Yeah, we know. Metro Pulse can be a little myopic at times, a little too focused on the parts of the city that really aren't working well. Sometimes, we forget to mention all that we love about Knoxville. Rather then let this opportunity slip by, here�s just a few of the things that make us truly happy about this corner of the country.
We Got Balls!
I am thankful for Knoxville because it makes me feel manly. It's not just the testosterone burst in the atmosphere on home game weekends, or the vicarious masculine charge I get from the local sports radio shows—you can get those in any decent-sized city. No, I have more specific things in mind.
Much has been made in the past few years of our matching spheres, the golden one above World's Fair Park and the big orange one outside the Women's Basketball Hall of Fame. I won't bother repeating the obvious except to say that it's nice we finally have a pair.
But the Sunsphere, of course, sits atop our most striking bit of priapic architecture, the green metal tower straining skyward out of the park and towering over our new convention center. Granted, it would be more inspiring if it weren't built in a valley. Still, no visitor to our city can fail to be struck by our, ahem, civic pride. (Especially when you tell them that the office at the very top is occupied by a Public Building Authority honcho named Dick Bigler. I like to imagine him up there, surveying his territory, answering his phone with a powerful, "Dick Bigler speaking!")
Size isn't everything, of course—it's also how you use the equipment. Which is why the perfect place to take a date is the Tennessee Theatre. Never mind the evening's headliner, just be sure to get there in time for (that's right) the Mighty Wurlitzer. It rises slowly, majestically, from the floor, up and up and up, our city's most regal organ. It makes beautiful music, baby, and it lasts a lot longer than you expect it too. Then it recedes gently, the last notes still trailing out.
And if that doesn't give you enough vicarious virility, you may soon have one more splendid spire to admire just down the street. I'm still not sure what's actually going to be in Universe Knoxville—the marketing material somehow keeps leaving that out—but I do know that it's supposed to be big. Architectural renderings show a pyramidal structure rising hundreds of feet in the air, jutting proudly above the James White Parkway. In fact, jutting proudly seems to be the pyramid's only reason for existence. Developer Earl Worsham has promised that proposed cutbacks in the project will affect only its less significant components—like the children's educational museum, for example. The building's majestic thrust will survive uncut.
There are those small-minded people—people from cities like Asheville and Chattanooga—who might suggest that Worsham and Knoxville in general are trying to compensate for something. But me, I think they're just jealous of our Mighty Wurlitzer.
—Jesse Fox Mayshark
Clang, clang, clang...
I think of it as the intern's little helper. The jolly red trolley swoops by campus every 10 minutes, chugging up the Strip and making a loop of downtown before cruising to a stop in front of Krutch Park. I can zoom from class to work and back again, while other UT students are still trying to remember where they parked their cars. And, of course, the fare is commensurate with my earnings.
I must admit I was a little wary moving to Knoxville from Oakland, Calif. K-town doesn't embrace those without cars. Streets often lack sidewalks. Shops are strung like beads on long, congested pikes, isolated from residences. And buses, while present, keep odd hours. Why does the 90A switch from a half-hourly to hourly schedule in the middle of rush hour?
KATs are finicky, I suppose.
My first week in Knoxville I stayed with a friend off Chapman Highway. Things looked as I had expected: Krogers, Blockbusters and Long John Silvers as far as the eye could see. I took a bus to downtown, thinking I would walk from there to campus.
"There's a trolley that goes to campus," the bus driver said. "It's free."
Free? I was intrigued. Sure, the walking would do me good. But when I heard "trolley," bells rang in my head, and I had visions of electric chariots pushing their way up steep San Francisco hills.
The bus turned onto Main Street and I gazed out the window in admiration. Who knew Knoxville had handsome buildings? As I waited for the trolley, I reveled in the crisp symmetry and colonial elegance of the federal courthouse. Maybe I'd figured Knoxville wrong.
The trolley approached and my heart leapt for joy. Sure, it wasn't actually a trolley. It ran on wheels, not rails. But it was a cheery red and "Knoxville Trolley Lines" was printed on the side in an old-fashioned gold font. Boarding, I rejoiced in the gleaming brass accents, the curved wooden benches that cradled my back. OK, maybe that wasn't really wrought iron but some 21st century look-alike. It didn't matter; I was hooked.
The trolley isn't perfect. While its new late-night service aids nights out in the Old City, there is a strangely trolley-less gap between and 6 and 8 p.m. on weekends. Filling that gap might encourage students to patronize downtown restaurants. But I can't complain too much. After all, what would I say—"I'm taking my money elsewhere?"
