The Poetry, Essays and Personal Journals of Larry L. Dill
to Asheville, North Carolina
is the red brick, 9 story building at the end of the street against the blue sky.
Preliminary thoughts on a new journey
You do whatever work you do,
You talk however you talk,
you eat whatever you eat,
You wear whatever clothes you wear,
You look at whatever images you see,
YOU’RE LIVING HOWEVER YOU CAN.
YOU ARE WHOEVER YOU ARE
“Identity”…
of a person,
of a thing,
of a place.
“Identity”.
The word itself gives me shivers.
It rings of calm, comfort, contentedness.
What is it, identity?
To know where you belong?
To know your self worth?
To know who you are?
How do you recognize identity?
We are creating an image of ourselves,
We are attempting to resemble this image. . .
Is that what we call identity?
The accord
Between the image we have created
Of ourselves
And … ourselves?
Just who is that “ourselves”?
We live in cities.
The cities live in us …
Time passes.
We move from one city to another,
From one country to another.
We change languages,
We change habits,
We change opinions,
We change clothes. We change everything.
Everything changes. and fast.
Images above all,
--From the opening of the Wim Wender film Notebook of Cities and Clothes
It is appropriate that the last two movies I have seen at Asheville’s Fine Arts Theatre, just 3 blocks from where I now live, are Crazy Heart and The Last Station. Jeff Bridges’ Oscar winning performance as the down but not out Bad Blake reminds me of my own Bukowskian life and Christopher Plummer’s Oscar nominated role as Leo Tolstoy reminds me of my conflicted spirit: part Bukowski, part Thoreau, part Karl Marx, part Dali Lama, part…… me.
I have moved into the venerable old Vanderbilt Hotel just south of the Thomas Wolfe Theater. On clear days I watch the sun rise over the workers remodeling the Pack Memorial Library next door and as it sets just beyond my window I listen to the organist playing the chimes in the Basilica of St Lawrence across the street. I feel as if I am in Europe without actually having to speak a foreign language. Maybe London. But my primitive French and Spanish are coming back to me now. Out on the streets I see my youth and my youthful lovers.
Inside my building I meet the muted, sometimes bewildered, but more often joyous faces of the aging and the forgotten. These are my peeps now, and I am proud to have been so graciously welcomed. We are the World.
* * * *
There is a certain apocalyptic quality to moving into an old hotel in the southern Appalachians, built and named for a New York tycoon 60 years after the Civil war, converted now into very nice section 8 housing for the elderly. It helps that a Spanish Mission style Basilica built in 1909 stands across the street.
I am listening to a Jango station I have created on the internet called Philip Glass and the word “apocalyptic” came to mind because of the cinematic musical choices being made by some computer somewhere which believes that someone who likes Philip Glass would like Meredith Monk, for example, along with Bach and Brahms, Mahler and Mozart. They are mostly right and Walking Song sounds like something that should have been used for the film score of The Road.
Tonight , St. Patricks day, it is Ravel’s Bolero I’m listening to while my fellow residents are downstairs with a home cooked St. Patrick’s day dinner party. Corned beef and Cabbage, potatoes, green beans and mac n cheese. I was asked by numerous new acquaintances in the elevator if I planned to attend and my lame--I’m a vegetarian--excuse played, I’m afraid, like a foreign language or mysterious religion.
I’ve had two glasses of red wine to see if the mellowness that follows allays my agoraphobia. But no. Not tonight. My best behavior is to be invisible. The better part of valor. The better angel of my nature. The ghost in my machine.
In these twilight moments with the early revelers beginning to howl down on the streets below, I am as content alone with my own reveries as I have ever been.
At midday there are announcements over a public address system and posted near the elevators. The Irish dinner for only $3.00 would be served at 5:30. Also posted there was a notice for someone who lives here who would be willing to teach a class in drawing to those interested. “Perhaps late morning once a week. Please Sign up below.” I notice 2 names on the posting from my floor alone.
Should I sign up? Late morning is sometimes too early for me…to draw…or to be around other people.
* * * *
I am learning to get around town on the city buses. I ride out to Walmart for some supplies to settle myself in. My funds are so limited I cannot afford to go anywhere else. When I get back home I finish a poem I have started. I include it here in these notes now.
Dali Lama @ the Walmart.
After his recent low key visit with President Obama and his playful snowball fight with reporters, the Dali Lama was asked what he was going to do next. He put his hands together and bowed and smiled and said, “I’m going to Walmart.”
The puzzled reporter quickly responded. “You think it’s ok to shop at Walmart.”
The Dali Lama cocked his head and thought for a moment, glanced over at his interpreter as he often does, and then spoke in his own formidable English.
“If you can afford to shop at fair trade stores and can get what you need there, like a broom, for instance, then you should not shop at Walmart.
