[Levittown - 1948]
Doctor Johnson once observed, "Who tires of London, tires of life." The same cannot be said of Grand Junction. Nevertheless, when examined minutely, as by a canvasser who walks obscure neighborhoods distinguished by nothing more than their containing actual or suspected Democrats, it can be interesting.
It is superficially homogeneous, being for instance all white. Nevertheless there is diversity here. There are large numbers of Mexican Americans. There are Native Americans. There are lots, LOTS, of rednecks. There are neighborhoods of rundown single famiy houses, many of them vacant. The people in them seem as dispirited and disheveled as the houses. They are the people missing teeth, with marginal literacy, and correspondingly slight ability to understand the world around them. Most drive to deadend jobs in pickup trucks.
Within a bottle's throw of those neighborhoods, shiny new subdivisions have just been built. Some of the people in them are genuinely well-off. Approaching a large new house with an open garage, I was impressed with the huge shiny Ford F-350 pickup truck in front, other cars, a dune buggy, a complete home gymnasium, and more such. When I spoke to the voter, he said he owned his own business and made more than $250,000 a year. He was for McCain because Obama would raise his taxes. That was a pretty good argument. I tactfully omitted to mention the McCain campaign's slogan, "Country First". (Isn't there something about the "last refuge of scoundrels"? But never mind.)
Other subdivisions are even newer, even less landscaped, and the houses not as large nor as expensive. These are too new to have become rundown yet, but one can hear their fate in the ignorant twang of the occupants. It is just a matter of time.
Sadly, Grand Junction's sole concession to politically correct land use planning is the requirement that all new houses have exteriors of dun stucco, and that it be the same dun throughout any given subdivision -- the bureaucrat's passion for uniformity. I am sure the reader can imagine without effort how unfortunate the result is.
I had been congratulating Grand Junction on housing even its working class in single family detached houses and not in apartments. Until today. Today I canvassed a packet of rundown apartment buildings in the bleakest of environs -- the parking lot of K-Mart on one side, their own littered, greasy parking lots on the other.
There is also the obligatory historical district near downtown of the mansions and near-mansions of the rich and near-rich of the inter-war period. Seventh Street in Grand Junction is The Esplenade in Chico. No amount of urban condescension can obscure the elegance of such a place, especially in autumn when the leaves are falling. The leaves move in a wave behind a passing car like a wake behind a motorboat.
Grand Junction shares the floor of Grand Valley with the Colorado River. It is surrounded by distant high sandstone cliffs. Last night as the sun was setting the golden light of late afternoon made the cliffs radiant. An hour later, after the sun had set, the red light of sunset mixed with the purple light of mountains seen at a distance to produce a true vermilion. I have heard of vermilion cliffs before but have always assumed it was hyperbole. It is not.
So Grand Junction, like an interesting person, has its parts. Not all of them are admirable or even likable, but they make the whole engaging and worth knowing, even if only briefly.
It is an odd reflection on my odd agenda item in retirement to get to know the streets and layout of various world cities -- to have a favorite coffee shop in Helsinki, to know my way around Buenos Aires. The towns I have gotten to know lately have been Ellensburg, Joplin, Fairbanks, Anchorage, and now Grand Junction. Ah well.
