The Places We Missed the Most

6 | www.columbiatribune.com

REFLECTIONS

To say COVID-19 interrupted our sense of place and routine would be among the year’s greatest understatements. Columbia residents bid an abrupt farewell to many of their favorite haunts and hangouts.

As spring rounded into summer, Tribune writers and community members waxed nostalgic for the places they were missing most. Several of these spots, including Columbia Public Library and Ragtag Cinema, reopened in part or full by press time.

Aarik Danielsen

COLUMBIA PUBLIC LIBRARY

Equidistant from my home and work, Columbia Public Library represents a frequent refuge as I navigate the chaos of any given moment.

Two or three times a week — at least — my feet lead me there. To order an inexpensive cup of coffee. To browse the shelf of new poetry releases. For a quiet change-of-pace when I’m writing on deadline. Sometimes all of the above.

As you might guess, the library contains two of the truest treasures in my life — books and the people who love them. During days of self-isolation, holed up at home without physical access to the library, my reading habit didn’t slow. It remained as steady as ever, as if the days remained normal.

I spent time with the fiction of James Baldwin and Flannery O’Connor, the poems of John Berryman and Tommy Pico, the clever cultural analysis of Shea Serrano and a graphic novel about

Thelonious Monk penned (in more ways than one) by Youssef Daoudi.

I didn’t miss, or even miss out on, books because the library was closed. Rather, I missed the two-way scope of what the place provides. By one measure, the library is immense, almost overwhelming. Multiple floors populated with books, rack after rack of jazz records and Elvis Costello CDs I need to catch up on, sensory delights for my 7-year-old son. It is a cathedral devoted to the sacredness of self-expression and human contact.

And yet it feels so intimate. The library is a place by, of and for people. People whose hearts leap within them when you ask for a book recommendation. People hoping to discover authors whose words will come to define their lives. People who shop at the same grocery stores as you, swill beer at the same bars as you, take their kids to the same school as yours — and yet, it’s at the library where they look up, notice you and offer a glance of recognition. “Oh, I see we are the same kind of people,” their eyes seem to say.

This spring, I took to Twitter and said, only half-joking, that I’d probably cry when I walked through the library’s doors again for the first time. I think that might be right. Not because I’m overly sensitive or because I’ve experienced the worst of this pandemic. But because the library, as much as any other place in our community, reminds me I’m not alone.

Books are there, and they have my proverbial back. People are there too, and they are worth reading just as much as the books. Traveling, quietly as one should, among both will not restore my sense that all's right with the world. But it will remind me that something is.

Aarik Danielsen is the Tribune’s arts editor.

James Owen

RAGTAG CINEMA

So much of what’s wrong with how we classify films is asking whether they are “good” or “bad” — as though a subjective opinion matters to someone trying to evaluate the merits of an individual piece of cinema.

More worthwhile is whether you, as an audience member, gained an experience from watching a movie. Did you see something you’d never imagined before? Did you experience a story from a perspective of which you weren’t aware?

Just about every time I visit Ragtag Cinema off Hitt and Broadway, I have an experience. Sure, independent films sometimes fall into patterns and clichés like their higher-budget counterparts.

Arthouse darling Wes Anderson, for one, has developed a look and a pattern that borders on predictable.

But will I go see Anderson’s “The French Dispatch (of the Liberty, Kansas Evening Sun)” when it (hopefully) gets released later this year!

One thing I can always count on: Ragtag going beyond the obvious, popular titles to find something offbeat and unique. There are foreign films that plunk you deep outside the normal existence of living in the Midwest, and make you think about the world in larger, grander terms. There’s also documentaries that probe deeply into a subject you might already know — or think you knew.

It’s sad to see some of these films play to an auditorium with one or two people. That’s when the reality of economies of scale kick in, reminding us that independent theaters must have members paying a yearly fee to ensure doors remain open.

Every now and then, one of these oddballs strikes a collective. I couldn’t believe, in one of my last Ragtag experiences, that I was in a nearly-sold out screening of a documentary about fungus. (It’s called “Fantastic Fungi” and you can now stream it online.)

There’s also the experience of preservation. Not simply from watching revivals of older films, but preserving the way we used to watch films. You had to look far and wide to find another venue that took the effort to screen a 35 mm copy of Greta Gerwig’s masterful smash “Little Women.” But Ragtag screened this print for weeks, with its projectionist standing back and changing reels just so the audience could watch a version of the film that lent to its rustic backdrop.

