I split most of my growing up time between California and the Midwest. I was born in Kansas City, Missouri, as was my father. In my early teens we lived in an area that was at one time the marginal border area between the English and Irish neighborhoods, abutting what even then was described as the Italian neighborhood, of Kansas City. More precisely, this area lay strategically on the perimeter of the turn of the century mansions of the wealthy which lined Gladstone Boulevard.
One of my neighborhood hangouts was the Kansas City Museum housed in a spectacular 1910 mansion, sometimes referred to by locals as, “The Palace on Gladstone Boulevard." Built for a lumber baron named Robert A. Long, the estate was said to be a real attraction in its own right. The only thing I thought as a kid was this guy’s house looked like a museum. Long's daughters donated the house to the city after his death in 1934; I guess they figured it looked like a museum too.
Turn of the century Kansas City planners followed what was called the City Beautiful Movement, Cities within parks (rather than the reverse). Most of the park lands, boulevards, monuments, and public recreational improvement were all donated by the wealthy. The City didn’t actually buy any park property until the 1950’s, and then only because it was quite a ways out from the urbanized area.
In the hay day of the original occupants of these mansions, absolutely gorgeous public improvements were also built for their leisure, and they remained in perfect reserved condition through to my childhood years living there. It seem perfectly natural to me as a kid in the neighborhood to have fabulous clay tennis courts for my use, a very large and ornate cement casting pond (like you would see in New York City’s Central Park with little boys in sailor suits launching their toy boats) that also doubled for an ice skating rink in the winter. In the background I remember a Greco-Roman columned and domed promontory structure over looking the river, a celestial observatory, and the museum at which I could come and go for free pretty much as I pleased, all located in one area within walking distance.
After many, many, visits I became intimately acquainted with the entire museum exhibition, which I remember it now as a serendipitous mixture art, artifact, and natural history. At times I would be the only person on a floor, or one of a very few people in the building at all, particularly during the week days in the summer months. Overall this was a great experience, except, I will have to admit that it got a little spooky when I was all alone in the Egyptian room, probably because I had fresh memories of Boris Karloff in the 1932 version of The Mummy, shown often on the late “Friday Fright Night” television program broadcast by one of the local stations.
If we could now fast-forward in time… Fully converted recently from a natural history and arts museum, to a fine arts museum (with attached cultural arts theater), the Palm Springs Museum is featuring an exhibit entitled “Degas to De Kooning”, Impressionists to Modern Masters. It brings great joy to my sole to be able to view master works of art again (in this case on loan for the summer from a private collection), ones that I would not be able to see anywhere else in the world. The museum is only two blocks from my favorite Starbucks, the one I often ride to on my bicycle. Come to think of it, you could say the museum is right next (sort of) to my neighborhood.
Although it is free Thursday evenings, I think for the coming season I am going to dig out the 80 bucks and buy a family membership.
Post Script:
My father owned and operated a roller rink in what had once been a neighborhood movie theater building that had a ballroom/dance hall above. The name on the theater marquee read “Gladstone” in neon lights, so it just seemed easier to use the same name for the roller rink. Our family and employees all wore matching shirts with our name over the pocket and a roller skate with wings embroidered on the back; old English lettering spelled out “Gladstone Roller Rink” above and below.
Although Dad changed locations over time, he remained in the roller rink business and lived his dream for 25 years, until he retired and moved to Banning, California. The first winter he spent out of the Midwest, it snowed heavily in Banning.