I’m shamefully admitting to this, but I’ve, many times, traveled down Meramec without a thought in my head. It was different when I lived in Mount Pleasant, and Dutchtown’s business district was just a bit north of me. Now this was the better part of a decade ago and the neighborhood’s changed a tremendous amount since then, with a host of new businesses coming to Meramec and its feeder streets since then. And, yet, on more than one occasion, I’ve driven from, say, Broadway to Grand with that autopilot setting switched “on.” I haven’t been as engaged as I should’ve been when passing through; or, better yet, stopping and exploring.

This past Friday, Andy Alton and I met Caya Auferio, who is the co-founder, with her husband, of Urban Eats. It’s a linchpin business on the corner of Meramec and Virginia, which she rightly describes at the locus of that official Downtown Dutchtown Business District. It’s obvious that she’s not only a person who runs a business (the cafe and gallery, incidentally, were elements that they always wanted to rent out, rather than run, themselves; but as tenants fell, they took it on and improved on… basically, everything that they had done). She’s also someone who knows everyone else on the block. Following her through the area is an exercise in watching her wave and say “hello” to every third person, whether they be a shop owner, or the new neighborhood couple walking their dog. As a resident of the block, she’s got eyes on the street every day, which adds to that omniscience; mind you, her second-floor apartment above Urban Eats is a true loft, in every sense of the word, and one of the most spectacular rehabs I’ve seen on the South Side, ever. Day-umn! What an awesome home.

Caya took us to a few of the merchants now calling the block their home, too. While some are probably not places I’ll return to often – hey, we all have our retail (and resale) needs and wants – others were very intriguing. Chief among them was Maude’s Market, a tiny, locavore grocery store located just off Meramec on Virginia. Growing out of a CSA, it’s now a four-days-a-week micro grocery, with a predominant stock of local products. Without Caya’s introduction, it would’ve continued to be a place that I’d vaguely heard of, but hadn’t visited. Now, I know the location, found in a long-dormant storefront, which happens to be one of the coolest little shops anywhere in town, a real, cute gem of a building.

The video of this piece will knit it all together, but the message can be summed up here: some neat things are going on in Dutchtown. Consider slowing down the next time you’re passing through. In fact, be like us and just come to outright stop, restarting yourself with a trip into Urban Eats. There you can get some sustenance and some knowledge. You’ll want both as you spend the next hour, or two, re-familiarizing yourself with the area.

We all go through periods of disorganization, being saddled with that feeling of not quite getting things done. Lately, I’ve been caught in one of these skids, in just the worst way, and to gain even a sliver of extra time, I’ve asked the director/producer of the film “Go South for Animal Index” to let my character cut himself loose, by whatever means necessary. Yesterday, in Cuba, MO, my shortened day still stretched to about 10-hours of production and travel time, but things, for me, on that project, are now past-tense. I’ll leave it to Chris King, who writes prolifically on the film’s progress, to take the story further at the Poetry Scores blog, should he be so inclined. Suffice to say, mine was an amusing way to end a part. I’m thankful to have played along, and especially thankful to now be an alum on the project.

Now, before I go further, I should say that “Go South for Animal Index” is a long-form poem, written by Stefene Russell. It’s also a CD, with songs built around various lines of the work, all of the tracks recorded, produced and distributed by the aforementioned Poetry Scores collective. And, lastly, it’s going to be a silent film; silent in that actors don’t speak, though there is a soundtrack using the exact songs/sequence of that CD. Shooting for a full-year-and-change, the production will shut down due to continuity issues by winter, with editing taking place then. Maybe by spring, we’ll all have something to look at, hopefully something quite cool.

And while yesterday’s action took place in Cuba, a stout 89-miles from my front door, recent weeks have seen lots of shots picked up at the Atomic Cowboy (just about South Side) and what was dubbed “the prop shop” on Potomac Street (definitely South Side). In an otherwise-anonymous alley, backyard and garage, the story’s been told in fairly tight spaces on Potomac, with sets built from old junk; this is a true recycling effort. Last Sunday, in fact, a cast-and-crew of a full dozen were in the alley when a junk man drove by. He looked around, never leaving the seat of his mid-sized pickup truck and asked if there was a sale going on. Told no, he looked at the props and asked if he could take them away for scrap. Needless to say, a laugh, or two, escaped us and he was sent away, metal-less.

