Cape Girardeau History and Photos
News photos that have grown whiskers and have become history
When I photographed the girls jumping off the Old Appleton bridge in July, I snapped a couple frames of a birdhouse on the north side of Apple Creek.
The yellow flowers against the greenery and the red of the birdhouse support caught my eye.
It wasn’t until I took a closer look tonight that I realized that what I had taken to be wood painted red was probably a piece of the steel off the bridge. It’s gonna take a lot of wind to blow that baby down.
Friend Anne and I embarked on our first bike ride of the summer. She needed to use up a gift card, so she got a new set of handlebar grips and a new (super bright) taillight. We had a bunch of time to kill before temps fell below the melting point, so we drove to the north end of Jupiter Island where we hung out at the beach.
Here’s an example of how critical timing is. When we pulled up, the golden setting sun lit up this sea grass like it was on fire. In the two or three minutes it took me to secure my bike and get to the right angle, the sun dipped below the dune line and the magic leaked out of the photo. This is why you can’t hesitate. You have to shoot it as soon as you can see it. Conditions can change in seconds.
This gives you an idea of how the sun hit the grass, but it’s not exactly what I wanted.
I was just about to pull out when Anne heard someone say, “Where’s the guy with the camera? The turtles are hatching.” She had never seen that, so she rushed down, leaving me to lock up the bikes.
This was the last of the batch. A little girl named him “Flippy,” because he flipped over every time he hit a deep footprint or rut on his way from the nest to the ocean. When he got to the water’s edge, he got smacked around by a couple of waves. After the water receded, he sat with his belly on the wet sand, waving his flippers in a swimming motion for all he was worth.
This was my last look at him before another wave snatched him up. I like the way he looks so tiny.
Anne, who supplements her freelance income by dog sitting, noticed the dog right away. My eye was drawn to the orange suit because it reminded me of a day on that same beach when I was enjoying the shade with a bunch of elderly (OK, MY age) women. A young woman in an even more abbreviated orange suit sauntered by.
I turned to my companions and said, “I sure wish I had a bike jersey made out of that material because it obviously catches the eye of everybody on the beach. The only comfort we oldtimers can take is the knowledge that girl is NEVER gonna look that good again. She hit her peak two minutes ago and it’s all downhill from here.”
The women didn’t applaud my observation, but I got some satisfied nods.
When we got to the top of the dune, I was getting the Sexist Pig evil eye from Anne. I showed her this frame to prove that I leave no age group unrecorded.
She insisted on going down an east-west side street right at sunset. I’m glad I followed her. They don’t get much better than this.
As always, you can click on the photos to make them larger.
The last time I wrote about 101 North Main it was because it was on the list of the most endangered buildings in Cape Girardeau. I told Mother that I expected it would be a parking lot the next time I hit town. The upper story was leaning out over sidewalk and a big cable looked like it was holding the building together.
I am happy to report that the historic building has been pulled back from the abyss. It’s got a long way to go, but I’m not afraid to walk next to it now. The Common Pleas Courthouse is up the hill on the left and the building that was once Hecht’s Department Store is on the right. You can click on the images to make them larger.
The building has been repaired to the point the restraining cable is no longer needed and the plywood tunnel that protected passersby from possible falling bricks has been removed.
The old building had been the Sturdivant Bank (the oldest bank in Southeast Missouri), the site of Cape’s first long distance phone call, Minnen’s Dress Shop and Cape Wiggery, among other things. Here is more of 101 North Main’s history. Its neighbor, the St. Charles Hotel, home to General Grant in the Civil War, was torn down in 1967.
I loved to get mail when I was a kid. I’d order a ring that would shoot popped wheat, then spend the next six weeks waiting for it to arrive. Even today, I like ordering from online companies so I can have the anticipation of the FexEx or UPS truck pulling up in front of the house.
Rarely, though, does a box arrive unsolicited. When one does, I remember back to my employee with a stalker ex-husband who terrorized her. One day a box with no return address arrived at the office. When she was afraid to open it, I made a big deal out of putting it on the counter, carefully slitting the taped sides and easing the top up while staying as far back as possible. I peered into the darkness and two black eyes and a forked tongue met my gaze. Even though the cop who took it to the zoo for ID said it was non-poisonous, I look upon strange packages differently these days.
When Wife Lila dropped a small package on my desk this morning, I had those same bad vibes.
THIS box had a return address, but it didn’t make much sense: GFJ + ST L; S. Sprigg / Good Hope (Around Back).
Inside the box was a rather nifty watch and the letter above. When I saw the name “McClard,” I remembered a Facebook exchange with one of Wife Lila’s Class of ’66 Classmates, Dick McClard. He had sent me a birthday wish when he confused me with another Ken he was actually friends with.
When I pointed out the error of his ways (quite a list, by the way), he countered by writing, “I bought you a really nice diamond studded watch for $25 from a fella on South Sprigg and he said he would get it to you but I don’t know which carrier. Let me know if it doesn’t get to you by March. I’m not going to risk a trip to Florida with the temp and humidity you described. IT….IS….BEAUTIFUL here today.”
Dick and I are on opposite sides of the political fence. I, of course, am a rational, pragmatic thinker and Dick is, well, he thinks Attila the Hun had the right idea, he just didn’t go far enough. He’s a nice enough guy despite that and I treat him like the funny uncle you keep locked in the attic.
When I tried on the watch, however, I was disappointed. It was so small I couldn’t even get the thingie through the first hole.
Either he had underestimated the manly size of my wrist or he more likely hoped the tight band would cut off circulation and cause my left wing to fall off.
When the watch was too tight even for Wife Lila to wear, she had an idea. She’d hang it on the wall of the kitchen next to other decorative doo-dads.
After she finished pounding a nail in the wall to display the watch, I thought I heard her say, “Well, at least something of Dick’s will be well-hung.”
I didn’t ask her to elaborate.
So, Dick, you were either seven months early or six months late, but I’ll overlook the timing. It is the thought that counts.
I’ll be sure to send you something on your birthday. Oh, by the way, just for your information, snakes get really cranky in transit. That’s something you may need to know.