The position was up to be axed until recently. Like many US cities, San Diego needs to tighten the belt. According to a local councilman, Carl DeMaio, quoted in The New York Times on 26 December, 'We've decimated our basic park services, we've cut a third of libraries, and our roads are literally falling apart.' I'm glad for my sake, though, that the city received hundreds of letters in support of the Civic Organist. Her recital reminded me of the sort of lovely music-making that used to be made in Melbourne when I was a kid - concerts by the likes of the Footscray-Yarraville Band, organ recitals at the Town Hall; music played purely for the sake of the audience's enjoyment.
This nostalgic memory is not the only way San Diego reminds me of Australia however. In the Museum of Art, we came upstairs from an exhibition of modern Mexican painting (terrifically strong-figured stuff, such as Alfredo Ramos Martinez's 'Indian', Mancacoyota, staring directly at the viewer) and saw this through the window.
Where are we? Adelaide? Hobart?
I kind of don't mind. One of the great pleasures in living in the US right now is being recognised very quickly as an Australian. A guy on the train to Trenton pointed to my akubra as a, 'dead give-away,' but Americans can generally now pick the accent. Then they ask lots of questions. Those who momentarily mistake me for English quickly apologise (as they should). But I'm sure that 15 years ago when we'd mention Australia, people's eyes would glaze over about five minutes in. Now they're fascinated.
I can't help finding it flattering. And I can't help reflecting that it's the first time that something beyond any effort on my part helps me stand out from the general ruck. Of course, remembering Mancacoyota's stare I wouldn't dare equate myself with a beleagured or disadvantaged minority.
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