What else happened in the alley was pretty neat. Kids from the neighborhood rolled by and stuck around. In particular, they struck up a conversation with actress Natalie Partenheimer; one young girl was obviously sad that Natalie’d left for the day, after the kid had exited the set for a bit, herself. The boys in her crew zipped by and hung out, then left, then came back, sometimes kicking a soccer ball, other times playing hide-and-go-seek, though mostly they just stood around, watching the scenes play over-and-over in the tight confines of a garage dressed up as a intake center in a fantastical 1940s. Whatever was explained to them about the plot seemed to satisfy them, and they watched with total respect. And they were stone quiet, even though audio wasn’t being recorded.

More than one person noted that it was cool to see young people just playing. Without toys, other than the soccer ball, using just their imaginations. Notable, too, was the fact that this was a real polyglot group. The main half-dozen kids that came by were a unique-looking bunch, all the way around. They might have been a combination of Peruvian and Bosnian, or they could’ve been Honduran and Lebanese, or they may’ve been Mexican and Albanian. No matter, they were a mini-UN, rolling a half-dozen deep through their own alley and charmed that someone, anyone, would think to make a movie using such a modest space.

Andy Alton dropped by, as I was already in uniform/character. We talked to some folks, got some backstory, Andy asking most of the questions as I ate John Parker Jr.’s craft services. You can spend an afternoon in a host of different ways, and this was one. A real fine one. I look forward to our mini-doc look, which’ll have to satisfy my further curiosity ’til springtime.

All of us getting emotional, but with vastly different triggers. You might let go of a stray tear when attending a weepie movie, I might be overtaken when attending a soccer match. Like, you know, we’re different.

For me, though, heading to Cherokee Park over the weekend brought back a variety of fun memories, as I coached many, many, many losses (er, games) at that exact spot. But that’s history. Now, every Saturday and Sunday, at both noon and 1:30, kids from City middle schools are playing soccer, in a league that’s geared towards teams that would fall outside of the long-running CYC. Playing under the auspices of the soccer-in-the-city group known as New Dimensions, this league was formed by a parent, DJ Wilson; though he might deflect credit elsewhere. But he called the schools, found the refs, got things moving.

Now, in the shadow of The Brewery, kids are running around on a Saturday, both boys and girls kicking a ball with a bit of competition on the line. The games might be a bit rough, owing to many of the players being relatively new to the game, but there’s definitely some talent on the field, too. More than a couple of these kids will wind up fleshing out high school teams in the next year, or two, and the experience they’re gaining at Cherokee will be a big part of that.

More importantly, of course, they’re simply getting exercise, having fun with friends, learning teamwork.

On Saturday, with two girls teams squaring off at noon, this semester’s videographer, Andy Alton, captured some the scene. In a few weeks, we’ll share the results. Which, for me, might require a nearby hankie.

Over the course of the next week, we hope to bring some of the promised short documentaries to public life. The first piece edited and ready-to-go is “Corner Bars: Frank’s First Alarm,” which has also been submitted to and accepted by the St. Louis Filmmakers Showcase. While we don’t know the exact night that the piece will run, it is selected for the Doc Shorts program, which’ll screen sometime between August 13-18.

Of course, you can also just hang out here and catch the piece before the crowd. Having seen the rough edit last night, it’s a neat piece, capturing a slice of life at one of South City’s many corner watering holes, complete with a pair of old gents, a comely barkeep and plenty of alcohol and cigarettes.

The groundwork’s done. And a grueling pair of afternoon fuzzball games at Kennard School, in the Kingshighway Hills neighborhood, was the final portion of our video process. At least, the work’s done for me, as our poor Tyler DePerro has about two-million hours of raw footage to comb through, on eight total pieces.

