With my recent move to Birmingham, I have been tasked with the responsibility of once again learning my way around a completely new city. Every object of consideration, from finding a local grocery store to determining the easiest route to work, has been a new adventure in both exploration and miscues alike. More than once have I taken a wrong turn that has not only cost me time, but has occasionally stranded me in some less desirable neighborhoods as well. Although this would undoubtedly elicit feelings of anxiety in those not so adept to handle the perils of gang warfare, my obviously intimidating demeanor ensures that no overzealous street tough dares to throw down with yours truly. Still, my frequent excursions into unscheduled detours require that I familiarize myself with this city's layout. I therefore decided to spend the day exploring my new hometown to discover not only my way around, but also what unseen treasures it may hold. Who knows that The Magic City may be hiding just under its rosy gilded facade...
As I open the blinds in my bedroom to greet the new day, the Birmingham skyline meets my eyes for the first time each morning. My apartment sits atop Red Mountain and overlooks the entire city all the way out into the horizon. A million lives are unfolding down there and on this day I think I will venture down from my lofty abode to join them.
Right next to my apartment a small outcrop of cleared rock known as Vulcan Park sits high atop Red Mountain. This park is home to Birmingham's all-seeing protector...The Vulcan Statue. A tribute to the Roman god of fire and forge, this aptly named stature pays homage to the city's steel producing past as its right arms extends mightily to the heavens whilst holding a cast iron spearhead. While its bearded face and proclivity towards weapons undoubtedly cast an imposing figuring, a short stroll behind the statue reveals that its backside remains curiously unclothed as he appears to actually be mooning the surrounding neighborhood of Homewood.
A curious bit of monolithic pornography has found its way into our fair city it would seem...
Birmingham boasts more than mere scantily clad statues to remind us of its steel producing past. The Sloss Furnaces are a local landmark that once churned out steel and iron at a pace rivaled only by Pittsburg. Though the furnaces have long since closed, rumors of spooky happenings at the site have caused many to believe that the furnaces are haunted. Yearly ghost tours around Halloween help stir the spirits up, though the skeptical observer would wonder why a being capable of invisibility and teleportation would spend his days pacing around a rusted furnace rather than exploring the far more exciting destinations that other ghosts seem to have gotten wise to. Perhaps I should get the Sloss Furnace ghost the phone number of The White House ghost so he can know what he's missing out on.
After visiting some of Birmingham's sites that pay homage to the distant past, I decided to head downtown to experience some of the city's modern flare. Several skyscrapers loom large over me as I approach the city and make me wonder what sorts of adventures await me on the streets below.
Birmingham's skyscrapers give panoramic views of the surrounding area and form the hub of the city's business district. Many of Birmingham's most affluent citizens work in these towering shrines to high finance and can frequently be seen jabbering away on their cell phones as they disappear into its illustrious corridors to undoubtedly conduct some manner of important business. I once spent an entire afternoon shouting random business buzzwords into a broken cell phone in an effort to trick/impress these businessmen with my supposed business acumen. I recommend this strategy for any aspiring young professional.
In stark contrast to the pageantry of Italian cut business suits and imported sports cars that grace these streets, a far more somber spectacle plays itself out daily in the shadows of these soaring towers. Birmingham's homeless gather in neighboring Linn Park to rest on its many benches or receive a free meal courtesy of one of the area's local churches. For some reason, homeless people have always caused me great anxiety whenever I have been near them. After feeling guilty about this sentiment for quite some time, I finally realized that it was not the people themselves but the occasional unpredictability of their actions that arouses my discomfort. Considering that this unpredictability is often times due to a mental disorder, I suspect that my unease lies not with the people themselves but with the knowledge that for a moment I am at the whims of madness. Though my guilt is still justified, hopefully my condemnation is not.
A few blocks away from Linn Park resides one of Birmingham's most troubling landmarks. A small street corner church marks the spot of perhaps the most tragic event to ever befall this city. On September 15th, 1963 a bomb was detonated by white supremacists in an effort to destroy the civil rights movement and envelope Birmingham's black population in a blanket of fear. This bomb exploded just before the Sunday morning services and killed four young black girls. I cannot imagine an individual being so depraved that he would even consider such an act, let alone actually see it to completion. Despite such bleak reminders of humanity's darkest nature, I am convinced that the good in mankind ultimately prevails.
A park dedicated to the memory of the civil rights movement is located just across the street from the church. As I was walking down its cemented walkway, I came across several monuments meant to signify several of the most important events in the Birmingham race riots. One such monument shows the police dogs that were turned loose on many helpless black protesters. It shows snarling dogs on leashes as they lunge forth to attack those innocent souls. A homeless black man happened to be passed out on a nearby bench and from my vantage point he lined up perfectly centered between the snapping jaws of the memorialized police dogs. He looked completely helpless as he lay prostrate on that park bench, a living testament to the bygone indignities that he was now unwittingly a part of.
After observing some of Birmingham's more somber relics, I decided to visit one that has a bit more storied history. Legion Field played host to countless Alabama football games and was the sole home for the Iron Bowl throughout most of its history. Although Alabama football has long since outgrown its former home, this field still serves as a shrine to some of the university's greatest athletic triumphs. Curiously enough, Legion Field was technically considered a neutral field despite the fact that Alabama played all of its home games there. Further adding to the confusion regarding its neutrality is a conspicuously placed statue of Bear Bryant within its gates. Although the statue is meant to memorialize Coach Bryant, I suspect that something far more insidious is afoot here. I maintain that the statue is no mere statue at all, but is instead the actual body of Coach Bear Bryant frozen in liquid carbonite in some sort of Hans Solo inspired attempt to preserve his coaching genius, only to be reanimated during Alabama football's darkest hour (Which was arguably this past season's Iron Bowl...Hi-Oh!!!). What I am suggesting is nothing short of a perverted amalgam of Star Wars and King Arthur lore that seems to have progressed to its unspeakable conclusion! Such is the depravity that is Alabama football to have sunk to such lowly depths. Have you no shame Bammers? Has your Shintoist themed ancestor worship finally pushed you to play God...
***Part 2 Coming Soon***
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