This Land Press

Elliot Nelson

Michael Cooper — Fri, 10 Sep 2010 00:52:59 +0000

In 2004, Elliot Nelson must have been slightly nervous about the business he was opening. That business was James E. McNellie’s Public House (or simply “McNellie’s” to most Tulsans), and he was opening it to a fairly desolate downtown. Remember, these were the days before El Guapo’s Cantina, Joe Momma’s Pizza, and the Dilly Deli. At one end of the Blue Dome District sat another Irish pub, Arnie’s, and there was not much else. McNellie’s sat at the other end of the street, and it seems to me like the first days were a little dry.

Hitting the bar for happy hour now makes it seem like it’s been down there for years, though. The community has embraced it as a downtown Tulsa staple, and it has helped breathe life into the Blue Dome District that it calls home. On the morning I met up with Nelson for this portrait, he had quite a busy schedule. He was getting ready to leave for Norman to launch the third spin-off of McNellie’s, a bar called Abner’s Ale House.

And yet, the guy seems pretty down-to-Earth. All of his employees refer to him as a friend on a first-name basis. He also has an energetic sense of humor and fun. While I was setting up, he let me in on a popular prank I didn’t previously know of: the prank of unexpectedly handing somebody a Smirnoff Ice. By rules of the game, the recipient of the drink has 30 seconds to pass it on or they must chug it. He was telling me, he recently shipped a 22 oz. bottle of Smirnoff Ice overnight to a friend in Colorado with a note attached saying, “You’ve been Iced.”

But what makes Nelson a True Tulsan is that he took the risk to redraw the map of downtown. And it looks like he’s not only changed the map, but he’s created a new gravitational center. Since McNellie’s opened and won the crowd, Nelson has opened four other businesses, with two more on the way.

True Tulsa is a weekly project that highlights the people and places that make our city great.

Miss Tulsa Places Tenth in Pulchritude

This Land — Sun, 05 Sep 2010 13:55:27 +0000

In 1928, the city of Galveston, TX hosted the Third International Pageant of Pulchritude and Ninth Annual Bathing Girl Revue, the predecessor to the now-famous Miss Universe pageant.

Miss Helen Paris of Tulsa, pictured here, won 10th place in the competition, finishing right after Miss San Antonio. Although she wasn’t able to claim the title, Miss Tulsa did receive another honorable distinction.

The first airmail route in Tulsa flew from Tulsa to Ponca City, and the name of the plane was the Miss Tulsa, named in honor of Helen Paris.

Admiral Twin Drive-In

This Land — Fri, 03 Sep 2010 21:21:15 +0000

Since 1951, the Admiral Twin Drive-In has been one of Tulsa’s most beloved gathering spots. Nearly every long-time citizen in our city has at least one great memory there. Others might’ve recognized the Admiral Twin from its role as the backdrop for scenes in Francis Ford Coppola’s movie, S.E. Hinton’s The Outsiders.

Today, the Admiral Twin was consumed in a ten-story blaze, incinerating every inch of the massive screen that greeted drivers on Interstate 244.

The owner, Blake Smith, speaking to Tulsa World, “It’s completely toast. There is no insurance on that tower – I couldn’t get any insurance on it because it was a wooden structure — so what was the Admiral Twin Drive-in is no more. … Right now, the future does not look good for the Admiral Twin Drive-in.”

Photo below by Lee Roy Chapman:

Jonathan Safran Foer at The Synagogue

This Land — Fri, 03 Sep 2010 19:41:17 +0000

Last night, the audience crowded the synagogue of B’nai Emunah for Book Smart Tulsa’s evening with Jonathan Safran Foer, author of Everything is Illuminated. Foer offered a lucid and compelling argument for going vegetarian, using stories and research from his recent book Eating Animals.

About the pic: as an homage to Eddie Chuculate’s “foot portrait,” photographer Michael Cooper snapped this shot of Foer’s feet while he spoke from the podium. Look for our upcoming interview with Foer in the October issue of This Land.

Labor Conquers All

This Land — Thu, 02 Sep 2010 19:47:54 +0000

Oklahoma’s labor history is rich, complicated, and dramatic. During the Oklahoma statehood convention of 1907, people boasted that 70% of our constitution came from the American Federation of Labor, and our state even adopted the motto Labor omnia vicent, or Labor conquers all.

While Oklahomans are recognized for our football, country singers, and casinos, this Labor Day, we invite you to take a look at Oklahoma’s labor force, and learn about the people who work to make our state great. You can also read about Oklahoma’s organized labor history at the Oklahoma Historical Society’s Encyclopedia of OK History and Culture.

