Bus Stop

We saw a college production of Bus Stop this evening. It had the pathos, the romance, the conflict and the painful resolution one expects from Inge. The blue grass, country and folk music really set and kept the tone alive.The performances were real and intense.  We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. But I have trouble leaving things unsaid that nag at me. I'll say at first I liked the set at Grace's Diner. But on the wall for all to see was a fairly believable menu board save one item. TUNA MELT. Even today I'm guessing tuna around Kansas City would be something you'd have to whisper to the waitress, and then you'd have to knock three times on the back door off the alley to just get a whiff ot it.  Go back to the 50's and tuna was not even an entry in Webster's midwest edition. Saying it out loud in a public place would be parallel to that Texas Cowboy ordering salsa made in New York City, or Beijing. Say tuna in Kansas and be prepared to defend your honor. Kansas is beef country!

Let me tell you how I know that. During my brief journalistic stint in Western Kansas, I was driven to tell the real story behind escalating beef prices. To get that story I approached the town's meat packer, the biggest feed lot owner in the area, the biggest rancher around, and the town grocer. I suggested we all sit down to sort out the truth.  Well they got their heads together and decided to educate me at their private club, where liquor could flow freely. Neophyte that I was I showed up with legal pads instead of reporter notebooks. I saw no reason for a tape recorder. Well, my education began with a scotch water and then a martini with two olives, and then a martini with three olives. They were buying. Soon my questions started losing their crispness and it must have been obvious. I think I heard something like, " I think we might want ta get this fella some grub."

I was carefully escorted to a table where a scantily dressed wait person showed up with a menu. While my focus was less than perfect, my blurred vision made out a specific entree listing that excited me beyond my wildest dream. Amongst the porterhouse, the t-bone, and the top sirloin, all corn fed, was the word Halibut. A California boy, seperated from the sea and his culture, all alone in this dusty town, was offered a gift from the ocean by a scantily clad prarie nymph.  What would you do?

"I'll have the halibut, thanks."

I've never known such lonliness. They scattered in all directions. The silence was deafening.  It was as if I cleared the room with methane.  I had to walk home, but not until I had devoured the HALIBUT.

Next day? Sure I had a headache. It was a headache that got more intense with the discovery that I couldn't read any of my notes. Today's lesson is that you don't order fish in cattle country anymore than you would play Mozart in the cab of a combine.

And if you are going to design a set for Bus Stop, don't put Tuna Melt on the menu.