My own private Burlington

>> Taking in the sensibly Leftist sugar-plum dairy town that changed the face of U.S. politics

by JUAN RODRIGUEZ

The dude with the long dirty blond hair couldn't possibly be River Phoenix hanging outside the Ben & Jerry's at the Church Street Marketplace--the four-block pedestrian mall at the heart of Burlington, Vermont--but that sure as hell looked like Keanu Reeves in the ratty Phish T-shirt. We managed to strike up a conversation, as things go in this small city of 39,000, and eventually "Keanu" blurted: "Jim rules, dude."

James Jeffords, the moderate Vermonter who bolted the Republicans to give control of the U.S. Senate to the Democrats, had just thrust Burlington into the epicentre of the biggest political news since the U.S. Supreme Court handed the election to Bush, Part Deux. The sense of occasion was not lost on veteran Vermont historian Howard Coffin: "This is a worldwide political story that really affects the balance of power. And it just so happened in this little city by Lake Champlain."

Jeffords said his decision was "no surprise to Vermonters, because independence is the Vermont way." Indeed, 42 per cent of Vermonters identify themselves as political independents (the U.S. average is 20 per cent). Jeffords had been "expected to repress his rebellious reflexes," breathlessly burbled the Burlington Free Press. Local Republicans were quick to call him a Benedict Arnold, a sore point in the state's history (Arnold co-commanded the Green Mountain Boys with native son Ethan Allen before turning traitor in the War of Independence). Hand-made signs saying "Thank you, Jim" sprouted around town, and last week a bumper sticker echoing the sentiment was unveiled at the Peace and Justice Store.

Jeffords' crisis of conscience struck a nerve long after the eight satellite trucks covering his announcement had left Burlington. Never mind that the 67 year old is known as the Jimmy Stewart of Vermont politics (inspiring the Newsweek cover line "Mr. Jeffords Blows Up Washington"). After all, this was the same politician who broke ranks to vote against Clarence Thomas's confirmation as U.S. Supreme Court Justice and the impeachment of Bill Clinton; who co-sponsored legislation to outlaw job discrimination against gays and lesbians and supported Hillary Clinton's health care plan. (He also moved into a motor home to cope with $44,000 (U.S.) in campaign debts after first being elected to the U.S. House of Representatives in 1974, and in 1990 broke two-inch boards to gain a black belt in tae kwon do.) The senator, noted the Rutland Herald, reminded us that the world wasn't made up only of "the conservatives in Orange County or the suburbs of Houston."

Ground zero at Ben & Jerry's

At least not Burlington. The Jeffords story was a coming-out party for this good-taste laid-back gingerbread-boutique sensibly Leftist consumerist college town--the proto alt-eco nexus of politics, art and commerce that comes together in Ben & Jerry's, Phish and the Church Street Marketplace.

Only 22 years ago the sleepy city's downtown was tired. (Stowe's lederhosen-clad Von Trapp Family seemed to personify "culture" in Vermont.) The natives were restless, and took matters into their own hands by redefining the downtown core. Window-shopping was institutionalized on the pedestrian mall (winning a Great American Main Street Award from the National Trust for Historic Preservation). Burlington is where hippies got hip to the market. It's a quintessential "Latté Town," according to David Brooks in his book Bobos in Paradise (Bobos meaning "bourgeois bohemians"): "The ideal Latté Town has a Swedish-style government, German-style pedestrian malls, Victorian houses, Native American crafts, Italian coffee, Berkeley human rights groups and Beverly Hills income levels." Brooks amusingly paints with broad strokes, but he's got it down pat. Sort of.

Ground zero is the original Ben & Jerry's ice cream parlour. Founded in 1978 in a renovated Burlington gas station by Ben Cohen and Jerry Greenfield with $12,000 (U.S.) (and a $5 correspondence course in ice-cream making), Ben & Jerry's is the city's latter-day spirit in a microcosm: have-it-all lifestyle dressed up in social consciousness (milk and cream untreated with synthetic hormones). Power to the people (gelt without guilt): lick a Concession Obsession--a new flave integrating movie munchies like fudge-covered, crisped rice candy, peanuts dipped in fudge and caramel-candy swirl. Then participate in the Citizen Cool contest, a "nationwide Casting Call" for people who've "identified a need in their community and have found cool and innovative ways to address it."