For a vivid remembrance of one of Oklahoma’s most colorful labor personalities, checkout our Goodbye Tulsa podcast of Coleman Davis.

Football Season Begins

Nathan Gunter — Thu, 02 Sep 2010 05:00:35 +0000

God, but it’s been an awful summer in Oklahoma. The grass has yellowed and gone brittle under the raging heat. For five weeks the daytime high temperature sat in the triple digits. We were teased with a short cold spell – mid nineties! BREAK OUT THE SWEATERS! – and then zoom! Back into the hundreds it went. The esteemed Senator Inhofe, him of the winter-ice-storm smirk – haw haw, there can’t be climate change if it’s a record-breaking snowstorm! – was probably having fits. At least, I like to think so.

I’ve never seen a city so ready for the summer to end. Even the kids on my street were eager to get back to school. Stores started sneaking the Halloween decorations onto the shelves in late July.

This is a state greeting the coming of fall like it’s Jesus Himself riding in on the back of a donkey. So it’s any wonder that people are more excited about this football season than I’ve ever seen them.

It’s hard to explain to people who don’t get it about why we love football so much here in Oklahoma. A lot of my more successful East Coast friends cluck their tongues and roll their eyes – how cute, the provincials have a game they like to play. But I didn’t always love football.

My first memories of the game are of watching my parents and their friends going nuts watching the Sooners in our living room in Weatherford. They’d yell and scream – it was a little frightening, for a child, to watch adults losing control of themselves that way. Adults were always supposed to be in control, but the Game brought out something in them. It lowered their boundaries. It raised their voices. It made them people. Nobody in my family drank – but they watched football.

We trekked to Miami, Florida, for three consecutive Christmas Breaks to watch the Orange Bowl. My aunt and uncle, my two cousins, their friends, my mom and dad and brother and me piled into a conversion van and drove for what seemed like forever to watch Oklahoma win two consecutive bowls – and then, in 1988, lose 20-14 to Miami. I loved the drive, and our motel by the beach. I loved the sand and the food. I loved stopping at Yeehaw Junction, Florida, and seeing an alligator in the pond behind our motel. I loved the halftime show. But I never got the game.

When I was in the tenth grade my brother started playing little league. The next year he joined his junior high team. He went on to captain his high school team and to play for the Trinity Tigers in San Antonio – you may know them as the team with the amazing 15-lateral play that became a YouTube sensation (he’d graduated by then).

Seriously, if watching that play doesn’t make you feel something, check your pulse. I get tears every time I watch it BECAUSE I AM A MAN.

As I got older the thing that warded me off football – the seemingly blind devotion of everyone around me to it and its tendency to make people lose their minds – was what attracted me to it. In watching my brother I picked up the mechanics, the rules of the game. What makes a good player, what makes a good team. But I’d never been moved by it.

Then, one Thanksgiving break I came home from my ACC school, out on the East Coast where their passion is basketball, God bless ‘em. My mom’s had the same Oklahoma season tickets since the mid-70s, and since I was home she and I went to a game. We parked across the street from the OU Aquatic Center and tailgated. I did homework for awhile, there on the grass, and we listened to college football on the radio. It was sunny and cold – my favorite kind of weather – and we talked and laughed. When we went to watch the game something came over me – I got into it. I wanted us to win. I wanted our enemies to die.

Well, okay, no. But my passion took me by surprise. I looked at myself and saw what had freaked me out as a child – unbridled passion for the Game. It was in me.

That day at the game with mom was one of the best days of my entire life. I’ve loved the game ever since. I’ve sat in negative-windchill temperatures in Virginia while my brother’s team played for the Division III National Championship. I’ve sat at games in pouring rain and almost-unbearable heat, and it’s always been worth it. Even when the Tigers lost the Championship and we had to fly, dejected, back to San Antonio. Even when I saw and heard Sam Bradford hurt his shoulder last year – twice. It can be heartbreaking, being a fan. But this time of year, the beginning of the season, is so full of this wonderful cocktail of hope and nostalgia that it’s impossible not to enjoy. Go watch a high school game this year – so many of those kids will never play again once this time of their lives is over. But they play for fun, for an odd sort of glory that they’ll look back on in their 30s and go, “God, but that was amazing. And God, we were dumb kids.” But they work their butts off anyway.

Play ball and Boomer Sooner. And what the hell – Go Cowboys, too. Just not on November 27.

Woody Guthrie Lethal Pencils

This Land — Thu, 02 Sep 2010 02:34:40 +0000

Here’s a great gift idea for the Okie in your life: Woody Guthrie pencils, guaranteed to kill fascism if used appropriately.

