As a seasoned traveler, I enjoy stumbling on locales that seem immune from the
consequences of time.
It could be a town containing an actual drive-in movie venue. Or a sweets
establishment that all the locals refer to as the “soda fountain.” Or a bar with a quarter-
fed jukebox and beers that hover in the $1 range as opposed to today’s drinking
establishments, where ownership has no problem moving the decimal point slightly right.
That’s a $10 beer for those who struggled with decimals in school.
It could be a town that remains so excited about its one, long-deceased famous resident
that it plasters billboards with that information throughout its geographical jurisdiction
until you just have to stop and learn more. Trips to see my daughter at the University of
Iowa require passing through Dixon, Ill., “THE BOYHOOD HOME OF RONALD
REAGAN” as the sign at the town’s entrance so proudly states.
Reagan’s former home was closed for the winter the last time I rumbled through Dixon;
otherwise I probably would have stopped just to see where the 40th president did his
schoolwork and ate his vegetables. Dixon, according to Wikipedia, is also known for
Bloody Gulch Road, named for a murder and body disposal in 1885. Not surprisingly, I
didn’t see any signage about that incident. I also don’t believe the road is open for tours.
Or maybe it’s an area, where words and phrases one just doesn’t hear in today’s
vernacular, flow from the resident’s mouths in regularity.
“Doggone,” for instance.
I heard that word not once, not twice, but three times during a recent 36-hour stay in
Oklahoma City. And I wasn’t anywhere near a ranch, a rodeo or a veterinary
establishment.
Oklahoma is one of those states that rarely makes news. Yes, it has a professional
basketball team and a brilliantly-constructed memorial and museum honoring the victims
of the April 1995 bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building. But Oklahoma
always struck me as a state you drive through quickly in your quest to end your journey
somewhere more desirable. Colorado, for instance. Which is why the entire state of
Oklahoma is kind of like your aunt, in that its residents are so gosh darn excited that
someone has stopped for a visit. The state symbol really should be a pie.
Within hours of landing, I heard one resident remark that the weather was “so doggone
cold.” Later that evening, as I dined in a downtown restaurant, I overheard a patron refer
to his meal as “doggone spicy.” Well, what did he expect? He was eating, according to
the menu, “Hot Dang Chicken.”
The next morning, the phrase was used in what passes in Oklahoma as an expletive.
“Doggone it, there ain’t no parking close by,” one resident informed me, as we shared a
bus shuttling us from an overflow parking lot to an event at the National Cowboy &
Western Heritage Museum. I was the doggone speaker at the event; he was, I assume, a
doggone audience member.
I have to admit, in a world where F-bombs often slip past television censors, and
profanity-filled rants can be heard clearly in cellphone conversations, it was doggone
refreshing to hear someone using such an antiquated phrase to express anger. Perhaps it
was what endeared me to everybody I met in Oklahoma, both downtown and in
surrounding areas. Nobody ever seemed upset.
Contrast that with millionaire film director Spike Lee, who threw an on-air hissy fit
when his film, BlacKkKlansman, wasn’t chosen as best picture at last week’s Oscars
ceremony. Or our president, who resorts to threats and bullying tactics when his views
and policies aren’t immediately embraced by all sides. Perhaps both 2020 political
conventions need to be held somewhere in Oklahoma, where candidates would be
nominated in a peaceful, non-confrontational manner.
Good googly moogly. What a concept!