It’s not simply about digging some old format because it seems cool. Film prints enhance candlelit interiors and exteriors shots at dusk, bringing a depth to the image not available from digital. Virtually every film in the country is delivered to theaters digitally, which means having a projector on site takes a lot of effort and resources. Ragtag invests in this, because they know the experience is worth it.

While I enjoy partaking in a lovely beverage while catching a flick, the bar I can

Columbia Orthopaedic Group

Peter K. Buchert, MD Patrick A. Smith, MD Thomas R. Highland, MD Mark A. Adams, MD Benjamin T. Holt, MD John D. Miles, MD B. Bus Tarbox, MD David E. Hockman, MD Matt E. Thornburg, MD Jeffrey W. Parker, MD S. Craig Meyer, MD Christopher D. Farmer, MD Brian D. Kleiber, MD Kurt T. Bormann, MD Jason T. Koreckij, MD Alan G. Anz, MD Matt L. Jones, MD Tameem Yehyawi, MD Joshua C. Hamann, MD Shannon E. Yehyawi, MD Thomas Aleto, MD Tyler Jenkins, MD Jeffrey Milles, MD Shawn Sahota, MD Michael Robertson, MD J. Camp Newton, MD Alissa Hinkebein, DPM

www.columbiaorthogroup.com • 1 South Keene Street • Columbia, MO 65201 • 573-443-2402

8 | www.columbiatribune.com

OUR TOWN 2020

The Hitttsville complex now includes Ragtag Cinema, Hitt Records and Uprise Bakery. [TRIBUNE FILE PHOTO]

take or leave. It’s owned separately and there’s never, ever much motivation to get Ragtag patrons a drink when a movie is about to start. Even if you’re sitting there with your ticket stub displayed. (If there’s Ragtag people reading this, please help.)

Even this is part of the ritual: eating some stale popcorn and washing it down with a Logboat Denim Jean & The Jammers IPA while taking in the newest flick. Folks, drink local if you must. For all my complaints, this is something I miss.

Multiplexes can give you an experience too. They are more like Disney World: slick, safe and good for some big thrills or laughs. That’s fun too, and I miss it. Ragtag is more like hiking along the side of a steep hill: challenging and a little uncertain with your footing, but always worth the view.

James Owen is the Tribune’s film critic.

Sarah Medcalf

NINTH AND LOCUST

The place I miss the most in Columbia is a stretch of sidewalk leading from campus uphill to the intersection of Ninth and Locust. If you time it just right, you can look up the long set of stairs to your right and see the red doors and beautiful stonework of the old part of the Methodist church.

Across the street, on your left, you can see the Missouri Theatre marquee flashing this month’s events of interest. As you keep walking, you soon see Cafe Poland tucked behind the Episcopal church, another beautiful work of stone in architecture, with its gorgeous, if just smaller red doors, squished beneath the backwards letters of the Tiger Hotel sign.

As you approach this corner and consider what direction to turn, you’ll start to see the awnings of the heart of downtown pop up like a children’s book come to life before you.

It’s not that this stretch of sidewalk is the most picturesque; parts of it are beautiful to be sure, my nostalgia-tinted, rose-colored glasses aside. But parts of it are not. One corner, in particular, has been changed so drastically that it took a good few minutes for me to remember what is actually there now. It is another building, with apartments on the top floors. I assume those floors are now nearly empty. The first floor is a brandnew chain restaurant that I’ve heard more concretely is also now empty. I remember it originally as an adorable boutique with a cute awning wrapping the corner like a bow. But that’s a topic for another day.

So, why does this particular patch of concrete (with the one oddly modern corner) give me so much nostalgia? It’s longing for a time when I would come to that corner and know it’s where I would decide to jump off. The place where autopilot turned off and the things I could do came into focus. It was a point of possibility.

I came to Columbia for school in 2006, and walked this stretch between campus and downtown for years. I spent my first free pliable years growing up, working and playing on Ninth Street and throughout downtown. My best and longest friendships were forged in these businesses and on the sidewalks on these streets. I always knew that I could walk downtown and find someone I knew.

I left for a few years, like so many of us do, and came back, like so many of us also do (even though we swore we never would) because of the community I have here. I settled down. I took the job I have now. I started my family with my husband Rob. (Hi, Archer! You’re the invisible member of the family in that last sentence. I love you!)