And trying to find the high-points from just today’s games is going to be a task. After all, it’s hard to melt down the athleticism seen at Kennard today into a micro-doc. Balls flying out of the schoolyard “park,” a few clearing the fence and landing against the famed Kennard house-on-the-hill, or into the street. Fly balls, actually caught in the air! Foul tips snared by catchers, their asses resting comfortably against the fence. Pitchers fighting through arm fatigue to rack strikeouts by the bushel. Quite a group of individual plays, truly.

The great thing about fuzzball is that you can get a game together with a relatively small group, as low as four. With five, or six, you’ve got a real game. And we had exactly six to start, dropping down to five due to family commitments by our rules-setting commissioner. It was enough to get us through a second game and everyone on-hand agreed that we’d get together soon to play again, once arm pain subsided. Maybe that’s a week, maybe more.

But Kennard’s going to get some use this spring and summer.

And folks in that house, here’s personal letter to you: sorry. It’s a lot of fun to actually connect and put a tennis ball on your roof. Thanks for understanding, or not being home, as the case may be. See you soon.

Today’s was the penultimate shooting day for our summer web docs. Figuring that the weather would get nicer as the month of May clicked along, I placed the last two shoots, both outdoors, later in the month. If you were outside today, you’ll know that was good planning, eh?

While waiting for our subject, Michael R. Allen, outside of the Avalon Cinema I told the crew about seeing “The Passion of the Christ” at the venue in the late ’90s. And that I covered the protests around the film’s opening for an article in The Riverfront Times. And that because I waited outside ’til the last second, I was forced to grab the outermost seat in the first row, which made the film almost-impossible to see, because the 400-seat house had some extreme angles.

Then Michael showed up.

He started telling the story of the old neighborhood theatre to Tyler and Brandon McLaughlin, new to our shooting group, and the facts started coming in a bit more clearly. I’d actually seen “The Last Temptation of Christ” there, and that happened in the late ’80s. Which meant that I was covering the story for the Webster University Journal, not the RFT. Oh, the place also seated 647 people, a few more than the 400 of my dreams. Hey, at least I told my story well.

So did Michael. The fellow’s an encyclopedia of local preservation knowledge. We wound up spending about 20-odd minutes at the Avalon, dodging the mist and getting some education on the building’s history and hopes for an immediate future. Then we shot over to a building at the intersection of Chippewa and Watson. And then a third structure, found just east of Gravois and Grand. I’ll leave those with a bit of suspense, with reveals coming with the final edits of the videos, which will hopefully begin rolling into being next week. Basically, each was a one-take operation, with Michael giving the past, present and future of the buildings, with no script and no prompts. As noted above, I learned more than a little, even about the details of my own life.

After our nippy outdoor antics, we found our way to Taqueria El Bronco on Cherokee, for a nice post-lunch-hour repast. Good food, good conversation. (Personally, I then headed over to Apop Records, just to make sure that everything there was still okay. And, maybe, to buy a zine, or two.)

Altogether, a pretty right-on way to spend a Thursday afternoon.

Tomorrow: sports on the South Side!

As I started listing out mini-documentary topics for the summer, I tried to consider narrower fields of interest. What makes the South Side interesting? Corner markets with an international touch. Musicians, of all sorts. Crazy corner bars. As we’ve gone along, we keep checking off boxes. And on Friday of last week, we added an international restaurant to the mix.

The Nguyen family operates the wonderful Phuc Loi on Gravois and Spring. It’s not found on the main thoroughfare of international restaurants along Grand, but it does fall on an intersection that boasts three Vietnamese cafes on four corners. And Phuc Loi’s the best of the bunch, possibly offering the best Vietnamese food in the city.

The sense you get from the signage indicates that it’s only a to-go spot, but there are tables; about a dozen. But it’s still a small place. That basically allows you to get a feeling for the spot in quicker fashion. For starters, Phuc Loi primarily caters to a Vietnamese clientele, though that’s changed a bit over the last year that I’ve been visiting; usually, this is a very good sign. And the food’s strictly Vietnamese, with no concessions to popular Chinese dishes, or freaky American-style adaptations. While the menu’s a bit thinner than at other restaurants, there’s more than enough to choose from, and you can always go off-menu, especially if you don’t mind a surprise, or two, coming your way.

