The Last Ditch by Tom Paine

Today was mainly about the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland. I had a great time perusing the relics of mostly quite recent history. To be in the presence of part of the manuscript of “The Boxer” meant more to me than a serious chap can really justify. My irritation at seeing my old record deck on display as an antique was also out of proportion; after all there was an iPod too. Most the stuff in the museum was tat, but that’s the point isn’t it? Rock and roll was never meant to be taken seriously, like classical music. It is fun or it’s nothing – and there’s nothing wrong with fun. Much as I love it, I could never stand the NME pseudo-intellectual approach to it though. The Cleveland exhibits were refreshingly devoid of that.

Cleveland’s claim to be the birthplace of rock and roll seemed slight, but all credit for the attempt. Naming something is not quite the same as giving birth to it. If more of the artists featured were from the city I might have bought it.

I had a pleasant walk there and back in the sunshine. Downtown Cleveland is really rather impressive. Few British city centres look so imposing and yet something was clearly wrong. The wide streets were almost empty. Few of the people moving about looked purposeful. Several guys on the street were wearing Vets t-shirts or hats, as if standing on their dignity. I am guessing that, if they had a job or business to go to, they would be just as proud of their service, but dressed otherwise.

The city is economically run down and has a reputation for being dangerous. The pictured leaflet handed out in the shops did not inspire confidence.

What a shame. It’s a great city, with some terrific architecture, a lot of proud history and a beautiful location. That it should now be known as “the mistake on the lake” is tragic. The few local businesses I tried to patronise were out of stock and seemed on their last legs, but the shopkeepers were incredibly friendly and helpful – even phoning around town to try to locate what I wanted. I admired their spirit in adversity and hope they and the rest of the business commmunity can turn the city around before government “solves” the problem in its permanently destructive ways.

I asked a friendly local why Cleveland had a massive statue of a rubber stamp in a public square and he smilingly replied “We’ve been asking ourselves the same question.” The answer however is here.

I had an unenventful (apart from problems with the cheap Android phone I am using for navigation) journey to Detroit. I am in the Ford home suburb of Dearborn and tomorrow I will visit the Henry Ford museum. Not all cars, alas, can be hand made in Italy. All of us who have driven the mass-produced variety (and there are two fondly-remembered and utterly-reliable Fords in my car history) owe that politically-dense but entrepreneurially-brilliant man a debt.