He Played In Peoria--And The World

If you had any doubts that I spent much of my youth reading the wrong kinds of books, I will dispel them now.

Horatio Alger is one of those writers who, it seems, everyone has heard of but no one (at least no one living today) has read.  Although "Horatio Alger story" has become, justifiably, a synonym for "rags-to-riches tale", some of his works are interesting, if not for the quality of the writing, then for the window it offers into the customs and mores of his time.

For example, the phrase "Will it play in Peoria?" had its origin in Five Hundred Dollars, or, Jacob Marlowe's Secret, Alger's 1890 novel.  In it, a group of actors on tour say, "We shall be playing in Peoria" and "We shall play at Peoria."  This meant they were going to play, not only in the north-central Illinois city, but in front of a prototypical American audience.  

Alger's novel came out just as vaudeville was becoming popular in the US.   Travelling vaudevillians appropriated Alger's phrase and, when they used it, meant that they were on the road to success--which, in turn, gave rise to the phrase "Will it play in Peoria?"

Does this mean that Peoria audiences are really tough?  Or does it mean that because it's so representative of "middle America" (whatever that means today) that if it can "play in Peoria", it can play anywhere?

I would tend to believe the latter--or, at least, that it would have been the case in Alger's and the vaudevillians' time.  And vaudevillians weren't the only ones who could gauge their chances of success by how they "played in Peoria."  

Lake View Park--now the site of the Komatsu plant--was once an important, if not the major, stop on the American bicycle racing circuit.  Its half-mile track made and broke cycling careers in the 1890s, the heyday of American bike racing.

One of the folks who became a star in Lake View did so by defeating Tom Butler.  Although only cycling historians know his name today, the rider who defeated him has not been forgotten, for a variety of reasons.

That cyclist "put up a lot of numbers that would be hard to achieve today on a modern bike," according to Tim Beeney.  The Bike Peoria board member and longtime advocate added that this cyclist was "one of the highest-paid in the world at the time he competed."  And, like the ambitious vaudevillians of history as well as Alger's novel, this cyclist found fame throughout America, and the world, after his exploits in Peoria.

The cyclist in question is none other than Marshall "Major" Taylor.  The only athletes I've seen in my lifetime who may have dominated their sports in their time to the degree that Taylor did in his were Eddy Mercx, Martina Navratilova, Wayne Gretzky, Michael Jordan and Serena Williams.

One thing that makes Taylor's accomplishments all the more impressive is the obstacles he faced.  Sometimes he would come to an American city and not be allowed to eat in a restaurant, stay in a hotel--or even to compete in the race that was the reason for his coming to that city! He faced hostility, not only from spectators, but also from fellow racers, who believed that he should not be allowed to compete in--let alone dominate--"their" sport.  He wasn't even allowed to join the League of American Wheelmen!

(I think now of the hate mail and even death threats Henry Aaron received in the 1970s when he was in pursuit of Babe Ruth's career home run record.  He still gets them. I also recall how, when Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa were on track to break the single-season home run record, many people wanted McGwire to finish with the new record.)

More than a century after his victories--and 85 years after his death--it seems that Major Taylor is getting some renewed recognition.  This past Saturday, Peoria-area bicycle clubs paid homage to him 140 years after his birth.  And, earlier this year, cognac maker Hennessy had a TV ad featuring Major.



That ad campaign makes perfect sense when you realize that he was most revered in France, where he went to race in the early 1900s--after he played in Peoria.

And, I suppose you could say he was a sort of Horatio Alger story in that he grew up poor but became very wealthy from his cycling.  Unfortunately, his story didn't have a Horatio Alger ending:  After a series of bad business investments, he died penniless.  

Still, though, he played--and made it, at least for a time--in Peoria, and the world.

Getting To Where They Need To Go

I learned something interesting today:  Boise, Idaho has one of the largest refugee populations, per capita, of any US city.  Moreover, it has more Syrian refugees than Los Angeles and my hometown, New York, combined.

That Boise has so many Syrian refugees is particularly striking when you know that Los Angeles has the largest number of Middle Eastern immigrants of any US city. (Interestingly, Detroit is second.)  People familiar with the Idaho capital point to its relatively low cost of living and friendly climate as "draws" for people fleeing persecution and other forms of violence in other countries.

So why am I mentioning such things in this blog?  Well, like other refugees, the Syrians in Boise are, for the most part, poor.  They can't afford bikes for their kids, or even themselves.  What this means, of course, is not only are kids deprived of something that makes childhood more fun; the parents are deprived of an inexpensive ways to get exercise (which can help them deal with the trauma some suffer) and, even more important, to work or school:  Some can't get drivers' licenses because they lack documentation.

There is another group of people about whom I could say exactly the things I've just said about the Syrian refugees in Boise (or other refugees in other places).  Who are they?  Parolees.

This connection is what makes a program called "Shifting Gears" possible.  It grew out of the Boise Bicycle Project (BBP), a non-profit organization whose goal is to get everyone in the city, whatever his or her income, on a bike--and thus eliminate barriers to transportation.

The workshop at South Boise Women's Correctional Center

Jimmy Hallyburton co-founded BBP in 2007 in a former homeless shelter.    He opened a DIY bicycle shop much like Recycle-A-Bicycle and similar operations in other cities.  In BBP's facililty, a lycra-clad cyclist might be adjusting gears on a triathlon bike with a five-figure price tag alongside a Syrian refugee looking for a basic machine to ride to work.  

Some of the people BBP has taught to fix bikes became volunteers who helped clean, repair and adjust bikes that were distributed to poor city residents, children and adults alike.  

In the course of giving bikes to the needy, Hallyburton learned of the difficulties parolees face.   The biggest is, of course, employment:  Many would-be employers don't want to hire someone who's "done time."  But, even when a potential employer is willing to give a chance to someone who has "paid their debt to society," there is another problem:  getting to the job.  Recently-released prisoners find it difficult, or even impossible, to get a driver's license.  Even if they could get such a document, they might not be able to afford a car--or even a bicycle.

That is how he came up with the idea of Shifting Gears.  He pitched it to the Idaho Department of Correction, who loved it.  Different sites vied for it; eventually, South Boise Women's Correctional Center won out.  An officer volunteered to run the program and scheduled training days with a mechanic who volunteered to train inmates who would become mentors to others who joined the project.

So, for the past two years, some 200 incarcerated women have been stripping, cleaning, lubing and wrenching donated or salvaged bikes that are donated to people who couldn't otherwise afford them.

Finally, when participants are released, they are given a bike sized for their height, as well as a helmet, lock and light.  So they, like the folks who've received the bikes they fixed, will have at least one barrier to integrating with society removed.

The bikes that await them aren't the only benefits of the program.  Seeing how their work changed other people's lives have made some of them want to continue that work, or to help in other ways, when they're released.  For some, including one inmate whose release is scheduled for next month, being able to think that way is perhaps the most valuable thing she's gained from the program.

When Jessica Halbesleben, one of Shifting Gears' original participants and mentors, gets out in January, she will have a job waiting for her--with BBP.  And, of course, she'll have a bike she can ride to it.

Suspension Of Disbelief

I've never owned a full-suspension bike.  My Jamis Dakota and Bontrager Race Lite mountain bikes had telescoping front forks, but no suspension built into the frame.  Perhaps if I had kept with mountain biking longer than I did (I stopped about 15 years ago), I might have such a setup now.

These days, my suspension consists of the sprung saddle on my Fuji commuter/beater--and my joints.

Folks like Jan Heine will tell you that you don't need suspension if you ride the right tires.  He's right: