There’s no place like home (but can we please leave now?)
Image by Aubrey Prunty/@breezyartwork
by Whitney Cummings
Joplin, Missouri… the little city of seventeen coffee shops, four hundred churches, thirty-eight banking centers, and enough semi trucks to start a Mad Max uprising. We’re a community of civic-minded misfits in the middle of the melting pot. This is where mustaches come to live—whether on the faces of hipsters or cowboys—and restaurants with poor customer service come to die. To the outsider, Joplin might not seem that different from other midwestern cities. However, to local residents, Joplin is the sweet spot of Missouri, wielding a richly quirky culture and an exceptionally strong communal bond.
Photo by Mark N
Our twisted history earned us a badge of unrelenting unity, whether we wanted it or not, and we’ve learned to wear it with purpose. Now, during this global pandemic that has caused so much anxiety in our brothers and sisters around the world, we have the opportunity to set an example of what it looks like to stay calm, move as a singular unit, and focus on taking care of each other.
Joplinites are experts at hunting for rainbows amidst debris and chaos, remember? Think back to all the photographs of literal rainbows in the sky right after the Joplin tornado. There was destruction on every corner that could’ve been captured on camera, but people stopped to take pictures of rainbows. And who remembers the multicolored “spirit tree” that had bird houses hanging from it? Or the graffiti murals that sprung up all over town? What about the letters “H” and “E” that were spray-painted onto the Joplin High School sign to make it say “Hope” High School? Even when our entire city was flattened, people found ways to process their pain through creativity, inspiring others to search for joy.
Unsurprisingly, creativity has once again come pouring out of the hearts of Joplin folks for weeks now. We’ve gotten to see some of the more “traditional” types of creation—drawings, paintings, photographs, stories, music, etc.—but we’ve also gotten to see just how inventive people can be in their day-to-day lives. One local group of friends held a Magic: the Gathering game night over Zoom this week. Three of the group members had external cameras, which allowed for hands-free playtime and optimal viewing, but one participant had to think much further outside of the box to play along. Using all the ingenuity he could muster, he built a tower of random objects for his phone to lean against while filming his playtime. The tower consisted of three “Pop! Funko” dolls, two old cereal boxes, a fair amount of sweat, and one college diploma. We've finally reached the day when college diplomas are meaningless props while rolls of toilet paper are valuable currency.
Illustration by Aubrey Prunty/ @breezyartwork
Equally creative is the group of Joplin kids who've figured out how to continue their weekly Pokemon duels from across the space of a wide driveway. Shouted phrases like, "Gyrados use hydro-pump!" can be heard around their neighborhood every Monday afternoon. Other areas of town have new quarantine sounds, as well. We're suddenly hearing the honking of cars as teachers parade around town, the joyous boofs of canines as they get more human time than ever before, and the strumming of guitars as people play their six strings on their porches.
Teachers have showcased an incredibly high percentage of glittery Eagle pride shirts as they've driven along their routes. Yet, many of the dog walkers and guitar pickers have felt no pressure to wear any shirts at all. Or shoes. Or bras. In fact, the clothes-to-no-clothes ratio seems fairly balanced across the city right now. Half of us are essential workers, still fully clothed and living by respectable schedules every day, while the other half of us are non-essential bums, sitting on our beds naked for three days after getting out of the shower.
It's okay to hunt for humor amidst the mundane moments in life, even during a global crisis. It's okay for us to enjoy the artistry our world has to offer, to pour our hearts into creative projects of our own, and to find ways to stay connected to one another. However, our most crucial job right now is to acknowledge our communal duty to keep one another safe and then commit to our roles in it. We’re not going to be able hang out with each other for a while, guys.
Photo by Dave Thomas / @captaincdt
According to experts, this pandemic won’t leave our area for several more months. (“You know, a lot of people go to college for seven years.” -- “I know. They’re called doctors.”) We're the only ones who can make sure it gets out of here with as few casualties as possible. We’re making choices on our own, but we’re all a part of one big body that has to live with the consequences of our individual choices.
We can’t visit our grandmothers simply because we finally have more free time. We can’t wander around Walmart to stave off boredom. We really shouldn't get together in small groups by using the excuse that it doesn’t violate the “ten person rule.” It doesn't even make sense to strike up conversations with the mailman, Randy, as he walks by our house, even though we’re pathetically lonely and really miss him and want to know if his Goldendoodle has recovered from its rash, yet.
I'm sorry, Randy. We just can’t. We have a job to do.
The amount of pride I felt when I got to Sam’s Club yesterday and found an almost empty parking lot was unreal. I shouldn’t have been surprised that the people of Joplin would actually follow the shelter-in-place order, but I was. I’ve seen so many people from other areas of the world ignoring quarantine suggestions that I assumed we’d be the same. It’s with all the admiration in the world that I can say WE ARE NOT THE SAME. The majority of us are actually doing what we’re supposed to do, staying inside and keeping our filthy hands to ourselves. Maybe we’re motivated to follow the rules because we’ve seen real destruction before, and we never want to live through that again. Maybe it’s because we learned the hard way how fragile human life really is. Whatever the answer is… we’ve obviously figured it out.
This dedication will prevent parents who are medical professionals from being separated from their babies longer. It will allow businesses to reopen sooner. Because of our dedication, fewer children will be forced to attend funerals this year, and the number of days it takes for them to get back into their classrooms will be reduced. The overall amount of trauma our community will be put through will be lessened, which I think we can all agree is a welcome relief. While some states are in the eye of the COVID-19 tornado right now, others are already sorting through the aftermath. Joplin, however, is still watching the big, green clouds roll in. We can find solace in the fact that we’ve been here before. We know how to survive catastrophes better than most. We take it seriously when experts tell us to take shelter, and we know how to accomplish it while still providing comfort to those around us. We know how to prepare for the worst, hope for the best, and make do with whichever we’re given. We are resilient. We will move through this painful moment in history with the same integrity that got us through the last one. Until this storm blows over, though, let’s all stay home, keep creating cool stuff, and hate Carole Baskin in beautiful unity.
About the author:
Whitney is a Joplin native who lives for the sole purpose of playing with dogs and petting children (or vice versa). If she ever has time to spare, she can usually be found sitting in dark corners of local coffee shops, writing. Her creative energy manifests itself in the form of books, blogs, and barmy articles about utter nonsense. Sometimes, she even gets paid to write... which is obviously not as cool as getting paid to throw sticks for kids or put party hats on dogs, but it gets her by.