The Brothers Osborne show is right around the corner – literally.
Tomorrow, the group will be performing at Forrest Rose Park, the grounds adjacent to Mojo’s. The venue uses this grassy area for outside shows frequently and gives audiences the chance for some fresh air and a change of scenery.
What audiences might not know, is that like many parks, this land comes with a history. Forrest Rose’s history, that is.
Rose was a beloved member of the Columbia community, his Facebook page stating: “(he) was one of the most brilliantly colored threads ever to have been woven into Columbia’s cultural carpet. A prolific musician, writer, humorist and thinker, he loved the power of words–especially humor.” He wrote a weekly column for the Tribune, working there for over 20 years and commenting on issues of all levels.
He used his humor to his advantage, even if it meant pulling himself down with the ship.
“Think your vote doesn’t mean anything? Try writing a weekly newspaper column! You spend agonizing hours wringing your soul all over the page, working out thoughtful themes and irrefutable arguments–and nothing happens.”
His columns covered global and national ideas, but of course, he had plenty to say about his home of Columbia.
“Everyone who lives near the site is passionately opposed to the idea of a quater-million-square foot retail Death Star that’s open 24 hours a day, seven days a week. It will screw up traffic, light up the night sky and seriously depress home values. Not a single one of those complaining homeowners is a billionaire, however, so to hell with ’em.”
Some of his best works can be found in Forrest Rose: A Life in Words and Music: Select Columns and Songs.
To think that someone in the small town of Columbia could have such a big affect is inspiring, really. To have a group of people so honored by one person’s friendship, so hurt by his loss, and so changed by his legacy is a representation of what most people want to leave behind them, isn’t it? Even if through a few words in column or through a few notes in a song, people were affected by his presence. Affected enough so, that they found him worthy of a park remembrance.
So next time you visit 1013 Park Avenue, remember that it’s not just a patch of grass. It’s not just a park named for a vague Missouri resident who did something somewhere and sometime in the state’s history. Forrest Park was a Columbian, just like yourself, and he was a beautiful one.