me, I know things. You can go that way.”

I said, “Okay, but if they kick us back out, “I’m going to find you and yell at you really loud.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be right here, but you won’t be back. I know things.”

So, we walked in. She knew things.

They had tight security. Guys in yellow shirts with metal detecting wands. “Do you have any weapons on you?”

“Just these,” I replied as I made a fist.

He laughed. Can’t blame him. I don’t look all that threatening.

Monica, on the other hand...She must appear to be a threat because they searched her purse like she was the Boston Bomber. I waited patiently inside while she went through a thorough inspection.

Our seats, as I mentioned were in the balcony. Not bad, but not the most comfortable seats in the world.

The show started on time. They had a warm up guy. He is from Purcell. Really nice voice. Kind of bluesy. I didn’t understand a lot of the words to the songs he sang because I don’t hear all that well and I don’t think the sound system was set for him as much as it was for the main group. M said it was probably for the best. He did about 40 minutes.

I’m not a big fan of the warm up act thing. I just want to see the guys I came to see. But that’s just me.

About 9 the Dead South came on. They put on a great show. Very talented. Their music has been described as “Rockin Stompin Bluegrass.” I grew up on Bluegrass. My dad was an avid bluegrass music fan. He would not approve.

After the concert we drove back to The Hudson, arrive after 11pm, a seriously late night for us.