The business where I work, Top Ten Wines, is still on Ninth Street. I, however, am not. Of course I miss the actual places, too numerous to name, that make the physical structure of our downtown. But what I really miss is the heart-swelling anticipation of what will happen when I see the people who make these places breathe. I miss stepping into the point of possibility and wondering what will come next.

I don’t know what will come next now, though it’s not the same sort of heart-swelling anticipation that the idea of seeing friends would bring. It’s more of a dull, constant uneasiness in my chest, waiting for the next shoe to drop, wondering how long it will be until I can safely see those friends again. It’s wondering what the world will look like then.

What I do take comfort in is the fact that we are a smart and resilient species. We’ve always depended on our human connections to get through life. Nothing has become more apparent than that in these last months as we’ve floundered to find each other virtually. I still have hope that we will find our way through this, with each other, even if it is on the page or screen. I still hope that I will get to see my best friends at the corner of Ninth and Locust, give them hugs and decide what the evening holds for us.

It may be a long way off, but I am willing to wait.

I do so hope that someday I’ll get to walk back up that hill and have the world of possibilities that downtown will offer to stir the butterflies in the pit of my stomach again, when I see those backwards letters and those red doors.

Sarah Medcalf is a Columbia resident and owner of Sarah Medcalf Stronger.

OUR TOWN 2020

www.columbiatribune.com

9

The community weighs in

When I miss Southeast Asia, I usually head for Tiger Chef, my favorite place for Thai (and the only place for Burmese!) food in town. This restaurant was opened just a year ago by Sai Tai and Neng Seng Lont, who came to Columbia as refugees from Myanmar in 2011. Since restaurants went to take-out only, we've been ordering in: curries, tea leaf salad, and the fried noodles my kids love. But I miss getting the food piping hot from their kitchen, which always made me feel like I was a guest in their home. Tiger Chef symbolizes to me what I love about Columbia — its diversity, its welcoming spirit, and the hardworking people who make it such a great place to live. — Rose Metro, University of Missouri professor and novelist

I don't think it's a surprise to anyone who knows me that the thing I'm missing the most during stay-at-home orders is watching live music at The Blue Note. Watching music surrounded by hundreds of strangers who, like you, just love the energy this band brings to your hometown, is not that hard to miss. What I've surprised myself by missing recently is all the things I thought I hated about going to a show at The Blue Note. Right now, I'm missing getting my feet stepped on, getting stuck behind someone that is too tall or dancing too wildly, getting beer spilled on me, staying out way past my bedtime, and my ears ringing a day or two after standing just a little too close to the speakers. All those things sound like heaven right about now. — Emily Larkin, program director and DJ, 102.3 FM KBXR

One thing I’ve missed since we started staying at home is seeing my sons’ band and other bands, young and older, play shows in town. The local music scene here is great, especially for younger bands like The Sweaters, whose members are in high school and middle school, and the opportunity for them to play in clubs and for their fans (including their parents) to go see them has been tremendous and is sorely, sorely missed. — Sam Cohen, University of Missouri professor and author

I actually miss being at The Lyceum the most. I miss hearing singing coming from the house during rehearsals, the sounds of set construction, all the jokes and fun with co-workers, the thrill of the actors and tech people coming to what is sort of an adult arts summer camp for them, all the love from people coming to shows, the theater lore I've learned and the Lyceum history that's been shared with me. It's such an unlikely theater out there in the middle of absolutely nowhere. I really do love the magic and the strange blend of excited energy and the peacefulness of the village that I associate with being at the theater. — Amy Wilder, Arrow Rock Lyceum Theatre director of marketing and commu

nications and former Tribune reporter

“SIX FEET APART”

A poem by Lena Wamsley

I took my life for granted Now I sorely regret it. I look back on it,

And remember good times I had.

Laughing and talking with friends,

Enjoying walking through the community. Now is different. Now is lonely.

Now our faces buried in screens.

Tired of hearing, “Stay home, stay safe.”

Tired of hearing, “Stay apart, stand together.”

Ready to hear voices that aren’t glitched,

Ready to feel the touch of a hand. So a question that rings through all our heads:

How do you wipe a tear away?

When all has been taken away?

How do you wipe a tear away?

When a simple hug could mean the world? When a hand to hold is six feet away? We can only know,

God has control of the wheel.

Lena Wamsley will be a seventh-grader this year at Heritage Academy.