Ankeny, I Never Knew You

9.30 I have been working in Ankeny (www.ci.ankeny.ia.us) for more than two years now, but like all the other suburbs of Des Moines, I really know nothing about it. It is a bed room community, in my mind, full of residents who preferred the banal life of the suburbs to the charm and grit of the city, but then again, this is Des Moines, so maybe that theory doesn't apply. Despite the fact that I work here, I don't know much about it. The only places I go are work, the Salvation Army, and the YMCA in the high school. I am like a reverse commuter. I leave the city, go to the suburbs, work, and then go right now. Just as people who work in Des Moines may never see what the city has to offer, probably because they associate it with work, I rarely consider Ankeny. Today, I resolved that, with lunch. I got a delightful chicken salad sandwich from Palmer's Deli (though the original location is in Des Moines), (www.palmersdeliandmarket.com; 110 n. ankeny blvd. #200 ankeny, ia, phone: (515) 963-4500. It's a really nice place to get a sandwich. I am nervous about exploring the town, but I plan on getting a map of the suburb and seeing more.

Dowling High School Yearbooks: Censored

Some might call it fact checking, others might call it the strange and obsessive misdeeds of a deeply evil person, but I had to go to the Dowling High School Media Center (that means library) on Monday. You see, I am trying to get my friend to break up with her boyfriend. And a few weeks ago, I stumbled on some fresh meat to feed my quest. He told her he was 35 when they met (she is 27), and that he just turned 36. But one night, the boyfriend was out smoking with my new squeeze and mentioned that he had graduated from high school in 1987, which would actually make him 39. "Squeeze," I asked. "Are you sure he said 1987?" Yes. He was sure. Well, which was it? Why would he lie? And if he were going to lie, why lie about such a little amount? I had to know. And because I love information, I turned to the library.

The Des Moines Public Library does not carry the yearbooks for Dowling, because it is in West Des Moines, and the West Des Moines library does not keep the yearbooks either. A week ago, I called the Dowling Library to ask if they had yearbooks, but I was told they were packed because they had recently moved locations. I called again on Monday, September 29, and found they were unpacked, and I asked if I could come and take a look.

Getting into Dowling was easy enough. I explained that I needed to use the library, signed in, and got a "hello, my name is" type pass. I went to the library, smiled at the gal behind the counter, and she showed me to the yearbooks. She mentioned that I could not take them out of the library, though. I did not need to, so that was fine. Then, I found what I was looking for. A senior picture from 1988, which would make the boyfriend around 38. We were both wrong. All I needed was some documentation.

That's when things got really weird. I asked if I could use the copy machine, and the gal said no, that they had said that I couldn't use the copier and the helper gal said they said I couldn't photo copy. I asked if I could take pictures and she said that she didn't know. I prefer to beg for forgiveness than to ask permission, so I whipped out the camera and went ahead and took some shots of the the pages. Then, the head librarian came galloping over to me, yelling, "You can't take pictures! You can't take pictures." I said okay, put the yearbooks away, and packed up the camera. She didn't ask me to delete them, so I didn't.

As I walked out, the yelling librarian offered, "Just so you know, you probably won't be able to do this again."
"Why?" I asked. "The Des Moines Public Library has all the yearbooks from Des Moines high schools."
"The front office is just weird about these things," she replied. And, then, I left.

Why though? Why not let people look at the yearbooks. I had sold this mission as a "fact checking" job I was doing for a writer, and if I were actually fact checking, that is probably what I would have done. It is not as if these people are under age; they are all in their late 30s. The yearbook is published every year and it is not private information that students attended a school. I could have bought a student directory at the greeter's desk for five dollars if I had wanted to. Do they have the secrets of the grail tucked away in the yearbooks, or are they just afraid of the bad press that may be associated with people poking around in long forgotten publications? Just as with the boyfriend, this mission lead me to more questions than to answers; mysteries were disinterred, rather than resolved. Which, I would argue, is one of the many beauties of this particular quest.

The Ephemera of Saturday and Sunday

9.27 My adventures took me to deeper into places I had already been. I'd been to the home of Brian Block, sales rep and friend, but until his wedding reception, I hadn't been to the "back forty" of his gorgeous property in Dallas County. His father's burn-pile is ready for ignition.

I also went inside the home of my friend, Paige. I'd been to her entry way following some extreme winter sports related cock-ups with my friend Lexi. Paige's parents saved us with a phone call. Saturday, Paige invited us over for a girl's night/bon fire. We never got to the bon fire because the conversation was just too delighting. I met the owners of Ephemera, www.ephemeradesign.com. I'd just wandered through their shop on my East Village date the day before. We tried to remember our shop keeper/shopper interaction, but failed. Karen and Erin are a hilarous duo, and their friendship very much reminded me of the platonic Boston marriage I have with my best friend Lexi.