—Tamar Wilner
West Knoxville: The Other
I rarely go to West Knoxville. When I do, I almost always stay this side of Northshore—a lunch trip to Sitar or a pilgrimage to McKay's for a good bargain. For one, I hate driving, and for another, there's not much out there that appeals to me. It's all a big mess of gross looking strip plazas, SUVs, billboards, chain stores, parking lots, sidewalk-less neighborhoods, powerlines and people I don't find all that interesting. You've heard all these complaints before—in fact, the complaints are such a laughable mantra of Metro Pulse that it should be obvious that our view of the west 'burbs is as exaggerated as many Knoxvillians' view of East Knoxville. And heck, I think very highly of some West Knoxville residents. (There are cool things out west, to be sure—Ali Baba's, Stir Fry, and um, well....I'm sure you can think of something.) But this stereotypical view of West Knoxville and its inhabitants provides me with something quite valuable. It gives me an other, a whole community, lifestyle and culture of otherness, to define myself against. Every time I find myself having to drive out to, say, Cedar Bluff, I'm dumbfounded that people actually make this drive every day. By choice. I wonder what goes through their heads as they leave downtown to fight their way through traffic, hurrying to make it home to their air conditioned homes with the big garage in front so they can run inside to watch TV (they're the ones, I'm certain of it, who so often almost run me down as I'm walking home from work). I've met West Knoxvillians who have never eaten at the Tomato Head, who are afraid to go to the Old City, and who don't see much use in those old buildings downtown. There are West Knoxvillians who walk out of movies that have subtitles in them. But I'm not here to rail against all things West Knoxville—but to give thanks for them. Thank you for showing me what not to be.
—Joe Tarr
Bang Your Bucks
Periodically, my husband and I have various friends of a similar age and place in life (thirty-something, parents of young children) come to visit us from out of town. They fly in from San Francisco, Minneapolis, New York, or Chicago to spend a few days catching up with us and letting our children get to know one another in hopes that they'll become the good friends that their respective sets of parents are.
Without fail, our visitors praise the natural beauty and slow pace of life in Knoxville, wondering aloud if they could ever give up the urban utopia they currently enjoy for something a little more laid back. Nah, they always conclude. I could never live without (insert one of the following: subways, a major dance company, a really top-notch local daily newspaper, etc, etc, etc).
It's at this point that we bring out our secret weapon, guaranteed to turn the most snooty Manhattanite green with envy. As we drive down Island Home Boulevard or through Old North Knoxville, ostensibly so that they can admire these neighborhoods' many fine examples of craftsman and Victorian architecture, we casually mention the going rate for houses such as these in Knoxville.
Their jaws drop, their eyes bulge. "What?! You're telling me that you can buy a 3,000-square-foot, beautifully restored Queen Anne on the national historic register for under $200,000???!!! You have GOT to be kidding! That's how much we paid for our first 400-square-foot studio co-op in a bad part of the Bronx!"
Mission accomplished.
We have actually been able to convince some of our friends to move here after employing this tactic. Plus, this always serves as a great reminder for us of just how thankful we should be for the fact that the absurdly low cost of living in East Tennessee means that we spend more time with our children and each other rather than chasing dollars. The fact that our house payment is less than some Massachusetts families' monthly utility bills allows me to work from home, writing and mothering and generally being a much happier camper than the big-city female friends I have who are continually frazzled by the demands of chasing both a partnership and their toddlers.
—Katie Allison Granju
The Lovely Side of Town
You can call it South America if you must, and you can look down your long, north-of-the-river nose at it all you want, but South Knoxville is still worth praying over at Thanksgiving.
Let me count the ways.
First, its people are the friendliest and most neighborly anywhere, and they have their heads on straight. They may be a little on the conservative side. They may vote Republican against their own interests. But they keep the rest of Knoxville conscious of the notion that there is a practical side to life and ways to live it honestly and forthrightly.
Then, there's the traffic, which isn't much, which is why South Knoxville is the place to live if you have to drive anywhere to work or shop. You can get there from there, and you won't have to sit long, tapping your steering wheel and waiting for others.
There are its legendary Chinese restaurants, its Ye Olde for steaks and the finest Egyptian-American restaurant in all of Appalachia.
There are prices for general services, such as car repairs, that are the envy of the rest of the city, and the South Knoxville service is just that: service.
Lastly, and this is just a bonus, South Knoxville is closer to the Great Smoky Mountains and the gem of an East Tennessee city that is Maryville, than the rest of y'all are. If you live south of the river, be thankful for that. If you don't, you can well be thankful that the south bank is there for you whenever you need a dose of reality and real warmth around you.
—Barry Henderson
November 22, 2001 * Vol. 11, No. 47
© 2001 Metro Pulse
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