Smatterings from Smart Town
Please permit me a random thought or two on another gorgeous Sunday night in the heart of our great American heartland. For starters, one of the joys of living — even temporarily, as I am now — in a really smart town is that you don’t encounter a whole lot of stupid talk.
And that lack of dumb discourse changes the way you think or feel — about the world and about yourself. It’s a substantial change for the better because you start believing there might actually be enough intelligent people who can help the rest of us extricate ourselves from the cultural and political mess we’ve gotten into in this nation.
I’m in the midst of a summer “break” from California and residing in Ames, Iowa. Ames is a delight for a host of reasons. Among them: It’s on just about everyone’s list of the smartest, best-educated towns or cities in the United States. And why not? After all, it’s the home of Iowa State University, which has, among other attributes, extremely well-regarded engineering, veterinary medicine, agriculture and journalism programs. In addition, about two-thirds of all Ames residents have bachelors degrees, and a high percentage have masters and PhD’s. What that translates into is a much higher level of public discussion than you find in most other locales.
One example: I’ve been here a month now, and I’ve trekked all over town and visited more than my share of business establishments. I’ve eaten dinner (and way too much Midwestern beef) at numerous restaurants and had coffee at my favorite Main Street café with my buddy Steve a dozen times. I’ve gone shopping at Fareway and Target, and I’ve enjoyed sitting on benches at Brookside Park and Bandshell Park and Duff Park on these lovely summer nights, watching families and young couples having fun and, yes, talking.
And what I’ve noticed everywhere I’ve gone is the use of smart — and by that, I mean “educated” — talk. I haven’t heard anyone make outlandish or dumb or unfortunate or derogatory comments. Folks around here may not be talking about nuclear physics, but they’re also not talking “trash” or making loud comments about women’s anatomy — nor has anyone in any passing cars screamed stupid or profane comments at me as I’m walking down a street. Yes, that’s an unfortunate common occurrence in a certain Central California city I’m intimately familiar with.
Another example: I attended a couple of public workshops on an Ames housing issue the other night. One of the sessions was designed for rental property managers, and the other was aimed at neighborhood residents. The issue is important because this is a college town, and students need places to stay. Ames now has regulations on how many non-family members can live in rentals, but the state has passed legislation that soon will prohibit Iowa towns and cities from regulating rentals in that manner.
During the three hours I was in attendance, dozens of citizens spoke up. Some — primarily homeowners in neighborhoods with student rental homes or apartments — favored new regulations. Others — primarily property managers — favored increased enforcement of existing noise and trash rules as ways to make sure rentals did not become albatrosses for the neighborhoods they are in.
The key point is that everyone who spoke — without exception — did so in a courteous, reasoned manner. Everyone had relevant “points” — no one made outrageous, unsupportable statements — and the result was a level of discussion that truly illuminated the complexities of the issue.
That’s what having a smart, educated populace can bring when issues of public import are on the line.
Another example: talk radio in Ames. Because this town has a considerable number of smart people, local radio hosts have to bring a higher level of discourse to their airwaves than do hosts in certain other (poorly educated) cities. On a daily basis, that means there’s no “mindless” ranting and raving — the hosts are not seeking to generate seething anger. Instead, they ask for a reasoned discussion — whether the day’s topic is Donald Trump or the opening of a new Ames water treatment plant. And because they aim for smart callers, that’s what they get. I know that’s amazing — but trust me, it’s true.
I spend a great deal of time walking around Ames because its historic neighborhoods are beautiful and completely safe, and because hoofing it is a whole lot more attractive to me than getting a gym membership. And this was a great weekend to walk because it was a “mowing weekend.” We had some much-needed rain a few days earlier, and that greened up everyone’s lawn. (Virtually no one irrigates lawns here — we rely on Mother Nature and the sky above.) Our weather Saturday and today was superlative — sunny, with no smog in the amazingly deep-blue sky and temperatures in the low 80’s.
So plenty of folks pulled out their mowers Saturday and trimmed their grass. Those who didn’t get to it then came out in considerable force this afternoon. I could easily hear the sound of lawnmowers on streets one-over from where I was walking, and several people were mowing their yards along my path. I was particularly struck by one youngster — perhaps 10 years old — who was pushing a rotary power mower over his incredibly green front-yard grass on Wilson Avenue, while two younger children — his siblings, perhaps? — were sitting on the porch, watching intently and perhaps dreaming about their own upcoming turns to cut that lawn. Just a few more years, kids.
That scene brought back vivid memories of my growing up in Fresno more than a half-century ago. I begged — begged — my dad to let me mow the lawn at our corner home near Fresno High, but I had to wait until I was big enough and strong enough to control our powerful Trimmer mower. I loved everything about cutting our lawn back then. I always did it on Saturday mornings and tried to finish before the start of the CBS baseball “Game of the Week” with Diz and Pee Wee. I kept mowing lawns for decades at every house we lived in across the nation — until we moved into association-run neighborhoods that took care of lawn maintenance.
I miss mowing my lawn. I still love that unforgettable smell of freshly cut grass — and seeing anyone — no matter what their age — walking behind a lawnmower these days makes me feel good. In fact, in some unfathomable way, it makes me feel young again. I hope cutting his grass made that 10-year-old feel good about himself — and that a half-century from now, he’ll have his own indelible memories of his time behind the mower.
Walking around all these historic Ames neighborhoods — with homes dating back to the 1870’s — is sheer delight. The old homes are lovely, and the giant trees in front — including maples, ash and even sycamores — often canopy the streets. And even more delightful are the “little free libraries” that are scattered throughout the neighborhoods. These are small structures built to look like a house. They are attached to a pole and have a glass door.
Inside the little houses are books — paperbacks and hard-cover — donated by residents. Anyone can reach in and take any book and return it to that “library” — or to any of the numerous others in the neighborhoods — at their leisure. The amazing thing is — to this jaded Californian, at least — this voluntary resident effort “works.” No one steals the books. No one vandalizes the little library structures. And people are constantly donating new books to their neighborhood little library.
Is this a great town, or what?
Well, yes. But my stay here, regrettably, will end all too soon. There are still obligations to be met in Fresno, and only after those are taken care of can we move to the Central Coast of California for half the year and spend the other half — the warmer half — right here in LA — Lovely Ames. I don’t know how long we’ll be able to keep up that schedule — health determines everything, of course — but we’ll come back here for summers and autumns until we’re simply too old to do so.
And, truly, I hope that’s a really long time from now — because there is something indescribably wonderful about living in a small, smart town in the Midwest — especially this one.