June 26, Thursday – Beat on my Chest

Today was adventure day. I was going to “central city” using the mass transit trail system. I got my senior rate $1 ticket for the 30 minutes ride into the city. When I do something new, I just follow someone and it worked to get me through the train system. My stop - Market’s East Main Station. Wow, what a complex of tracks and information boards. The escalators kept going up with malls on each floor. A buried city. When I broke out to into the heat and sunlight on the street level, I was surprised how little traffic there was. I’ve been told on the high population of blacks that residence in the city. This is true. I had been told by varies white people to be aware; don’t be there after dark. Because I taught in the inner city, worked under a black man and had black roommates and working side-by-side with blacks, I feel extremely comfortable with sharing space with them.
Slowly I walked down Market Street then Arch Street to the Independence Mall. I finally stepped into the long green lawn of the mall with Independence Hall at the south end. I signed up for a tour of this magnificent, historic building. I got on one immediately and after going through an airport system security check, joined 50 other folks to witness the birthplace of our nation. WOW!! The chairs, tables, ink wells. All those paintings of this setting and here was the real item. No duplication.
And from there to the Congress Hall with the House of Representative with its sparse setting and then upstairs to the Senate Chambers showing the plush of the twenty six chairs and chairs with the thick carpet. Some things don’t change. I was extremely proud of our founding fathers and the turmoil that they went through to truly forge a new country. It’s okay to beat (quietly) on my chest.
From the two stately buildings I wandered the walks stopping to talk to a couple of “living history” characters. The man was playing a banjo dulcimer and sang Loyalists songs.
Besides following my nation’s birth I was interested in contacting my people, the Quakers. After three stops at Quaker institutions, I felt no religious catharsis. Where were my people? I saw people at desks and signing me in and out, but not a soul to connect with. No bonding. Here I was at the heartbeat of my people after journeying all this way to find a union and I left feeling empty.
My stomach was empty, too. Moving on, where to eat? Try a street vendor? Why not try the Chinese Food wagon next to the hospital with ten people in line? (Street Vendor Credo: always go to one with a line.) Step in line and get a good meal for $3.50.
Afterwards I hit my afternoon wall and wanted to strike out for Snee-Oosh. On my way back to East Station I saw an old set of double doors and stepped through into a totally different world – it was a giant bazaar! What fun! It was the famous Reading Terminal Market – think Pike Street Public Market. I could have spent money in this place so I had to just look and keep moving.
Back in familiar territory in the East Main Station building I had time to bounce around and explore. This place was cavernous filled with folks of all colors but primarily black. At one location among the underground stores I stopped and turned around and I was the only white guy to be seen. Cool. Being in the minority is a new sensation for many Anglos. But I never noticed until I stopped to think about returning to the train platforms.
Being a neophyte in moving with the masses, I was pleased that I was able to sort out the train and track information for my return to the burbs. I got to my station, Swarthmore and the eight-minute walk back to my rig without a hitch. Home, Sweet Home.
See photo link.