Low life
Rocky
Jeffrey Bernard
Boulder, Colorado Boulder City lies at the foot of the Rockies 25 miles from the state capit- al, Denver. It is just over 5,000 feet above sea level and there is very little humidity and not too much oxygen. It is a campus town full of charm, Victorian and clap- board houses, tree-lined streets and, as far as I can tell, there doesn't seem to be a mugger in the place. Last week, on elec- tion day, Boulder was the only town in the county that came out for Walter Mondale and it gave him 24,160 shoulders to cry on. As my American friend and hostess said, 'Doesn't that say it all, why I live here?' It is indeed a very liberal town and there is some sort of protest almost every time President Reagan opens his mouth. On the night of the election there were two parties going on at the Boulderado Hotel. Up- stairs some fairly staid Republicans were slowly warming up to their celebration party while downstairs in the bar they were chanting, 'Fuck you, Mr President.' The Republican persona is more evident among the rednecks than it is among the middle classes. Rednecks, unpopular with local residents, are the ranchers, cowboys and farmers who live out of town. They still drive American cars, stick cigars in their mouths, wear cowboy boots and like to look tough. They probably are. Their
obsession — and most other men's too for that matter — is football. The female ob- session is psychology and psychoanalysis.
One day last week we drove up into the mountains to look at an old mining town called Gold Hill. There was a town store with a pot-belly stove in the middle of the shop just as Hollywood would have it, but this store was typically run by a middle- class, semi-hippie, semi-dropout couple. When I walked into the store I was thinking, this is it, the real old West, and to my horror the first words I heard coming from a woman leaning against the counter were, 'I've just got the results of InY personality test and it says that stress makes me nervous.' John Wayne must be turning in his grave. Such people spend $100 a week to garner such obvious and silly information. Americans are terribly serious in spite of such ghastly frivolities as having a compulsion to smother their food with melted cheese. Television breakfast- time chat shows bear witness to their deep sincerity and Colorado watches discussions on infidelity, euthanasia and alcoholism while they eat their pancakes and syrup at the crack of dawn.
Of course, I've been searching for anY signs of low life but there aren't any. Neither is there high life. Boulder City I.s still life, but a nice enough one for resi- dents I imagine. The abundance of book- shops, the slow pace and the camPust atmosphere is catching. Any feelings m mania have deserted me by teatime and I have retired to our cabin in the foothills to read and to watch the picture-postcard sunsets. Yesterday, reading a biography (31 Ulysses S. Grant, I came across a goo' piece of Americana. During his p05 presidential world tour he stopped off ar Venice and remarked, 'It would be a great town if they drained it.' Americans lov,e draining places and sooner or later theY II probably get around to the Everglades. In spite of this strange penchant they are very good at filling glasses. The measures in most bars here are quite ridiculous bY our standards. Most of the barmen are what they call free pourers, which is to saY that the actual measure is redundant. Tumblers are filled to the top. And 111°st barmen like most of the other people he are very friendly. Even crossing the street someone will pass you and say, 'Hi there, how you doin'?' It is a far cry and in sole ways a happy one from New York. OnlY, once have I been reminded of that city ars' that was when I went into town 011.e evening to see Larry Holmes defend h1s, heavyweight title against `Bonecrusber, Smith. They show fights and football games on a big screen in the bars and the I was watching the referee stop the because of a horrendous cut over Smith ' eye when a man behind me shouted out: 'Hey ref, what's the matter, he's still.gm his eyeball in, hasn't he?' Such loud asicIe,... grate in a town like Boulder and Ai; something of a paradox that these Pee? a still shoulder a load of guilt about havoll' wiped out the entire Arapaho tribe.
But the women are something else. The two words that I hear bouncing off the walls and ceilings more than any other are 'relate' and 'relationship'. As I say, the seriousness here is of gargantuan Guardian proportions and you could read the New York Times every day for a year without smiling once. Yesterday I heard a girl tell her friend, 'I find it almost impossible to relate because I go for looks.' Later her friend said, 'I want a meaningful rela- tionship but how the hell can you relate With a man?' Seething as it is with stunning-looking girls it would take a brave Englishman or a sociologist to take one on in Boulder. Mind you, it must have taken Pretty serious men to drive wagon all the Way from the east to come here to dig holes in the sides of these amazing snow-covered Rockies. I see them now through the window and wonder at the initial explosion Which threw up a range that stretches from Canada to South America. It must have been like Earth splitting her pants. And now, on my last day in Boulder City before setting out for New Orleans and the Mississippi, I shall go into town in our truck and try to relate to a couple of barmen. There's no escape and yesterday a barman in the Boulderado Hotel told me that he'd worked in the Plough Tavern in Museum Street while he was studying at the LSE. It sounds even worse than digging holes in the mountain sides. Doubtless I'll meet someone in New Orleans who once Worked in the Coach and Horses. And how Is that dreadful place?
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