Oregon daily emerald., February 28, 1985, Image 9

Riding the
grey slab
to the
Rose City
Entry ramps become new lanes. Nar
rowing. they shorten the distance between
bumpers, taillights, corner panels. Autos
merge and shift, quickening the pace of the
rolling metal and glass boxes.
The two-lane highway grows to three,
then four. Overpasses become larger,
longer and more often. Commuters gaze at
one another; passengers listen to the radio
Disc Jockey.
On the inside track low, fast cars flash
past long, heavy sedans. The grey slab
rises, then aims down toward the canyon
and forming the Tcrwillerger Curves.
Auto and driver submit to the centrifugal
force of the turns. The central divider adds
a new dimension, guardrails gain
prominence.
The curves straighten, the grey slab of
the roadway contrasts with the brown of
the canyon walls. The road rises to part the
canyon, revealing the bridges, buildings
and river of the "City of Roses.”
Road signs point the way to all destina
tions. The hiway divides and divides
again, like the branches from the trunk of a
great tree.
Drivers take their autos down exit
ramps. Some crossing in less than 30
seconds a river that took travelers of days
gonc-by hours to forge.
ni n n » inmmnnrn
Waterfront Avenue makes the transition
between the Willamette River and
downtown Portland. The bridge supports
are the transients' domain.
Sixth Street is the bus mall. Cobblestone
walkways lie perpendicular to the planes of
the building walls aimed skyward. Bums,
freaks, merchants, shoppers, artists and
people of all walks of life move about the
avenue spotted with the works of various
artists. The people move about as if the
daily pace is a dance, the avenue a stage.
The dance continues into the Pioneer
Square, but the performers change. The
choreography here calls for bowed heads
for the dance of the Pioneer Square project
patrons. They look for their names embed
ded in the bricks.
The audience variety here is wider than
anywhere else in town. The borders of the
square mirror the variety of human activity
in this place built by and dedicated to the
people of Portland.
To the West, Nordstrom’s is the stomp
ing grounds of the affluent in search of the
latest fashion.
To the North are business towers, a
place of daily transactions of various
kinds.
To the south is the Aero Club, where,
until just recently, women were not
allowed.
And to the West is the Pioneer Cour
thouse, with barred windows affording the
captives a bird's eye view of all the
dancers below.
nano
In Candidc, Voltaire posed the question
of one’s state of mind and the perception of
the best of all possible worlds. Possibly,
regardless of where one is, one will find
others with differing outlooks on their
situation.
Robin sells pastries outside of Nord
I
strom's downtown. She sees the day and
people pass from under the shelter of the
brightly-colored umbrella that covers her
pushcart loaded with muffins, candies, and
coffees.
“I really like Portland; it rains a lot, but
I like that too. That's what people always
start talking about when they come to buy
muffins or a cup of coffee. The weather.
Sometimes I think it cheers people up. It
rains and people bundle up. When they get
under a cover, they are almost always hap
py to get out of the rain.
“All different kinds of people pass by,
and I see them ail. One of the reasons I like
this job is because I'm a natural bom
people-watcher. And Pioneer Square is a
good place to watch. Lots of business peo
ple and shoppers buy pastries from me and
then go sit in the Square. The bums don’t
r,
a mmtmfttin
have any money and the Punkers, well,
they don't come over this way much.”
Spit lives downtown “with friends” he
says. Spit wears a mohawk with a lighten
ing bolt tatooed on the side of his head.
Unemployed, he spends most of his time
hanging out. He doesn't ask for money.
“Why are you asking me all these stupid
questions? Think I haven't seen TV?
You're looking for a bunch of deep, mean
ingful crap that fucked-up people like me
are supposed to think.
“This town’s for spuds. I’ve got to get
out of here. It’s sucking me dry. There's
some good places to go, but I don't like the
people.”
Story and photos
by Mike Duncan
1