The company's virtually patented "corporate concept of linked prosperity"--spelled out in kandy-kane kids' designs on the walls of its postmodern parlour--consists of three "interrelated parts": finest product; sound financial basis; and, the kicker, "actively recognize the central role that business plays in the structure of society." Or as Bernie Sanders, the former Burlington mayor (1981-88) and only "socialist" in the U.S. House of Representatives, notes: "All living things are spiritually linked with one another." Feel-good stuff as you stroll the mall: Disneyland for Bobos.

Are things what they seem?

With its small-town white church steeple looming photogenically at the north end of the strip, Church Street Marketplace looks unwittingly like Disneyland's Main Street U.S.A. It's got a things-are-not-what-they-seem feel, like Peyton Place and Twin Peaks. Perhaps it's the Peace and Justice Store squeezed next to Eddie Bauer: social conscience as easy to commodify as hunting-style non-hunter's outdoor wear. Perhaps it's the store that sold cashmere halter tops. Perhaps it's the Pier One Imports (knockoffs of trendy cosmo-ethnic stuff as seen in InStyle magazine) near the Discovery Channel store (the world as seen on TV). Maybe it's the blasé strollers in Dockers looking like grown-up versions of kids in baggies.

Maybe it's the Arts Trolley, which connects 13 artsy-craftsy concerns (most prominently Frog Hollow, a three-store statewide chain). Art adds that all-important cultured touch to the tourist trade. With something for (almost) every pocketbook, Burlington is hailed as one of the "arts-friendly" towns of Amerika. The local "underground intelligentsia"--poetry slams!--hangs at Rhombus Gallery (186 College) which boasts a "delightfully Parisian, Bohemian atmosphere," according to local Web-guide Michael Mills (About.com). "Even if it is a little dirty." Ouch.

If the arts scene is the triumph of Jules Feiffer's leotard-clad Beat-waif free-forming an "Ode to Spring," it's also drenched in Back to the Future nostalgia epitomized by the art-deco Flynn Theatre. Promising the state's largest proscenium, the Flynn opened in 1930 as a vaudeville house, but vaudeville was dead and 50 years of movies followed. Rediscovered in the late 1970s by the community Lyric Theatre, it's undergone major re-hauls (a plaque honours Jeffords' ability to wangle $900,000 (U.S.) from the Feds). An acoustically intimate 1,453-seater, the Flynn now stages what locals like to call "world-class" events, such as the Discover Jazz Festival concluding Sunday, June 10.

Phishy business

One of the jazz festival's corporate sponsors is Phish, rock-jazz-country jam icons on college campuses and beyond. They formed in the mid-1980s at nearby University of Vermont; singer-guitarist Trey Anastasio recorded The Man Who Stepped Into Yesterday for his senior thesis. This is a band that once had a singer dubbed "The Dude of Life," before they picked up where the Grateful Dead left off when Jerry kicked the bucket (R.I.P. "Cherry Garcia"). They became the first major band to use the Internet from scratch to build a fan base (last year Phish grossed $21.4-million (U.S.) in 42 shows in 29 cities). Phans worry this might be the end: for the first summer in 15 years, Phish aren't on tour. The quartet was "threatening to be the monster that ate itself," says Anastasio. If they didn't "get a life outside Phish, there would be no Phish." Anastasio recently holed-up at his studio (a 150-year-old barn outside Burlington) to record an album and starts his own tour in July (wrapping up August 5 in Saratoga Springs, N.Y.).

There have been dark murmurings that all this is an ego-trip by Anastasio. It was he who wrested control of Farmhouse, Phish's most commercial album (recorded at Trey's farm), from a "well-meaning but increasingly untenable four-way democracy" with convoluted voting schemes to decide album content, in which "nobody got to take their ideas and run with them" (according to bassist Mike Gordon).

