Forgotten River

Dear Twin Cities--remember the Mississippi?

By TD Mischke

Published on April 28, 2009

Best of the Twin Cities they called it? That's what they dared title that last issue of City Pages? What a sad pathetic joke. Where the hell was I?

Let me tell you a little something, people: I not only should have been on the cover of that publication, celebrated as the single best thing there is about this community, I also happen to be the only reason your towns exist in the first place!

Do any of you media mooncalves even notice me anymore?

Yoo-hoo, over here, the bright, blue, glorious, shimmering body of water snaking right through your gut, Twin Cities. Remember me?

I see that the Mega Mall got a nice mention. There was a time long before that sterile block of concrete appeared that a river as grand as I would have been front and center in the minds of writers. Before those giant cathedrals, fancy skyscrapers, and pro sports teams sidled in.

I gave birth to your world, for God's sake. I gave you your sense of place, I nursed you, I brought you your citizens.

Think of how it could have been with you and me, had things been different, had you cared about me from the beginning. Picture it: walkways and beaches stretching all along the waterway; swimmers and lovers sharing the same space; decks over the waves where people could sit alone, drink in hand, meditating on the sublime beauty of it all.

Somewhere along the way you turned your back on me, Twin Cities. I became something of an afterthought. You huddled your buildings together in small downtowns, and I became little more than the designated hangout for miscreants or the homeless, wayward youth, or lonely fishermen who caught bloated creatures poisoned by mercury.

It didn't have to be this way, you know. It was a choice you made

Today there is no greater example of how far I've fallen in your esteem than to read your "Best of the Twin Cities" issue and see a celebration of everything but me.

Hell, even the little city lakes geta mention.

Imagine how that must feel to the granddaddy of all rivers, the heralded, legendary Miisiziibi. When you are given a name like that by the Annishinabe and you know it means "Great River" and you know that they've seen a few of them in their day, you begin to believe the hype, perhaps even feel it's deserved. Conceited that may sound, but know that you've worn away at most of my bloated self-worth over the years, At best I've become something you take for granted, at worst, what you wholly discard. You've forgotten my history, my lore, my wild tales, my mysteries. And you fail to see my aging beauty, still here, in your midst—my noble aging beauty.

Do they also forget in De Soto, Wisconsin; Muscatine, Iowa; Kaskaskia, Illinois; Ste. Genevieve, Missouri; Hickman, Kentucky; Reverie, Tennessee; Tomato, Arkansas; Tunica, Mississippi; La Balize, Louisiana? What do their "Best of" issues reveal? Am I still queen down there?

Next year, how about this: "Best Natural Wonder of the Twin Cities, the Mississippi. She winds through our world with the curves of a angelic woman, with the gentle grace of the wind itself, drawing the lines of our cities, wrapping us in a tender embrace, beckoning in whispers, the lone surviving call of our wild and wondrous past."

Can you write that, City Pages? It shouldn't be too hard. I'm a pretty big deal nationally. They say I'm the greatest river in America. I'm the legendary one. I'm the river with all the grand stories, the literary touchstone. Source of triumph and tragedy, of great escapes, of childhood dreams—damn it, America, I am your elder. Respect me!