Going Home Again
My friend Tailor and I were driving to St. Louis to attend Archon, a great science fiction convention. I've been attending Archons pretty regularly since their beginning. These days they tend to be the largest science fiction events I go to, and they are very cool.
Archon seems a little disorganized sometimes, in a benign neglect sort of way, but the enthusiasm and interest of everyone there more than makes up for it. Better this feel from a volunteer-run event than a streamlined, impersonal, profit-oriented professional event. Take a look at this great collection of photos from the 2005 event, including proof that Tailor and I were there (I'm the one with stylishly frosted hair.)
As is usual on such trips, our conversation covered a lot of ground. Usually, as we talk, I'm thinking of all sorts of really important if digressive things I want to say. The main problem is remembering them long enough to actually say them. Somehow we got started talking about Important Political Machines in History. Like Tammany Hall, or Richard Daley in Chicago.
Now, Archon actually takes place in Collinsville, a little east of St. Louis in Illinois, but we were headed toward St. Louis, as we planned to spend the night at my parents' home in St. Louis County. I grew up in Missouri. So, naturally, we talked about famous political machines in Missouri history. For some reason, neither of us could remember what that famous Kansas City politician had been named. I wanted to say it was Poindexter, but I knew that wasn't quite correct.
Tailor was spending Thursday night at my parents' house because he hadn't been able to book a room out in Collinsville. He had a room for the rest of the convention, but not Thursday night. It really worked out okay, I think. It saved some money on the room, we got to eat a great meal my mother had made, and Tailor got to see a little more of St. Louis as we drove out through Kirkwood to Baldwin where my parents live.
Tailor slept in a lower level den on a nice sofa. He really impressed my mother with his nice manners, as he tidied up his bed himself. (Trying to make me look bad.) I drove back out to Baldwin each evening after spending the day at Archon in the Dealers' Room trying to sell stuff. This way I was able to spend a significant amount of time with my family, who I don't get to see often enough. Some of my sisters and brothers came over to Mom and Dad's house, and my parents and I went over to one of my sister's houses another night for a big party: brothers, sisters, in-laws, nieces and nephews. I was overwhelmed. And I got to check my email on my sister's computer.
One morning, as I joined Mom and Dad for breakfast, my mother started telling some stories about her childhood. These were great stories, stuff I hadn't known before. Really, they were the type of stories you can tell your 57 year old son, but maybe not the bored sullen teenager I used to be. I felt honored and privileged to have learned these family histories. One of the stories seemed particularly relevant in light of the discussion that Tailor and I had during the drive down.
My mother's family was originally from the Kansas City area. Her mother and father lived there when they met and married. Her dad was looking for better work, it seems, as he was soon to be a father! His father was in a position that allowed for helping him find a good job.
My mother explained her grandfather had been rather old when she knew him, but even then, you could tell that when he was younger he had been a really big, tall, strong fellow. As an older gentleman, he had a great job, chief of security for a night club. In this prestigious position, he knew many people of worth, including Mayor Pendergast.
It seems the mayor had the right political connections to get my grandfather a job as a prison guard in Jefferson City. So the family packed up and moved to Jeff City. I was speechless, astonished by the story. My mother may not have even known it -- I'm not sure -- maybe she just wouldn't use the same words as I -- but she was telling me that my great grandfather had been a gangster!
Pendergast. That was the name we had been looking for.