Rethinking Nashville

I may have to rethink Nashville.

We were there four years ago to pick up a timpani Warren had purchased. We stayed overnight an hour north, in Franklin, Kentucky, and truly just zoomed in and out. We visited the Tennessee state history museum, the Parthenon (yes), and walked around the grounds of the Statehouse.

I was not impressed. I was upset by the museum's presentation of slavery (there were some evils, but most slaves were treated well) and its hagiographic elevation of Andrew Jackson (with nary a word in the museum about the genocide he committed against the Cherokee and other Southern tribes with their forced removal). On the street were historical markers venerating the Confederate cause in the Civil War. On our way back north, we pulled off the Interstate to get gas and found ourselves on a road with another historical marker: the highway we were on was part of the Trail of Tears (the path the Native Americans were marched along under military guard). Its name? The Andrew Jackson highway.

Can you say "tone deaf?"

I wanted out of Nashville. I wanted out of Tennessee. I could decisively mark the state and city off with "don't go there again."

So when it was announced that the 2019 League of American Orchestras national conference would be held in Nashville, let's just say I was less than enthusiastic. But, married to the Symphony as I am, I sucked it up and went back down.

I came away with an entirely different view of Nashville.

For three days, we were in the heart of the downtown. We stayed on the other side of the Cumberland River, near the football stadium, but were only there at night. Days and evenings were spent in downtown Nashville. While the League activities were centered in the Omni Hotel, we were out and about on the streets at times, especially with League-related activities Monday and Tuesday evening.

And I did a fair amount of walking by myself the first morning,  having no session to attend. I ended up walking across the John Seigenthaler Pedestrian Bridge, after skirting the Country Music Hall of Fame (which butts into the Omni) and going around the Schermerhorn Symphony Center. CMA Music Fest was only a few days away (it was getting underway as the orchestra conference was leaving) and there was a lot of activity downtown as the city prepared. There was music of all kinds on the streets, in the halls, in the air.

My view of Nashville started changing.

I looked at the people I passed. Many were no doubt tourists or event-goers, like myself, just in town for a few days. There were street performers on many corners (everyone is a potential performer in Nashville, including one of our Uber drivers). There were street people, just trying to survive, including the one who after trying to wash up in a fountain at the Schermerhorn and being chased away by a guard, came back to debate that the water was there for all to enjoy. The guard listened respectfully, then said, "That's true, but y'all can't take a bath in it." That seemed to satisfy both of them. There were orchestra people talking music, there were country music people talking music, there were just people going about their day.

I spent a surprising amount of time (for me) in Circa, the gift shop of the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum. I was looking for postcards (which I indeed found) but I found myself engrossed in the books, the clothing, the mugs, the stuff. I told Warren later that I have never come so close to buying just for the sake of buying. I stuck to buying just the postcards to send to family and friends and one ornament for our Christmas tree.

I loved one postcard so much that I went back the next day to buy one for myself:

It is now on our refrigerator. (I found it hilarious, okay? Well worth every penny of the $1.10 it cost.) For the record, I am fine with country music. Had I been feeling better that morning, I would have gone to both the Patsy Cline museum AND the Johnny Cash museum, but I can only burn my candle at both ends and up the middle for so long these days. 

Coming into Nashville on Sunday, we had bypassed the Interstate and traveled back roads to get a sense of the country. I liked what I saw. I want to see more. Some of my dad's family came out of Tennessee and for the first time ever, I found myself wanting to explore more of where they came from. When Dad stopped by the day after we got back, I pulled out a map and he pointed out the likely areas. I may delve deeper into that side of the family, even if I never go back to Nashville or any other part of Tennessee. 

The truth is, I was taken by Nashville and would go back to explore it more deeply. 

There is a wonderful line early on in Moon Over Manifest, the 2011 Newbery Award winner by Clare Vanderpool: "But as anyone worth his salt knows, it's best to get a look at a place before it gets a look at you." That sentence played in my mind as I walked across the bridge on that sunny morning and as I walked around in the downtown. I don't know if Nashville got a look at me, but I indeed got a look at Nashville. 

I liked what I saw.