What you’ll gather most, though, is that this is a true family affair. Two parents working the grills, woks and bakery, Lu and Chau Nguyen. And out front, four of their children, alternately working the counter. On weekends, when large Vietnamese families come in to dine, you usually get two, or three, of the second-generation Nguyen’s working the floor. Jason Nguyen’s a steady presence, with a distinct voice and laugh. He translated for us last week, as Tyler, Sean and I visited during a surprisingly calm period of the day, at 4 p.m. on a Friday. As the place opens for breakfast fare, the family had already worked a good, long day, and dinner service had yet to kick in, but everyone was nice enough to take a half-hour for on-camera conversation, with meals prepared for us as the cameras rolled.

When they stopped, the food kept coming. Cured fish. Fresh mangos. Crepes. Rice and shrimp. Desserts were offered, but politely declined. Take-home boxes were packed. This was the kind of thing you almost, guiltily expect at such a moment, but never wish to take for granted.

The Nguyen family runs an awesome restaurant. One that I’ve visited, on average, about once a week since happening into it. And the reason for that visit? Truc Lam, across the street, was closed. Phuc Loi, though, was open. And I’ve only been back to Truc Lam once, maybe twice, since. Happy accidents are all over the South Side. Enjoy them when they come along.

Look for video soon.

Phuc Loi
3723-C Gravois, 63116
(314) 772-7742

In between rain drops this week was a day of real beauty. You might remember this day, known as Wednesday? Nowhere in the world was that beauty more on display than in Clifton Heights, that bastion of calm in the western edges of South City. The video crew, reduced by one to Tyler and Sean, met me at the home of Eric Lysaght. He’s a guitarist in at last three different cover bands around town (Superjam, Tiny Cows and Pay the Cobra), but he really enjoys those moments when he gets to play his own material, under the name of Salisbury. Bryan Hoskins, his bandmate in different projects over the years, was also on-hand, adding guitar and harmony vocals, as he does on the initial Salisbury CD.

Our thought was that we’d drop by, recording a couple of tracks in the relatively spare conditions of Eric’s front porch. We did just that, though a few passing cars sent us inside, to record a track in the living room. Then we went back outside, just after a neighbor’s lawn mower quieted. Running through each of the two tracks a couple/three times, you can figure out whey the two them play music together, with the pair having a total sense of sympathy for one another’s talents.

The guitars? Right there. The harmonies? Right there. Even the street cooperated on the afternoon, with few cars rolling by, birds chirping and equipment functioning without hitch.

After we departed, the two sat on the porch and kept playing. Get the feeling this might happen from time-to-time.

Looking forward to the video of this one.

Today, the now-expected mini-doc crew (Tyler DePerro, Ben Harrison and Sean Barber) and I hit Bayer’s Garden, that staple of South Side yard enthusiasts. Of mild interest, on that count, is the fact that Jason Bayer, now a co-owner of the two Bayer’s stores after his father’s recent passing, spent a good number of years in the video production business. Working for large cable outlet unnamed here, he worked on everything from 30-second to 30-minute commercials, once casting yours truly in an Insurance Xpress ad that gave me a strange bit of notoriety around town for a few months.

These days, he spends a goodly amount of time at the Imperial branch of the Bayer’s empire, a nine-acre plot that features everything that the landmark Hampton location has on-hand, but in larger supply. Need some rock for your patio? At Hampton, you buy a few bags. At Imperial, you fill the back of your pick-up.

