He sat with a large Bible in his lap, screaming scripture into the air with righteous anger. I passed him on my way out of the Regency Hotel.
I left the hotel still feeling a bit haunted. I drove to a McDonald’s parking lot to finish a post, but I felt restless. I wanted a quiet space and vacant hours so that I could pull together the fragments of thoughts and stories running through my head, but it was time to make my way to Cave City, Arkansas. It was 60 degrees and overcast when I left Shreveport. The weather matched my mood. Warm, but with rain on the horizon.
I passed through Hosston, Louisiana. There were many churches, mostly Baptist, but also Pentecostal. There was one gas station in town, attached to a convenience store that was overpacked and dirty. There was no toilet paper in the bathroom, only paper towels. Someone’s prescription medicine sat on a refrigerator shelf with cheese sticks and cans of Coke. The young girl behind the counter wore a push-up bra and a scowl.
There seemed to be no homes in Hosston, only shelters. Ramshackle manufactured houses, crumbling wood structures, and old, rusty trailers. I once wrote a series about poverty after hearing yet another celebrity, who has never been poor, tout the myth that poor people are happier than others. I sent her author John Scalzi’s web essay “Being Poor”, which, along with his reader’s comments, is one of the most raw and definitive descriptions of American poverty I’ve ever read.
I did not see any happy people in Hosston and the surrounding areas. I did see a grown man walking the road, leaving his rusted, broken down car on the interstate; a gloomy child playing by herself on a patch of dirt; signs about road projects costing thousands of dollars, and a couple of gleaming church steeples.
The rain started pounding in Arkansas and did not let up until I was near my destination, Cave City. I was greeted warmly by my host, Hiedi, and her roommate Scott when I pulled in at 8:00 in the evening. Hiedi lives in a rural neighborhood that’s made up of old homes and newer, modular ones. This home is across the street from her small but comfortable one:
Little pink houses for you and me.
Meet Lucy. She's a 2010 
{ 17 comments… read them below or add one }
Jeez, I’m so depressed reading this…I’m putting Prozac in a Pez dispenser and will pop them all day now. Sadly, people forget that this type of poverty exists in our own country too. I often wonder why it takes us catastrophies to help one another, such as earthquakes and floods. I’m guilty of it too.
We were so happy you got here safely despite the weather. I am glad to have finely met you.
Sadly, I see the struggles of poverty around me everyday. I do agree that it often forgotten about. As we have touched on, though, there are good things that do spring up from poverty. I have witnessed these, as well.
Keep up the great writing!
Reminds me of my own childhood. ..there’s a reason cockroaches don’t scare me.
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This is the side of America that no one wanted to admit existed before Katrina put it on the news channels 24/7 for a while.
V-Grrrl @ Compost Studios´s last blog ..Perfect match
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This piece is expert, Jane. Feels like good photojournalism. I am not depressed by it at all. I know these places intimately. My childhood was not dramatically different. I know such places are not devoid of love and humor, joy and dreams. And I also know where one can go, from places such as these.
Kim Nelson´s last blog ..One Writer’s Journey
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Thank you for sharing (so quickly) this leg of your trip. It’s good to hear Hiedi’s input too, as one who can share even more insight about life there. I wonder if people are really as unhappy and gloomy as we think they should be, or just appear to be as seen through our eyes. Big thanks to Hiedi for being a warm and welcoming host for our weary traveling friend.
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Lynn… can you pass the Pez …and some kleenex? When I get emails from people like Congressmen Dan Lungren like I got today, saying how much this country doesn’t need “Government healthcare” I just want to puke. (Sorry so graphic) But what saddens me even further is how people in THESE exact situations that Jane is talking about, the working poor, are being fed twisted lies about how this healthcare plan will harm them and then them believing it, I feel so frustrated.
I’ve worked with the homeless and poor. So many people think how horrible it is, but very few will take the time to really do what’s necessary to make any amount of change. Corporations are controlling our country through leading our politicians around with a collar and a leash made of $$$ signs. Not until we make use of our power through voting, spending, and compassion will much of anything change I’m afraid. It’s discouraging really… Thus the need for the prozac pez dispensers. My Pollyanna side says that human compassion will overcome and I really hope it does.
Julia Janzen´s last blog ..The Wonderful Masterpiece, “Cranford”
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Yep. That’s Louisiana and Arkansas just like I left them a few years back. Now you know why I’m now a VERY proud Texan.
Don’t get me wrong. There are some good people in both states. And I do believe they are happy. They just accept the life that’s been handed them and don’t know what they’re missing.
Many of the relatives and friends I left behind in my hometown can do better. They just don’t care to…
But, then again, I was apprehensive when I first left Louisiana. Was one of the best decisions I ever made.
Jane,
So glad to put a face with the writer’s name that Hiedi tells me about. That little pink trailer used to belong to a little old lady, but she died. I guess her family sold it to some guy and he rents it out I think. The only people that have lived there have been druggies and loud warrant yielding rednecks that scream at each other and take other people’s pick up trucks. Oh well, I love my little house on the corner. I hope you have many more fun, exciting, and safe adventures on the road! I just started reading you, but enjoy it already and can’t wait for more!
I don’t know what to think about such abject poverty and decay. And I OFTEN drive through the city of Detroit. But it’s different somehow. I wish I could articulate it better, but it’s just different. The thing that scares me most is knowing that any sort of significant world instability could drive virtually all of us into that position. And I wonder how we we cope.
Pop and Ice´s last blog ..I’m back in School?
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I had the same thought about difference, Carol, and think it might be because when the poverty is in a beautiful place like the country, it seems starker than when it’s in the midst of concrete.
Did you even check to see what the prescription medicine was for on the refrigerator??!!
(sorry, just trying to lighten the mood a bit).
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I like Heidi’s comment. Sounds like you met a neat gal, Jane. Poverty, suffering, injustice — it’s overwhelming.
Chris´s last blog ..Sun, Sun, Sun, Here It Comes…
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I had the same thought about poverty being different in Detroit, and can’t quite gather my thoughts. Perhaps it’s more situational – the once-thriving City of Detroit went rapidly downhill after the race riots of the late 1960s, and later spiraled under the management of an inept City Council and a corrupt mayor that cost the city millions to cover up his own personal scandals (which are still continuing). The collapse of manufacturing and the auto industry dealt another severely damaging blow.
In the country – where it’s “different” – poverty seems more…accepted? Still need to spend some time thinking about this one.
In any case, keep shining your light.
This piece was more like a movie than an essay — it’s amazing how you used the photos to describe the mood and the scene and the feelings associated with it.
Jodi´s last blog ..Pancakes between cousins and friends
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Accepting and resignation are two different things. No one wants to live in poverty or to raise their children in it. Sometimes there seems to be no way out. My grandmother used to say “They like to live that way”. No they don’t. Easing our conscience by saying they are happy only changes what we feel, not what they feel.
what a difference photos make…sigh. you need a real camera, Jane. all that you are seeing and experiencing. wow.
abject poverty makes me weepy….
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