So I was sworn in today as a member of the local Historic Preservation Committee. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined the kick I would get out of being in the same room with half a dozen geezers who all care as much as I do about the architectural significance of Gabby Hayes' former home and other local structures made mostly of popsickle sticks, mud and spit. But there I was! And they seemed to be glad to see me, too.
It's going to be incredibly complicated, the process of identifying, describing, and advocating on behalf of what are essentially a bunch of chicken coops. Lots of riffling through survey maps, county records, old photos; lots of forms to fill out exactly right, and interviewing people, persuading them to go along with the plan--something I suspect I'll be pretty good at.
We all got to pick our projects from a list of about 70 possibles. Somebody already did the swimming pool I'm so crazy about (they're all crazy about it, too), but everybody was pleased to have me volunteer to research and document the sole surviving local gen-u-wine 50s burger joint, unchanged from the days when I first padded in there barefoot at the age of 7 or 8. The soda fountain, the stools, the steel-and-formica tables with naugahyde-covered chairs--it's all still there, the burgers are excellent (just ask Pica about the malts and fries!), and it's mine to protect and preserve! Wahoo!
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