Perhaps Trey's travails are part of the region's historical struggle with democracy and commerce. After all, wealthy landowner Ethan Allen formed the Green Mountain Boys to crush uppity New York sheriffs serving eviction notices (whipping them with birch rods). But four months after he helped capture Fort Ticonderoga from the Brits in 1775, he greedily tried to take Montreal, resulting in three years in prison. (Will Trey become a prisoner of his own ego?)

Then there's socialist congressman Bernie Sanders, who arrived from New York as part of the '60s "hippie invasion." Now his Web site, ranked number 1 by the Seattle-based cyber-consultant Advocacy Group, flogs pet boomer concerns like single parenthood, prescription drug prices and pension plans. (Will Phish wind up in the tank?)

Then there's Ben & Jerry's spin on being squeezed to "join forces" with multinational giant Unilever: a "unique and ground-breaking combination," claimed the press release, to "create an even more dynamic, socially positive ice cream business with global reach." They would've "preferred to pursue our mission as an independent enterprise," but, y'know, when in Rome... (Phish Sell Out?)

Okay, I'll 'fess up to big-city cynicism--a case of Phish-envy?

Local cheese

Burlington is a swell spot to spend a weekend, especially for stuff you can't get elsewhere. Among the many ersatz eateries (like the faux chi-chi "French bistro" Leunig's), there's a gem like Smoke Jack's (156 Church), where most everything--salmon, duck--is smoked and cooked carefully. It also features an array of Vermont cheeses--from cheddar to chèvre, arguably the finest outside Europe. A visit to the Cheese Outlet (400 Pine), the state's largest, guarantees freshness. More luscious milk products at Lake Champlain Chocolate (65 Church, and its factory at 750 Pine, where goodies are hand-crafted before your eyes). Sample truffles, caramels, hazelnut pralines, raspberry creams, almond butter crunch, handwhipped fudge, chocolate cigars and ice cream to die for.

From the sublime to... the Rusty Scuffer (148 Church), for a taste of the way things were pre-Marketplace. Every available inch of wallspace is cluttered with memorabilia (Bill "Spaceman" Lee, a favoured patron, leering with Red Six teammates) and highly personal, unofficially sanctioned "art" (bizarro almost surreal landscapes, a huge weird likeness of John Wayne). The food? The rancid smell of deep fry tells all.

There's always a festival of some sort going on this summer. The Green Mountain Chew Chew Food Festival (June 22-24), with over 40 restos, caterers and producers having the run of Burlington's waterfront, dovetails nicely with the Ben & Jerry's One World, One Heart Festival (June 23) at Sugarbush Resort, featuring Joan Osborne, Tonic, Robert Cray, David Crosby, and Cuban-ismo. The Champlain Valley Folk Festival (August 3-5) features Odetta, Tom Paxton and Steel Rail. This being Burlington, there's off-the-wall stuff too: The 41st annual American Society of Dowsers Convention (June 14-17), devoted to all manner of extra-sensory perception; the American Guild of English Handbell Ringers Festival, attracting 900 ringers with 3,000 bells (June 28-July 1); and the Ferrari Festival (July 14) with a downtown parade of upscale bombs and pussy-wagons.

The bustle of the downtown scene won't kill anybody (not even bands like Chainsaws and Children, Chin Ho!, Eyehategod, Phunk Junkeez and Dysfunkshun, playing at joints like Red Square or Millennium). Even drinking is edifying in Burlington, according to the ubiquitous Magic Hat Brewing Company, "where ancient alchemy meets modern-day science to produce the best-tasting beer on the planet." But if you want to get away from it all, there's Burlington Waterfront a few blocks west. This must be the most scenic spot in America for skateboarders (the spanking new Skate Park was built after complaints from Church Street marketers, and its first official competitions take place on June 16).

Here is the little city's real raison d'être: Lake Champlain--the unofficial sixth Great Lake and once thriving northern trading port--and the surrounding great gorgeous greenery. Take a trip aboard the 500-passenger triple-deck Spirit of Ethan Allen II: brunches, boozy evening cruises and corny narration aside, it's the perfect inspiration to take leave of the artsy-fartsy fake real world. It's what surrounds Burlington that makes the city's "charm" bearable. Pristine is a word that can't be manufactured.