Off on a glorious day north to Anacortes to check out the What The Heck festival and the citywide yard sale. What the Heck is Karl Blau’s brainchild I believe. He is a mad sonic tinkerer and produces a monthly album project called Kelp. The festival is a collection of indie bands and takes place in the pubs in the evenings and the park during the afternoons. The Anacortes yard sale is called Shipwreck Day and has the main street in the downtown cordoned off and booths set up selling, for true, everything under the sun. Watering cans, Peruvian sweaters, sewing machines from the 30’s, a zine on the art of kissing, shoes, old LP’s, hot dogs, flasks, door handles, tea cups, paper umbrellas, cotton dresses, cast iron pans, more records, Guatemalan import crafts, a couple of collapsible canvas rowing boats, a broken fan, old books and life magazines from the 60’s, a miniature cannon made of cast metal (tragically already sold) and this went on for blocks and blocks. I came home with a seventy five cent straw hat for working outside, a copy of Railroad magazine from March 1949, a tattered copy of a novel called Frossia about living underground in Petrograd after the revolution, and the official guide to the city of Dartmouth, England from 1964. Dartmouth is in the south Devon countryside and the town sits on the banks of the river Dart, downriver from the Royal Naval College, and not far from the cliffs of Dover. Seemingly an ideal holiday destination, there are many lovely hotels and B&B’s. For accommodation I have consulted my new guide. The Royal Castle Hotel offers “every amenity to the guest or casual visitor, every room is fitted with wireless, and the Galleon Bar is, without a doubt, the finest in the area”. Telephone: Dartmouth 2525. Though not as interesting looking as the Royal Castle, the Dart Marina Hotel offers hot and cold, plus wireless in every room, central heating and a fully licensed bar. Telegrams to: Dartmarina, Dartmouth. Tel. 2151. The largest hotel in Dartmouth is advertised as the Raleigh Hotel. The telephone number here is Dartmouth 2360, and along with “homely and comfortable lounges,” the “attractive and well run restaurant on the ground floor” serves “meals that you really enjoy eating”. Brochure and tariff with moderate terms sent free on request. Open all year. The Gunfield Hotel looks like a lovely place to pass the time with its “private bathing cove” “yacht anchorages” and “gardens leading down to the sea”. Write for brochure. Telephone: 2986. On the other hand one might enjoy the “very homely” qualities of the Deer Park Hotel. Situated just outside Dartmouth, this bed and breakfast overlooks Start bay and the English Channel. “Bed, breakfast and evening meal provided, Luncheon baskets packed, Slumberland mattresses and hot and cold in every room.” Open all year. Contact Mr. and Mrs. A.J. Frowde: Stokeflemming 217. On the “main bus routes”. Although no children under four years are taken, The Pentagon Guest House looks interesting. Under the supervision of Missis D. & H. Watkins the Pentagon offers “eight comfortable rooms, all with H. & C. and interior spring mattresses”. “Ample car park space (on grounds), own garden produce and poultry”. Though all of these are fine and first rate accommodations I’m sure, the true score I believe of my 1964 Dartmouth guidebook has got to be the advert for the Caravan Holidays. This really does look like a cracking get away. Situated near Plymouth, Salcombe, Dartmoor, and Torquay (of Faulty Towers fame I am presuming) Caravan Holidays provides “7 berth to 2 berth caravans to let” and “A quiet and delightful site in private grounds with glorious views of the Dart estuary and Devon countryside. Near sea and river. Bathing, Fishing, Boating, Licensed Club, Shop, Games, and Children’s room…T.V. …Dancing …Entertainment”. Self-Catering. For brochure send stamped envelope to D.G., Norton Park, Dartmouth, South Devon, England. Telephone: Dartmouth 2765.
Back in the present day the streets are filled with vendors and shoppers and kids playing banjo. The park is quiet with indie kids watching bands. I really have got to give it to the indie scenster scene – they really listen to music. That might sound a little strange but it’s true – of all the crowds a musician can play for the punk rock, D.I.Y. indie crowd might be the most proactive listeners. Except of course if you don’t quite fit their ethos, then no way, but if you do fit in you are guaranteed an audience who will lounge quietly and take it all in. That was the story in the park in Anacortes as bands made their way through set against the backdrop of blue skies and sunburn.
Anacortes was unexpectedly hip. Some kids got together and bought the old fire station and opened the Department of Safety. This is an art and music space and is seemingly run like a co-op. It’s been a steady go for five years and is thriving. There is a large main room for movies and shows, an art gallery, a small narrow room with couches, T.V., and PA for playing videos, a zine library, recording studio, and all manor of rooms that local art kids (and artists in residence) can rent and I think even rooms to let out on a nightly basis like a youth hostel. The vibe was absolutely lovely and the Department of Safety seriously rocks.
All in all it was the sort of day that makes me realize just what an uptight puritanical, self-important wasteland south Whidbey Island can be. First off no one would ever let a bunch of kids get their hands on the local fire station, secondly the community wouldn’t support the endeavor, thirdly there aren’t any good bands and D.I.Y art kids here. There are, but the social fabric of south Whidbey smiles only on a few select endeavors. As opposed to getting myself into serious trouble for naming what they are, I’ll say simply that when out traveling across and through the world it is possible that one can come to realize, compared to other cultures, what an stupidly uptight place the U.S.A. can be. And when traveling within the confines of your homeplace one can begin to uncover the minutia of ways in which your own town might be the most uptight and judgmental place in all of America. One half of South Whidbey basks in the invisible cloak of “progressive community values” (at least the lefty population does) and this lot battles it out with the old school redneck lot and they’ve been going at it for years. The island has now been flodded in money and people with visions of "building community" and any vestiges of organic homegrown community endeavor (and I’m only talking about the progressive lefty lot here) have been discouraged, ridiculed, closed, taken over. In some sort of descending order as that. The thing of it is is that much of what’s gone on, like I say, has been done in the name of “building community” by people with rigid visions of what the community "needs" and what the community should look like. That’s the crazy making thing about it. Community can never be invented or opened. Community cannot be created from the top down or with a specific vision in mind for what this particular “community” will look like and be. Too much money kills community. Community is the unexpected, the chance, and the quiet half smiling realization. The fellow back up at the Department of Safety scratched his head when he told me that he couldn't believe that it had been five years since they opened the doors. “People just keep coming up with ideas. They just keep coming, and bands want to play and people put on art shows. It’s amazing”. That’s community. The trouble is is that it’s possible to think that it’s a rare thing these days. It isn’t. It’s everywhere (though not always where you might expect to find it, and often not where you suppose you might find it). It is, perhaps, the one thing that gives me hope for the world. People dwelling on the outskirts of legality with guitars, paints, crayons, kitchen stoves, pots, pans, Xerox machines, bicycles, ideas, and friends. That’s how we will make a go of it. It’s what’s brought us this far.
Want a tip? Unfurl your inner pirate flag and don’t hang out with uptight people. No charge.
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