9.28 Very bad. Went no where new. Same old. Same old. What a shame.

Chef's Joes Place, Downtown Church, Historic Dairy

Friday, September 26, when I should have been writing, I went out to lunch with my new squeeze. I needed to go some place new and he needed to go to the Salvation Army. We had lunch at Chef Joe's Place, (515-243-9131; 621 Des Moines Street), a lunch joint on the outskirts of Des Moines East Village. Lunch was great, not fancy, but straight up, delicious food that people like. There is a salad bar, and if it is done well, I am not the kind of person who hates on a salad bar, and it was done well. Also, diners can design their own pasta with all the fixings, and the Reuben was perfection. While we were waiting to pay, a Beegees song came on, and I did some distance dancing with one of the cooks.

But the best part, as is surprisingly often the case, was the bathroom. Joe's is in an old building. Next door is the "Downtown Church," (www.wcdowntown.com), which meant nothing to me, and next to that is another space. To go to the bathroom, diners leave the restaurant and walk all the way to the back of the "church" next door. This is America, and we need edgy, so like many institutions, churches are re-inventing themselves. The Downtown Church is rows and rows of chairs, a busted up stage, and a few pop coolers in an old building. Joe himself told me that on Saturday nights they bring in bands "and rock the place until one or two at night."

The building was an old dairy. The horses were kept in the basement that is still there, and the carriages were kept on the floor with the church space. The place where carriages could be cleaned and the water washed into the alley is still back there. There is a loft upstairs where the crates were kept, but now there are steps instead of just a ladder.

I knew the East Village was historic, for sure, but lunch reminded me that buildings like people can have many different and fabulous lives.

Wednesday and Thursday: Highland Park

I got behind and never made it somewhere new on Wednesday. I compensated on Thursday with a visit to some spots in the desperately-hoping-to-be-gentrified Highland Park neighborhood. I remember the Highland Park mall as the dreary home of the Department of Transportation, but since that spot moved to Ankeny and the mall has been turned inside out, it is not so grim. I heard a radio essay on mall renovation, and I would love to read more. Dinner of burgers and fries came from Little John's, which, I must say, was terrible, probably the worst fast food ever, generic and gross. It was sort of like Burger King, but without the style.

Flanagan's Irish Pub

I don't know why I've never gone to Flanigan's Irish Pub. My pal Keri goes all the time; it is part of her Ingersoll circuit. Perhaps because I rarely go to Ingersoll, perhaps because I remember it when it was a sandwich shop, perhaps because of all the wild stories that begin with "so I was at Flanigans," I have never found myself at this bar and pub.

Tuesday, September 23, I went after my writing class. I am always a little tuckered out after class, in need of an adult beverage and a snack and a chance to unwind before I head off to bed.

Flanigans, on the corner of Ingersoll and Martin Luther King Junior in Des Moines, was a great location for just such an evening. The Bass was cold, the portion of onion rings was huge, and the service was friendly. Everyone was pretty low key and there were plenty of open tables and booths. Outside is a big patio, but it was damp and late, so most people were inside, hanging out and chatting. There was a good mix of people, and I am pleased that this slightly divey bar is now on my radar.

Zook Spur

After I finished teaching on September 22, 2008, I headed to the village of Zook Spur. I followed Oralabor Road west out of Ankeny, through the town of Polk City, and past the Big Creek State Park Area. The sky was gray and seemed to wanted to rain, but it wouldn't. I passed the same kind of farm land you see throughout Iowa, acreages with horses, fields turning golden, and quiet houses away from town. A little country church was packed with cars, strange for midday on Monday, but perhaps there was a funeral.

I was scared I wouldn't find the town, that I would pass it on the highway, and I almost did. I turned onto the highway. The town of Zook Spur was just four houses on a side road, and there is one road named Zook Spur Place. A house had a sign in the front yard that read Zook Spur: The Town Too Tough to Die. Housework seemed to be the theme. A broken down house was being reinsulated and there was heavy machinery in the torn up front yard. Another guy was on a ladder fixing his roof. One house had several busted looking ponies in the front yard and half a dozen dogs who ran up to my car, tails wagging when I pulled over to take pictures. I wanted to learn more about the history of the town, but I was too afraid to knock on doors, but I do like the idea of a little town being too tough to die, too tough to be subsumed by Madrid.

Destination: Zook Spur and Adventure

Today is the first day of my quest and my endeavor to embrace daily adventures. I am going to the tiny, unincorporated village of Zook Spur, which is near the equally tiny town of Madrid, Iowa. Zook Spur first took my interest while I was pouring over a detailed map of Polk County. This tiny spot on the map took my fancy, mainly for the strange name. My friend Frank wants to write a novel in which the heroine is namd Ruby Van Meter and the hero is named Colfax Mingo. I thought Zook Spur would be an excellent side kick.

My friends, I must say, are more than willing to help me on this adventure. They have embraced the idea with open hearts and minds, and I believe that once this quest begins it will open up our eyes to all sorts of possibilities for life in the midwest. It is so easy to dismiss the midwest as having nothing to do, but I believe that is based solely in the fact that we don't see so much of what is around us. I hope to change that.

http://maps.google.com/maps?hl=en&q=zook+spur&um=1&ie=UTF-8&sa=X&oi=geocode_result&resnum=1&ct=title