On the other hand, if shopping at Walmart is the only way for your children to feel good about themselves at school then it may be that your deliberate moralism, by say, going only to thrift stores to outfit your children, may actually be causing unintended psychological consequences for the spiritual development of your children.
“Most of the goods sold in Walmart are made in China in what you call ’sweat shops.’ China, as you know, is now colonizing Tibet and is attempting to shut out the Tibetan people from participating in these ’sweat shops’ as you call them in favor of giving the work to the Chinese immigrants.
“So, the Walmart ’sweatshop’ economy of Tibet is threatening to further marginalize, impoverish and oppress the Tibetan people. My people.
“In solidarity with the African American ministers in your south Chicago who are fighting for the economic advantages for their parishioners of a Walmart superstore in their neighborhood, it is my goal to place native Tibetans in the Walmart driven manufacturing plants that are to become a part of the Tibetan landscape. Thus creating an international spiritual network that transcends the merely material connections that increasingly bind us together.” The Dali Lama bowed again, adjusted his dress and walked away.
* * * *
A Wonderfully Fine New Hotel
The George Vanderbilt
Formal Opening, July 24-25, 1924
Come to Asheville! “Your warmest welcome at an Inn” will
Await you at the George Vanderbilt Hotel, whose opening next
Thursday-Friday will be celebrated with gala social events, for the
George Vanderbilt is more than a hotel-- it is Pride, the Heart of
Asheville, the true Expression of Asheville hospitality, long denied its
Full outlet.
Crowning an eminence near the center of the city, lofty,
commanding and beautiful, this lordly house stands as a fitting me-
morial to a benefactor of Asheville, the Creator of Biltmore Estates and
Industries.
Financed and named by the citizens of Asheville, the
George Vanderbilt is the masterpiece of Foor and Robinson designing.
In every feature it is the ultimate--Classic beauty of architectural form
and line--Tone, harmony and quality of furnishing and decoration--
Restfulness of color blending--Convenience and Comfort of equip-
ment--Perfect organization of room, café, and desk service.
The exterior effect is of a Watch Tower, the Observatory of the Land of the
Sky. Giving completion to this impression is the spacious roof garden,
bordered with stone pergolas, through which, at all Four Points of the
compass are seen tremendous vistas of the highest peaks and mountain
ranges of the Eastern United States, the encircling walls of a fertile,
gracious, rolling plateau.
Here, jaded nerves and tired frames find
full rejuvenation in the wine-like mountain air.
Asheville is gay,
never so popular, and the George Vanderbilt is a delightful and central
headquarters, for business or pleasure, close to shops and theaters, be-
tween the two golf clubs, and at the axis of all the motor routes leading
To the scenic spots of an enchanting Mountain-Land. Make reservations
Well ahead, for it is the busy season.
--From an ad in the July 20, 1924 Spartanburg, South Carolina Herald
* * * *
This month's At Home column takes us to downtown Asheville's venerable Vanderbilt Apartments to visit with 94-year-old Ruth Rudisill. She's the building's oldest resident, though you wouldn't know it from looking at her.
The charming, vital nonagenarian -- who doesn't look a day over 65 -- is a former insurance-company supervisor who enjoys a rousing game of bingo and prides herself on her eclectic doll collection. Rudisill started collecting dolls in 1930 when she picked up a 25-cent china doll as a souvenir while visiting her late husband's family in Gastonia. "We traveled a lot," she relates," and from then on, I picked up a doll wherever we went."
Rudisill has one son who lives in Charlotte ("He's never been any trouble in this world to me, and that's a blessing," she relates) and three grandchildren.
Xpress caught up with Rudisill recently in her cozy second-floor apartment -- marked by a vibrant red decor, dolls of every sort ,and a host of gewgaws she's won playing bingo.
"Look at all these," she says with a laugh, gesturing sweepingly around the living room. "You spend the first half of your life collecting things and the last half wondering what to do with 'em."
What's the secret to her longevity?
"I don't know how I've lived as long as I have, but it's great," the perky Rudisill enthuses. "Everybody's so good to you when you get this old.
"Time has gone so fast," she continues. "I think it's because I've been so happy."
Mountain Xpress: How did you come to live here at the Vanderbilt?
Ruth Rudisill: My husband had died in about 1965 and I brought him back up here and buried him. I was living in Asheboro, and had lived in four different towns in North Carolina -- including Asheville -- at that point. I just didn't know where I wanted to live after I retired. But I just got to thinking that Asheville was the best place, that I was happier here, that the people were nicer. I just said, I'm going to Asheville. So I came back up here in 1969, I think, and they just about had this building finished. Well, they had an open house one Sunday and I came up here and looked around. There was only three [apartments] rented ... one on the ninth floor, one on the first floor, and one somewhere in the middle. So I looked around inside and I thought, 'Oh, I'd love to live here. It's so convenient, so pretty.' So I came back the next day and rented an apartment ,and I've been here ever since. That was in 1970.
