Ozark, Arkansas

As Brits, we generally only visit the coast areas of America, thuge bit in the middle we fly over sipping cocktails and watching films as we head to SF, LA or Seattle. Which is fine; from our window seat we see patchworks of fields, looking quite small, but I guess in reality must be miles by miles big.

I want to tell you about the small town in America that I know quite well; Ozark Arkansas.

Arkansas has a reputation I guess, I know it from Whacky Races and the Arkansas Chugabug car, and that why isn't pronounced Ar-can-sas? It is against state law to deliberatly mispronounce the State's name; so there.

So, how I came to find myself in Ozark Ar, on the edge of the Ozark mountians in quite simple. When I got online, and realised that I could write to anyone, anywhere, I just needed to know their e mail address, I searched Google, my first google search, for pen pals and joined a site. I wrote to people, many people, mostly in the US, some I am still best friends with, some we still write on occasion, but most have drifted away.

Anyway, Mother dearest got envious of the time I was spending online, and the letters I got and I asked if I could put an ad for her too. I ended up writing the letters as well, but after some freaks and crazies were filtered out she, I, we wrote to one good lady in Ozark Ar. And in one letter she wrote if ever Mother, or I wanted to come over and stay that would be fine.

And so in October 2003, I found myself on a flight from jolly olde England to Oklahoma City where my friends were going to pick me up. On the map, Oklamhoma City to Ozark, or Fort Smith looked close, imagine my surprise when it turned into a four hour drive! For us in England that would be something of a road trip adventure requiring weeks of planning with maybe an overnight stop halfway. (not really).

So, we arrived in Ozark, and it was quiet. Linda, Mum's friend lived on Plumb street, some 5 miles outside of Altus. Altus is another town, I guess we'd call it a village, it's some 5 miles from Ozark, it has a bbq place to eat, Alagator rays, a cool bar, and is really famous for being the home of 'The Simple Life.' I had no idea who Paris Hilton was, there was sign on the edge of town proclaiming the above fact, and they were all quite excited about it.

On my last visit there in 2005, that sign is now gone; maybe being linked to Ms Hilton wasn't so good for image. Back in 2003, I though Paris Hilton was just a hotel. Which it probably is.

I made real good friends with Linda's son Jason, and soon after my first visit I was planning my second, for July 4th the next year.

The south, or maybe the Deep South is a different country for sure. But nothing quite prepared me for the humidity as I got of the plane and headed towards the car park. It was like a sauna. And people live here! It was something else, but I kinda got used to it.

Jason drives a propane truck, and I went with him on a few of his routes, from the houses in town, and then up into the foothills of the Ozarks where crazy old men live in trailers whilst going odd. One old coot came out in red long johns and failed to notice my accent as we reversed up his drive through the dog s@#+. They lived up these dirt tracks in trailers, I guess brewing their own booze and being generally odd. I loved it, it was like a film made real.

Up in the mountains we drove to a place called White Rock, up a twisty turny dirt road, dodging logging truck to the overview, and from there just the gap in the trees that marked to road, there was nothing but trees to the horizon. Nothing to show that there was any people here at all. A couple of buzzards flew around kinda half interested in what we were doing.

The average Brit in small town is greeted by the same phrase over and over again:

"Oh my God, say that again! Where'd you get that accent?"

Or the best one by the secretary at Jason's company;

"Please talk to me"

"what about?" I asked.

"It don't matter!" said she.

That aint never happened to me. Before or since.

But I loved that town, Aligator Rays does serve cooked gator; tastes like chicken I was told. I stuck with pizza. The BBQ place did all you could eat ribs one night, I managed just the one plateful. But it was good, sticky stuff all over my fingers to lick off as we drove home.

Jason lived on South Roseville, down a grassy track through several dead pick ups and assorted agricultural vehicles. I got used to that, yards are big enough just to leave stuff to rust and become overgrown and impossible to move, even if you wanted to.

My last visit in 2005, I stayed for 5 weeks to see if I could stand the heat before seeing if I could go and live there. It would've been tough; work would've been hard to find, although homes were cheap enough. I think I could have done it, but decided to try and make a go of it back home before gving Arkansas a try.

Everyone there and in other 'small' towns I have visited, the welcome was nothing less than warm; and indeed on my drive down the west coast I never dined alone, or sat at a bar, as someone would ask me what my story was, and I would ask them theirs. It was great. I would be invited to their place, if was around the next day.

My last memory of Ozark was the first High School football game of the season; the local team were called The Hillbillies.

Really.

The week leading up to the first game people had painted shop fronts down Main Street the team colours, with encouraging messages. Even I was excited. After Jason and I finished the gas route, we picked up his family and we headed into town for a family getogether and grill at a large house, a short walk from the field. The whole town turned out to cheer the team on, I could see their sense of community. It was great.

This was the focal point for the town, old friends greeted each other, and old players exchanged stories of great games past.

The Band played the Antional Anthem, hand on heart and looking to the flag. I people watched.

At half time the two teams bands had a battle, tried to outplay each other, this part I enjoyed the most; we don't have this sort of thing in Britain. The final part was the drum section going what I would call 'crazy.' The drummers were blur as they made huge sounds, but was wonderful.

Sadly, the team could not match the band, and in the final minutes the other team got two touchdowns and then went for the two point conversion to edge the game. It was still great.

The town went home quiet; huge moths circled the lights as they illuminated the night. I had a fantastic time. Now I understoof Friday Night Lights.

I have not been back since, and have a longing to go to rays for a brew, or maybe to Rays to try the aligator. Maybe one day.....

But, I do love America, and it's people. I write this because the BBCs correspondant has a book coming out about small town America, and I heard an interview with hime this morning,