Showing posts from September, 2021


  It’s never really Main Street or Broadway. Pedestrian and working class defines it. Auto repair shops, small retail, a grocery store, a bookstore, and the occasional shop. It’s where people go about the living of their lives, drawn from every side of the city. Diverse, full of the experiences of everyday, and colorful.  Walking it blends together Americana at its best. Not ditto boutiques, but a place where people find the basics. Where the words and way of life can be found on the street. An art form like the record scrubbing of a DJ. It’s a place where you go back and forth readying yourself for the next day. Central Avenue is where the bus runs. Your mind though always takes you beyond if you let it. Giving you footing for what life could be and what is… 


  It had been many things, the small building on the corner of Mill St. For a while though, Reverend Rick spoke sermons here to a small flock. Workers with memories of better times and paychecks. Now just social security, food banks or worse. The giant empty factory building still casting a dark shadow. They felt unworthy of going to the big Baptist church up on Railroad Street. No one ask Reverend Rick how he came to this small place. He was thankful for that, not wanting to share the wandering years and drink. Somehow he just appeared one day, putting a simple cross above the door and giving sermons. He used the small offerings to fix the place as best he could. The market next door giving him food and a room in back to sleep. Then one day the Reverend was gone. Only the cross remained. Overtime the building again fell in disrepair. Rumors had it that an Asian man planned a bar there. Sometimes neighbors walking by claimed they could still hear Reverend Rick sharing the lords mess

THE MONTAGE (a lost art)

  My wandering days in Portland, Oregon always seemed to lead to the Eastside. It’s low profile warehouses  and edge loved by my camera. Wandering often ended or started just down from SE Grand Avenue, under the Morrison Bridge. There, the colorful Montage restaurant held court. True to its name, it served everything from alligator to oysters somehow combining those small parts into a French and Cajon delight. For those who could find it, the Montage became a favorite over 27 years. Some complained of its loudness, the noise from the bridge, the waiters shouting out orders (a tradition) and the rowdy late night diners. It was loud, but I always got lost in the wonder of how all the pieces of the place came together to delight. I remember how the chef would form tin foil into fish, frogs, and alligator as part of the meal presentations. A covid loss, The Montage unfortunately closed in 2020, only survived by a food cart of the same name. Ironically, I now live on a street named Grand in


  We chase the pavement leaving notes behind. Ones never fully understood or destination known. But, they are the marks of our lives. “ Should I give up or should I just keep chasing the pavement, even if it leads nowhere…”  - Adele