Where Is Spoon River? (2)

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I was born in Washington, DC in 1953, and grew up in suburban Cleveland, Ohio.

I pursued my education in Berea and Oberlin, Ohio, Interlochen, Michigan, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, Evanston, Chicago, Urbana, and Granite City, Illinois, St. Louis, Missouri, and finally, Rochester, New York. I established myself in suburban Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and settled down with my wife in a suburb of Wilmington, Delaware.

Between 1972 and 1992, I lived in suburban homes, dormitories, crowded apartments, more or less co-operative group houses, a converted Motel 6, an ancient row house in a dead mill town, a basement, and in several instances, an automobile. I rarely lived more than a year and a half in the same place, considerably less in the automobile.

While such an odyssey is not unusual, I noticed something disconcerting. The communities in which I lived appeared to be interchangeable. Surprisingly, I began and ended my journey in what felt like exactly the same place. When people ask me where I am from, I jokingly reply, “anywhere and nowhere".


I found life to be soporific and repetitive in suburban Cleveland (Fairview Park, for God's sake!) by the time I was 13. In desperation, I retreated to fiction and poetry, mostly not age-appropriate. About this time, I discovered "Spoon River Anthology" (1915) by Edgar Lee Masters (1868-1950). Although I was not aware of it, this volume of poetry was Masters' magnum opus, and one of the cornerstones of 20th-century American literature. The book held a cobra-like fascination for me, because the characters Masters created were speaking from the grave through epitaphs. I was enthralled by these characters; they had deep passions and strongly held opinions, they were unusually perceptive and tragically unaware, they were brutally honest and criminally deceptive. Most importantly, their lives all seemed to be intertwined inextricably within the unique, confining, small Midwestern town-of-another-time, Spoon River. Little did I know that the characters were inspired by Masters’ fellow townsfolk. Unlike me, they had roots.

My high school drama club presented the Broadway musical adaptation of "Spoon River Anthology" (Aidman, 1963) in 1970. I was selected to be the music director, and helped several

fellow students prepare and perform the music that accompanied the dramatic readings of Masters' poetry. This was an early life-changing experience for me. I learned that poetry read from a page in silence and isolation was flat and listless, but came to life with powerful immediacy


when spoken. I realized that "poetry" could become an emotionally shattering experience within a communal dramatic context. The inhabitants of Spoon River became more real to me than some of my classmates. Most importantly, I recognized that the main character of "Spoon River Anthology" was actually Spoon River itself. I had to find Spoon River. After I devoured Masters' "The New Spoon River" (1924), "Winesburg, Ohio" (Anderson, 1919), and attended several performances of "Our Town" (Wilder, 1938), my search for a physical as well as a metaphorical "Spoon River" became a lifelong obsession.

My initial search for Spoon River was a resounding failure. Obviously, I did not have sufficient knowledge of American history, sociology, nor the maturity to conduct a meaningful search. College and time would remedy those deficiencies. Much to my dismay, I learned that small town life in America began disappearing at the turn of the 20th century, and had completely vanished at least two decades before my birth. I was now living in Evanston, Illinois, only 216 miles northeast of Lewistown, Masters' home during adolescence. He would later model Spoon River on this town, as well as nearby Petersburg, his childhood home. As my feelings of loneliness and disconnection increased, my search became more desperate. I continued my education in Urbana, Illinois. Lewistown was now only 115 miles due west. I made the drive.


Lewistown was a shock. Although it was a small Illinois town, Lewistown appeared, in its salient features, indistinguishable from my home of adolescence! In desperation, I drove to Petersburg, only 35 miles away. I went to Oakland Cemetery and found Masters' grave.


My heart leapt as I read words I had memorized in high school:

Good friends, let’s to the fields...
After a little walk and by your pardon,
I think I’ll sleep, there is no sweeter thing.
Nor fate more blessed than to sleep.
-"Tomorrow is My Birthday" (1918)

I wandered through the cemetery. I saw names I recognized (Ann Rutledge), names I imagined I knew. A cursory exploration of Petersburg gave the same disappointing result as the exploration of Lewistown. If there was a Spoon River, it was long gone. My search for Spoon River was now entirely metaphorical and relegated to the back burner due to the sequential demands of graduate school, a postdoctoral appointment, the establishment of a career, and the settling of a life. Nevertheless, I re-read "Spoon River Anthology" every few years. I realized that Spoon River was a personal myth, located in my emotional and intellectual landscape.

Receiving a diagnosis of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis in 1998 re-ignited my quest for Spoon River. This time, I realized that I would have to use my knowledge of American literature and my skills as a musician and composer to bring Spoon River to life.