MX: What was downtown Asheville like in those days?
RR: It was just great. There was Bon Marche, Ivey's, Winter's, the S&W Cafeteria. We'd go out at night and eat supper and have the best time. I wasn't afraid to go out and walk around at any time of the night. And we had some of the nicest people living here in the building. We had two ministers and their wives; one concert pianist who was born in India; two college professors, one of whom had written a book; and Miss Herring lived here -- you know, she opened the Herring School. She wrote a book, too: Fire in the Mountains. So there was a lot of interesting and even famous people here. It was real clean, so convenient, so safe.
MX: How has the building changed over the years?
RR: Well, back when we came in, the [minimum] age limit was 62. Several years ago the government made a rule that if people were handicapped, they could live here at a lower age, so we had some younger people move in, and from then on, it just kind of evolved in a different way. When I first moved in here, we had to have so many references to get in. And the Vanderbilt name, you know, sounds so big. So when we went to a store uptown to cash checks and said we lived at the Vanderbilt, they didn't ask anymore questions. The building had such a good name, you know.
MX: Do you feel like there's a sense of community at the Vanderbilt?
RR: Yes. Everybody loves each other here. There's a lot of people here who've been here a long time. I've been here 32 years, of course, and my neighbor there's been here about 25 years. The man that lives across the hall has been here just about that long. The thing is, I feel safe. We have buzzers that are connected to the office, and if they haven't heard from you by 10 a.m., they'll come to your apartment and check on you to find out what's wrong.
MX: Are there lots of social activities here?
RR: Oh, yes, we have a lot of things. Twice a week we all have breakfast in the dining room, Tuesdays and Thursdays. On Friday night, we have bingo. And Thursday at lunch time, the Manna Food Bank sets up food downstairs. There's just so many good things about living here. It's my whole life.
MX: What's the best thing about living at the Vanderbilt?
RR: There's always somebody that'll help you if you need anything. We have a little grocery store in the building, but if you need to go out to the grocery store, there's ... a man name John Jordan -- I hope you'll give him a plug -- that belongs to the Merrimon Avenue Baptist Church, who's been taking people that don't have any way to get to Ingle's there once a week for 10 years. If he's got too many for one trip, he'll make two trips. He volunteers. He says that's his good deed to do for the good Lord. We are really well taken care of. It's better than any place I know of. ... And we'll never starve to death here. I've never seen so much food in my life. They cook downstairs some days and you just go down and eat whatever you want. Then we have a birthday party once a month for the people that are born in that month. It's just home to me. I'd rather be here than anywhere else.
--From an article by Marsha Barber in the Asheville weekly Mountain Xpress in May, 2002
* * * *
I have this quiet safe place. Both a tower and a cave. Like a hollowed out nest high up and inside the trunk of a giant tree. Like an owl nest. I am five stories above the streets below. The wind is blowing strongly, whistling through the window. The sun is shining. It is five p.m. The dual towers of the Basilica are chiming. I am reading about the atomic bomb. I have been in the Vanderbilt for three weeks now. I have been made to feel at home here by the staff and the residents. Everything is clean and fresh. I have set up my apartment in the simplest possible way. I have two chairs. A desk made out of a door. A bed made out of a door as well. I have a computer, a record player, and a small TV. I have about 150 books. I got my library card today. I checked out a book of poems by the Native-American poet, Sherman Alexie and a new book by the historian, Gary Wills, called Bomb Power: The modern Presidency and the National Security State. I read the first poem in Alexie’s book while I was waiting for the bus. On returning here to the Vanderbilt I opened a bottle of wine and began reading Bomb Power. I had lately been trying to read Wills’ biography of St Augustine, but I could not keep my mind on it. This book was more engaging. I am particularly intrigued by the detailed discussion of the major players in the Manhattan Project and how they jockeyed with each other for power. Referring to Robert Oppenheimer’s mystical bent, one of his colleagues at Los Alamos said that Oppenheimer “dazzled people by blending the halos of an Einstein and a Gandhi.” At six o’clock I close the book and listen to the chimes of the Basilica. I feel secure but I know that I am not. My anxieties slip in like the whistle of the wind.
I look at the photographs of my daughters I have placed on my door/desk. I go to the window and look down on the pigeons perched on the edge of the library roof. I am not yet, as they say around here, “in for the night.” It is Saturday night live in Asheville, North Carolina. I decide to go out for a walk.
--Larry L. Dill
Asheville, N.C.
Complete Site Index
larrydill@newhopejournal.com
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copyright 2009,2010 by Larry L. Dill
The Vanderbilt Apartments
75 Haywood Street
Asheville, North Carolina
The Basilica of St Lawrence
Across the street from
The Vanderbilt
