Just a week ago, in 1934, Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow
died suddenly in a hail of bullets, ambushed outside a small Louisiana town by
six police officers. Their criminal career had lasted only a couple of years,
but was no less bloody for that. Even though they were apparently besotted with
each other in life, in death they are separated – at least physically – because
the Parker family would not allow them to be buried together.
Clyde Barrow
is buried in Western Heights Cemetery – 1617, Fort Worth Avenue; Bonnie Parker
is buried 12 miles away, in Crown Hill Cemetery – 9700 Webb Chapel Road. Both
addresses are in Dallas, which is where they met, living in the abject poverty
that engulfed so many during the Great Depression.
I heard all this on an early morning television “magazine”
program (Sunday Morning, on CBS) this
morning, and it was enough to give me a goal for my otherwise unplanned Sunday.
My GPS guided me to the Crown Hill cemetery first. The
cemetery is surprisingly sparsely populated, given that it is a small oasis in
a city of over a million people. Even more surprising was the prominence of
Indian (Asian Indian, that is) names on the headstones. I spoke to someone in
the funeral parlor next door (mostly because I needed help in locating Bonnie),
and he explained that the Indian community in Dallas had a special arrangement
with the cemetery, so that the “catchment area” was larger than just the
immediate surroundings. Bonnie is buried next to her mother, in a grave that belies
the enormity of her exploits: “As the
flowers are all made sweeter by the sunshine and the dew, So this old world is
made brighter by the lives of folks like you.” Hmmm … more colorful,
perhaps – but brighter?
I knew
exactly where to find Clyde’s grave in the Western Heights cemetery, because I
had seen a reference to it on the internet – “…on the left hand corner just as you enter the gate. The gate seems
locked but it is not. Just lift the latch, it is open” – as indeed it was. The
cemetery is small and peaceful, in spite of the fact that, from this vantage
point, you can almost see downtown Dallas. He is buried next to his brother
Marvin: “Gone but not forgotten.”
It was still early in the day, and I was in an unfamiliar
part of Dallas, so I followed the road – Fort Worth Avenue – to see if it would
ultimately lead to Fort Worth, as the name implied. It did, but I couldn’t
resist stopping on the way to take a picture of the “Convience Store” in one of
the predominantly Spanish-speaking parts of Irving.
I passed south of Fort Worth, and continued on to Weatherford, where I pulled
into “Skinny’s Hamburgers” for a late lunch. It doesn’t sound great, but, like
so many of the old-style hamburger places, it is so much better than any of the
chains. I had a cheeseburger with mustard, and “all the way on the vegetables”
– onions, lettuce and tomato. The tables were covered in a red-checkered
plastic tablecloth, and uniformly bedecked with a roll of kitchen towel,
ketchup, and Louisiana hot sauce. Other items on the menu included: Chicken fried steak, with fries, gravy,
salad and Texas toast[1];
Catfish basket with fries, hush puppies
and tarter (sic) sauce; Bowl of chili with onions and crackers; Stuffed jalapenos; Corny dogs. It might not sound like gourmet food – and it isn’t.
But at least it’s honest, and cooked from scratch. Wash that down with a tall
glass of sweet tea, and I’m ready for the journey back to the hotel!
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