Photo by John Hoff
A few hours after the last of the volunteers left from working at the Teachout residence, Peter called my cell phone...
...and asked, "What's happening on 6th Street?"
"You tell me," I replied.
"Where are you?" he asked.
"On the highway...driving...um...I'm not exactly sure where I am."
It turned out I was in Arden Hills, a northern suburb of Minneapolis.
"What are you DOING?" Peter asked.
"It's too complicated to explain," I replied.
Sometimes I drive to random places, trying to learn not just my neighborhood but other parts of Minneapolis, suburbs, convenient routes, landmarks, funky out-of-the-way restaurants. Sometimes the urge to drive someplace I haven't been before just seizes me at the sight of an exit ramp and I step on the gas until I don't know where I am, until I risk running out of gasoline; then I find fuel and I find myself on a map and (if I'm lucky) I find something to eat which I've never eaten before, even if it's a brand of jerky sold only in and around Wolverine, Michigan.
Unlike my real estate agent, Juley Viger, I've haven't seen the Sistine Chapel. Or Europe, for that matter. I've seen the Mystery Spot on the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. A few months ago, I saw the early landholdings of Johnny Appleseed in Ohio, which is good, because I'm sort of named after him, in a roundabout way.
I got paid to see these things, even if I had to experience them quickly, from the windshield of my truck...but, then again, I've heard American tourists aren't the kind to linger, to contemplate. Always they want to check off the next landmark on their list and then hunt down a McDonalds somewhere in Paris.
This week I plan to see Missouri and get paid to do it. My first impression is it's...muddy.
I'll have to see about that. I understand what Thoreau meant when he said, "I have traveled widely in Concord."
In any case, when Peter called me I was, in retrospect, in Arden Hills.
"What's up?" I asked. "Why are you asking me about 6th Street?"
Peter said a bunch of men in civilian clothing had descended on the area, and were searching some gang banger types. The men had dogs, too, and the dogs were sniffing things. The search was not--despite my eager inquiry--centered on 3020 6th St. N.
Rather, it was over on 30th Ave. N., mostly.
"And when are you coming to get your bike?" Peter asked. I'd left it locked to his handrail, which looked more like a bike rack than a handrail should, for its own good.
"Half an hour," I replied, confident in my navigation abilities. When I found out Peter'd had to leave, and wasn't in any position to find out what the police in civvies were doing, I told him I'd nose around and try to figure out what was happening.
When I got back to 6th St., an employee of Castrejon, Inc. was boarding up 422 6th St. N., which really NEEDED boarding up and it was a while back I called 311 about it. The only reason I'd refrained from boarding it up myself was because 422 is a brick building, and trying to re-board a window is a more difficult proposition when it's brick or stucco.
An officer in civilian clothing was sitting in a gray, unmarked vehicle with a badge hanging around his neck. He gestured me over. I was able to find out what had happened. The Metro Gang Strike Force had received a tip of drugs stashed inside 422 6th St. N. or 419 6th St. N., and so they had searched both houses and frisked some gang members who were hanging around. However, they had turned up nothing. The gang in question was [The Gang Which $hall Not Be Publicized].
Later, when I chatted with Peter, he'd already been informed of everything I'd found out, but he also had a cool business card from the Strike Force. I took a picture of it. Those are the hands of a man who works for a living, and I don't mean selling crack.
At least 422 and 419 6th St. N. got boarded up by Castrejon.
Progress.
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