Sunday, May 15
> Buffalo
Kaplan Harris
Sarah Buckley
Getting on the road, I wrote on Facebook: “Turns out I am driving to Buffalo this very day. What sadness, so terrible. I am sure it is affecting everyone there.” After entering via the Peace Bridge, the first thing I saw was a block party in a Black neighborhood, conveying a somber tone of survival despite everything. Kaplan Harris and his partner Sarah greeted me with exceptional food and conversation, ranging from archives to prison abolition. Later, walking out in the Elmwood District, I wondered how it had been going in Buffalo since when. Everywhere is war, I hear the echoes of Bob Marley in my head as I walk by some loud partying. I exited next day through the fated neighborhood itself.
Monday, May 16
> Germantown/Brooklyn
Ann Lauterbach
Terrific storms accompanied my power drive through upstate New York, blasts of rain pelting in sheets creating maelstroms with each passing truck. Somewhere in the middle of the state, I stopped for gas to find an electrical glitch would not open the gas tank flap. There is no manual override. This event, dramatic perhaps only to myself, needed about an hour of phone calls to a long-distance service expert, after which I was able to re-set the circuit. Coming down the Hudson and into Germantown, the rain accelerated to the point of zero visibility, in buckets of slushy hail. In from the storm, Ann Lauterbach greeted me from the porch of her restored schoolhouse down the road. Our elegant meeting, with an Italian white and hors d’oeuvre something like a mozzarelline fritte, but with a thicker, seasoned crust (help me out on this one, Ann), led to serious discussion of the crisis of the academy, seen from the perspectives of a liberal arts college and a working-class university. Of the many fine editions on display, I admired chapbooks of Eliot’s Little Gidding and Joyce’s Anna Livia Plurabelle (or was it Work in Progress—same thing). There was an altar to Ann’s friendship with Joe Brainard and portrait of her by Alex Katz. Back on the road, briefly clearing up, I had forgotten my umbrella. The Taconic Parkway beckoned to New York and the overpriced hotel, set between a dialysis center and U-Haul truck return, I had booked in Lower Park Slope.
