Watching fireworks, dodging rain, talking Palin, in Carrizozo, NM

July 6, 10:33 AMSpiritual Life ExaminerRabbi Ben Kamin

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CARRIZOZO, NM, July 4--The faded Virgin of Guadalupe on the old stone building across from the long-dormant rail car that serves as the Visitor Center pretty much tells the story as one enters.  Carrizozo (population 900), off State Highway 380, a few miles south of the Valley of Fires lava preserve, is approached at the Texaco and the town’s solitary 4-way stop light.  Past the Chaparral Motel, onto the strangely-named Airport Road, there is a scattering of early 20^th-century Adobe construction homes with Craftsman architecture, laden with deep porches and creased memories of the times when this wind-blown county seat was a prospering railroad center in between Albuquerque and El Paso, Texas.  Then, there was a supermarket or two and you didn’t have to drive forty minutes to Ruidoso for a movie theater, an ice cream cone, or a decent cocktail.

Nevertheless, this is very much America, with real human beings, albeit mostly retirees and those on fixed incomes, including many photographers and artists, and a humming local art scene kept alive by a culture of Sunday potlucks, constant drop-bys (my wife and I saw this while visiting our friends on E Street who have happily migrated here from San Diego), unending stories and yarns shared, fiery independence merged with an unspoken co-dependence—all under a monumental sky that changes moods, temperatures, and moisture several times a day.

At Mike Levy’s pre-fabricated house (not his real name) on 4^th of July eve, some sixty locals converged for a potluck-barbecue-fireworks party.  Mike is one of 6 or 7 Jews in Carrizozo, none of whom have access to any institutional affiliation but one another; all told me of being unconditionally welcomed in the community of several churches.  Mike stood in on and off-again rain and prepared burgers, franks, and grilled corn for hours while a potpourri of cowboys, philosophers, teachers, curators, handymen, mechanics, gardeners, chefs, painters, potters, writers, and car sales people celebrated the wind, an intermittent thick rainbow, freedom, feisty mountain lightning, and “the good old USA” with chow, beers, sangria, and wine drained from boxes.  As darkness settled in, the Carrizozo Fire Department did its best to set off a pretty good fireworks display, underwritten by $3500 in citizen donations, although against the resuming rain, it never fulfilled a clear grand finale.

People sat and mused about our country, now 233 years young.  The web, cable television, and satellite radio connected Carrizozo and this prairie to the outside world.  The prevailing sentiments were clear:  There was “something fishy” about Michael Jackson’s death; it was time for us “to shake off the Arabs once and for all” and stop paying these kinds of prices for gasoline; and “Sarah Palin has gone off the deep end this time.  Does she really think we’re supposed to be impressed that she quit her job now so that she can run for president?  She doesn’t know anything about us.”

The night grew darker and colder.  Babies cried.  The teenagers present increased their protests:  “Mom, I am so bored!  I want to go see my friends now!”  We all made our way home, past the flickering lights of the four or five Carrizozo police and fire units who were busier directing traffic than at any time during the year.  God bless America.

PHOTO: Carrizozo Fire Dept.

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