'American Horror Story: NYC' A Failed Mission to Save a Community in Crisis
In the early 2000s, my parents had a falling out, and we were forced to move from forested Oregon, where we had countless hiking trails and a jungle of temperate rainforest to explore, to rural Arizona, which hung somewhere around 105-110 F during the summertime. Everything was prickly, dusty, dry, and hot. Regardless of how high we cranked the air conditioner, which we had to sneak, we'd still feel like we were on fire. We were trapped in the house. We had nowhere to ride our bikes. All music was banned. We were told that our favorite TV shows were sinful, and we were shamed if we read books. Life was meant for work, picking up after the dog, shoveling gravel, mopping, vacuuming, scrubbing countertops, toilets, and dishes. Church was absolutely mandatory. My grandparents attended the ultra-extremist Church at Safford, an ancient brick building with 70s shag carpet that smelled like sweat and tar. It was Sunday morning, Sunday night, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Bible class on Tuesday nights. If we refused, we were told that we'd either be forced into the car, or the cops would be called, even if we were sick. We could puke in the tiny bathroom outside the sanctuary if it came to it. There was an actual polygamist compound across the street, some neanderthal Mormon sect, not unlike the FLDS we've all heard so much about, but they weren't as stringent about their uniforms. Sometimes we'd see the kids working in their fields, moving from one row to the next in cheap Walmart jeans and plain, raggedly T's covered in the dust that seemed to collect everywhere. They weren't much different from the congregation, who seemed a little off. All of the women had stringy Brady Bunch mom hair, 90s rat tails, and country western outfits, complete with tassels, turquoise, and bolo ties. The men were usually dressed as cowboys, shell-shocked ex-soldiers, or a combination of the two. They'd have giant pistols on their hips, and those gigantic Peggy Hill glasses we've all come to associate with the elderly. The style was too pervasive. Normalcy was rare, and when it did show up, it was never fully complete--just a little more progressive than your average cattle rancher like, 'I know he ain't gospel, but I think it's OK to listen to a little Ted Nugent.' It was unreal to think that a hundred people like that could be condensed into a single room, but they were.