But as a South Sider, himself, it’s easy to get Jason back to the old stomping grounds, especially towards the end of the work day, after he’s driven the company truck back from Jefferson County, loaded with supplies. With the WU crew still on the way, I wandered the shop’s lot with Jason, who was quickly snapped up by a purchaser; she wanted some help picking out zucchini and cucumbers plants. With that situation taken to a pleasing conclusion, we headed just down the block, where his aunt lives. In the back yard was a huge turtle, which she’d wanted for her garden. It had just been delivered, and there it sat in a large, raised, but mostly-empty bed. That turtle was king of the yard, no doubt. With a little prompting, I got the story on the distributors of other oddball lawn statuary, and Jason mentioned that he had a photo of a yard Yeti in his phone, which was true enough. So, if you ever want a Yeti figure for your yard, you know where to go.

You get the distinct sense that the Bayer brothers have fun with their jobs. Having already brought the ghost pepper phenomenon to Saint Louis, they’re now experimenting with the Trinidad Scorpion Butch T, the plant that’s surpassed the ghost in pure Scoville units. With luck and his brother Greg’s scientific background coming into play, next year the Scorpion will be for sale at Bayer’s. Not that I’d even consider eating one, but I’d definitely grow a Scorpion, only for bragging purposes. And my yard, it’s true, is already full, full, full of Bayer’s product.

I know how it is: you got to Lowe’s or Home Depot for a can of paint and you walk out with light bulbs, a dimmer switch, a two-by-four and nails. But if you want folks that know a lot about plants to help you through a purchase, be sure to support your local plant shop. It’s just the right thing to do.

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Ah, yes, after our shoot, I took the youth to Mom’s Deli, a first visit for all three crew members. One finished his sandwich outright, two saved half for later. All found the experience to be a positive one, even if directions got a bit confused.

Sharing the joys of the South Side, a little bit at a time. It’s what we do. For fun.

If you were to hope for the best outcomes for a video shoot at a corner bar in South City, you’d hope that a couple of older fellows would be sitting at that bar, watching classic, black-and-white movies. (With one of them celebrating their 48th anniversary.) You’d feel even better if your star, the venue’s comely bartender, had found a turtle in the back yard earlier in the day. And what’d make the scene complete would be the eventual and seamless blend of the regulars and your three early-20-something crew members, with a conversation about 2’10 pole dancers breaking out at random. Maybe that’s not the kind of discussion you work into a independent study proposal, but when day drinking’s involved, anything can, and will, be put onto the conversational table.

At Frank’s First Alarm, yesterday, we interviewed bartender Stephanie Skaggs, or Stephanie S, since the bar has an unlikely number of three Stephanie’s on staff. She’s also known as Tuckpointer Stephanie, as that calls out to her other day job, working for the local D&M Tuckpointing outfit, her uncle’s business. During our talks yesterday, we discussed her ability to work both a day- and night-shift group of regulars. And, of course, we talked about tuckpointing, about which she’s got some definite ideas. We talked about turtle care and the new Mountain Dew-flavored vodka, Dude. We shot the bar with all the rough-hewn character attached, which is more obvious in the daytime, even with the red curtains drawn.

Can you ever really capture what makes a place tick in a quick drop-in visit? How do you go about getting the answers you think are there, without asking the same question from a dozen different angles? And how do fit the corner bar culture of Saint Louis into a series of mini-docs, without celebrating the negative aspects that can come along with the round-the-clock drinking of many of our fellow citizens? (And the racism endemic in many of these places? Well, that’s another story, entirely. And it’d not this story.)

At this point, I’m sitting back, seeing what Tyler feels are the key shots, the important quotes. Maybe they’ll mesh with mine and maybe they’ll be bits that I somehow missed. Collaboration’s cool like that. What’s also interesting is the generational and class shifts that can occur with a little prompting. A 21-year-old Webster U. student, helping a friend out with a project. And 74-year-old retiree, now caring for his ailing wife. On the surface, these two wouldn’t have much to discuss. But sit them down next to one another, allow for the ice-breaking (and ice-melting) presence of a drink and soon… an interesting conversation develops.

Next week, we’ve got another couple of pieces booked, with Wednesday being a live music shoot. An underappreciated restaurant will be featured later in the week. Looking forward to see what kinds of talks and brief breakthroughs we can develop as we go along.