< PREVIOUS ] [ 1989 Index ] [ Ed Quillen HOME ] [ SEARCH ] [ NEXT >
There are some things that ought to be promoted, since
they're fun and interesting. More people ought to know
about this,
you think. But then you realize that
horrible things would happen if one of your esoteric
cult
preferences attained mainstream popularity.
For instance, I can recall a day when Catch-22
was not a common phrase, and the book itself was an
American samizdat. Tattered copies passed from friend to
friend, so that you could all stay up all night roaring
over the antics of Major Major Major and Milo Minderbinder.
You and your initiated friends could share cruel inside
jokes about the officious morons who dominated school and
work.
Then Joseph Heller caught on, alas. Catch-22
became required reading in lit classes. Even politicians
began to complain about those no-win Catch-22
dilemmas. With mainstream popularity, the book's charm
faded.
On the last weekend of August, I ventured toward Vail, perhaps the newest and richest city in Colorado, to see a friend and to enjoy ourselves at a George Thorogood concert in Avon. About 3,000 other like-minded folks were there, and we all had a great time, shouting and stomping to several hours of loud and dirty rock 'n' roll.
But suppose the Delaware Destroyers lost their cult status and started charting albums. No more concerts in grassy small-town parks with laid-back security, but major productions before 75,000 people in metropolitan arenas patrolled by menacing rent-a-cops. The music might sound the same, but you'd need binoculars to see the stage, and the concert wouldn't be a tenth as much fun.
My Deadhead friends tell me that they may give up going to Grateful Dead concerts for precisely this reason -- the Dead are getting too popular these days. Too many people means too much regimentation, and there goes the fun.
Saturday, I went south to what may be the poorest and oldest town in Colorado, San Luis. It was my honor to serve as a judge in a green-chili cooking contest. I wasn't a very capable judge. My palate was overwhelmed after the second tasting, and by the fourth or fifth, I'm sure that smoke boiled from my ears.
The chili contest was only a small part of what was going on in San Luis last weekend. A major event was the dedication of a shrine on the mesa above town. Throughout the morning, processions arrived from nearby parishes. Local painters and sculptors displayed their work, weavers set up their looms in the plaza, kids ran everywhere, adults hugged second cousins who had moved away but had returned for the festival, and everybody seemed to be having a great time.
Despite the poaching sting operation last spring,
despite the statewide adoption of Official English
last fall, despite an economy that is as depressed any
other rural economy, Colorado's first town was exuberantly
celebrating 138 years of its own traditions.
More people should see this, I thought. But San Luis
isn't equipped to handle big crowds, and it wouldn't be the
same town if it were. If the TV crews appeared, events
would be scheduled and choreographed for the cameras,
instead of occurring on Southern Colorado Standard Time,
which may be formally defined as things happen when they
happen.
Whenever something gains popularity, it generally loses the qualities that made it endearing -- you climb mountains because you enjoy the solitude, and suddenly everybody's on the trail; you go fishing because it's just you and the creek, and soon you're elbow-to-elbow along the banks; you enjoy the challenge of coaxing your old pickup over a forgotten pass one year, and the next summer you see nothing but dust and bumpers.
So I hope San Luis never becomes fashionable in the manner of Taos or Santa Fe, just as I hope that the Delaware Destroyers never cut a platinum album. There's got to be some way around this particular application of Catch-22.
< PREVIOUS ] [ 1989 Index ] [ Ed Quillen HOME ] [ SEARCH ] [ NEXT >