Available from You and Me The Royal We.

via BoingBoing

This Land Opens for Business

This Land — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 14:39:54 +0000

We’re pleased to announce that you can now become a subscribing member to This Land for only $4 a month. Starting in October, we’ll begin publishing on a monthly basis, offering you words and works about the culture around you. In the upcoming months, look for Tulsa-based videos by local directors.

You’ll also be able to purchase copies of This Land through our local distributors, including popular spots like Dwelling Spaces, Doubleshots Coffee, and Cafe Cubana. If you’re a small business owner and you’d like to distribute This Land at your place of business, please contact us.

As we begin to prepare for publication, we’re also structuring our business model to make it easy and affordable for you to get the word out about your business, organization, or event. While we feature traditional advertising, we’re also setting aside a block of ads that can be purchased by auction. That means small, local businesses and event planners can draw the same kind of attention typically reserved for large businesses.

We have a lot of other exciting announcements to offer in the upcoming weeks, so check book soon for details–an be sure to friend or follow us today.

Severe Storm Watch

Rivka Galchen — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 14:07:52 +0000

We all thought the weather was god, didn’t we? Whether it was the golf-ball hailstorm that ruined the business plan of the magnificent mile of cars or the crepuscular rays of a rainstorm at the horizon. A striking tornado was something we really wanted, wasn’t it? A gale of importance, beating pompous and ludicrous as a cape lined in purple satin, sending us to the basements of nearby churches or schools, not that we ever actually went there, to the shelters, but we thought about it, and in the thinking we imaged a mottled kind of festive underground, a noble sharing of crackers and peanut butter with the extended Mormon family from across the street, an oddly jovial game of cards—like a commercial for life insurance—might break out amongst diffident adults. Yes the “severe storm” would sweep down and make our lives suddenly as important as a Greek tragedy, or at least an early Hollywood film now in Technicolor. Really. In reality, I remember, the few times when the emergency siren went off, no one in my family much cared. My dad would go and stand outside. It was nice, to be able to see in him an indifferent kind of bravery, or foolishness. It was almost a heroic stance, and one didn’t get the chance to see him that way—he didn’t get the chance to appear that way—in the negotiations of the McDonald’s drive-thru or picking up a kid from swim practice. But with the sirens it was suddenly the lost world of warrior kings. Turn on the wind machine. It was the nobly unwinnable battle. The white buffalo one might even say. Man V. Nature! I’d brave outside too, cinematically. Those wall clouds looked like an advancing army of spirits from 1000 lost civilizations. Our land was one to be conquered; our destiny was hard, and welcome. Soon, if the scenes in one’s mind gathered from movies and Channel Nine News were correct, roofs would lie on the ground, idle as an unreplaced flour jar lid. A flour jar lid? Or: roofs were blown off as easily as the seeds of a granny dandelion? The cars and trailers would lie scattered like children’s toys out of a trunk, one stuffed bunny missing its button eye[,] the understated note of tragedy. Or… was it that the sky darkened like drippy acrylic paint from fourth period weeping across the newsprint paper? There had been a poem. The beautifully inscrutable radar images of crayola green and purple molds advanced across the state in the petri dish round of radar signal data. Meanwhile, the rain finally broke. It built and then didn’t. That was the storm, now headed South to Ada. Another storm soon enough. Yes: the storms were wild molds or melodramas or armies or gods or ghosts or historic wraths or good times as had only on screens. The storms were all sorts of things. But the one thing those storms were not—unlike the 11 items or less express checkout lane, or the pollen count, or the snapped shoelace, or the current price of oil, or the rate of bank foreclosures, or the girl scout cookie time of year, or the way the dryer never quite fully dried denim—yes, in distinction to all that, the one thing those storms weren’t—not the really strong ones, not the scary ones, the beautiful ones, the majestic ones—was real. Or, at least, that wasn’t the part most worth noticing.

Megan McKown-Miller

Michael Cooper — Wed, 18 Aug 2010 21:08:31 +0000

Megan McKown-Miller, former Tulsa Ballet dancer and artistic director/choreographer for Song of the Swimming Sun, an upcoming one-night contemporary dance performance exploring the concepts of clandestine love and parallel universes. When I caught up with McKown-Miller at the Bai Lans dance studio in Midtown, she and her dancers were taking their rehearsal time seriously, but with a sense of fun and enjoyment of their craft.

Featuring original music by Nathan Brant and Sharla Pember with original additional choreography by Ma Cong and art installations by Erin Turner, Geoffry Hicks, and Mark Fredric, Song of the Swimming Sun debuts August 21st at the Tulsa Performing Arts Center, Liddy Doenges Theater at 7:30pm.

True Tulsa is a weekly project that highlights the people and places that make our city great.