Cape Girardeau History and Photos

August 14, 2013August 14, 2013

Brune Standard Time

Terry Hopkins was in town to see his Dad, so we decided to meet for lunch. He was kind enough to take me out to LaGrand’s Transmissions to pick up my van, which was in for routine service. He said Brad Brune was going to meet us noonish at Broussard’s on Broadway.

We arrived a couple of minutes after noon, but no Brad. We waited about 10 minutes, then took up the server’s invitation to grab a table, get something to drink and peruse the menu. We told her to be on the lookout for an older gentleman. “He’ll probably be in a walker, with an oxygen tank and a nurse helping him along.”

After waiting about 20 minutes, we apologized to the server and assured her that he’d be along any minute. “We’ll give him another five minutes.”

Brad had problems with AM and PM

Terry finally decided to call Brad to make sure he hadn’t forgotten us. His cockamamie excuse was that he had, indeed, set an alarm to remind him of our appointment, but that he had gotten AM and PM mixed up. He assured us that he would be reminded at midnight of our planned visit.

When the server came back, we explained that Brad was held up by a flat tire on his walker. “He’s able to top it off from his oxygen tank, but it’s a slow leak. He can’t shuffle too fast, so he only gets about 25 feet before he has to blow it up again.”

The server wondered why Brad’s nurse couldn’t help him. We explained that Brad has always been fiercely independent. We went ahead and ordered for him: the daily special of gumbo. “You may have to run it through a blender,” we warned her. “He has to take his food through a straw, and you wouldn’t want to be the one who has to clean out the clogs.”

Miracles of medical science

When Brad, operating on Brune Standard Time, finally showed up 45 minutes late, the server seemed genuinely disappointed to see that he arrived under his own power. We attributed it to a strong will and the miracles of medical science.

I sat back and listened to the two of them swap tales of athletic daring and female conquests. Or, maybe I have that backwards. I don’t think it’s worth looking up the score in either case. I had no stories to tell in either category, so mostly I listened in awe tinged with disbelief.

We strolled down to the river where Brad offered us chocolate-flavored cigars. I passed, but Terry enjoyed his with relish. I mean, he lit it up and savored it, I don’t mean that he slathered it with a pickle condiment.

Bobby Jones and Theresa L Wood dance

We watched, curious, at an intricate dance where the lightly-loaded northbound Bobby Jones passed the heavier and longer Theresa L. Wood, which had been idling against the current close to the riverfront. We kept waiting for the Wood to crank up the steam and follow, but the Bobby Jones slowed off Cape Rock and appeared to be drifting back downstream.

It all becomes clear

I went to the car to get my portable scanner to see if we could hear what was going on. By the time I got back, it all became clear: the two northbounders were holding fast to give the southbound Preston N. Shuford plenty of room to pass.

Had to take oblgatory floodwall photo

We finished our visit with the obligatory photo against the floodwall mural.

After abandoning Brad, Terry and I headed off on a super secret mission that you might read about tomorrow. I’ll try to use the Steinhoff Standard Time calendar and not the Brune Standard Time version. He may have B.C. and A.D. confused on it.

You can click on the photos to make them larger.

August 13, 2013

A Tale of Two Bridges

Well, three, if you count the old one. I was glad to see the new bridge on Cape Rock Drive at Dennis Scivally Park was open for traffic. I use that stretch a lot if I’m going downtown.

It’s Kingsway to Janet Drive (my old paper route), then Cape Rock to Perry, then Broadway to downtown. I don’t know if it’s really faster, but it feels like there is less traffic.

“Look at the kids in the creek”

Mother and I were coming back from Hamburger Express with an order of catfish (and a double order of potato salad), when she said, “Look at the kids wading in the creek.” You can’t pass up an opportunity like that: a new bridge and kids in the creek. A wild art situation every photographer dreams about.

The whole brood was made up of Hashelders, but Audrey (7) and Graham (5) were from Cape; Colin (3) and Ian (5) were from Virginia Beach. I heard one of them ask, “Are there alligators in this creek?”

I’m going to bet that person was NOT from Cape.

Dennis Scivally Bridge

I’ll count this as Bridge Two. It’s the 1941 bridge built to honor Dennis Scivally.

New bridge cost $508,000

The Missourian said it cost $508,000 to replace the old box culvert structure with a new, wider single span bridge. Click on the photos to make them larger.

August 12, 2013

East Side Cemetery

When Jennifer Schwent and I went to New Madrid to see if we could find the people who were in my 1967 Mississippi River baptism photos, we met a very nice and very helpful woman who told us some interesting stories about Pastor B.B. Gillespie. The march to the Mississippi started at his Church of God in Christ church. When I mentioned that I had heard that the church had burned down since my last visit, the helpful woman’s voice dropped and she said, “I wouldn’t go down there. It’s too dangerous.”

“Ma’am, Russell Street is only about three or four blocks long. I’ve walked it from end to end knocking on doors and chatting with people on their porches. I’ve been to church services there. No one has been anything but friendly and helpful.”

“Well, I wouldn’t feel safe down there,” she warned again.

As we cruised the length of Russell Street, we did get a long look from a gaggle of young men gathered on one street corner, but that’s to be expected when a strange van with Florida tags drives by gawking. We stopped in front of the ruins of the church, but it didn’t make a picture worth getting out of the car in the light rain..

East Side – Denhart Cemetery

Across the street, we noticed a fenced-in expanse of green grass with what appeared to be grave markers scattered around in it. “I’m not afraid to get out and take a closer look,” Jennifer volunteered.

“I like you, kid,” I said, opening the door.

Only about 15 graves identified

We wandered the cemetery wondering just how many people were buried in a space that large. The City of New Madrid website says that nine of the 114 cemeteries in New Madrid County are located in the city. The one we were visiting on Russell Street goes by two names: the East Side Cemetery and the Denhart Cemetery. According to a document on the website, only about 15 graves are marked and / or identified.

The Find A Grave website lists 123 interments, and only about 11% of them have been photographed.

Those must be the scary people

While there, we heard raucous laughter and talk coming from the street corner about a block and half away. “Those must be the people we’re supposed to be afraid of,” I said. “Let’s go meet them.”

We walked up the group of five or six men and a woman. Turning to one of the men, I said, “Your beard is about as gray as mine, so you might be able to help me.” I explained our mission, then went back to the van to bring back a stack of baptism photos.

You need to talk with my mother

A small crowd gathered to look at the pictures. From time to time, someone would come up with a name, but they were of older people, all of whom were long dead. “You need to talk with my mother,” the grayest beard said. “She’s 90 years old and knows everybody.”

“Are you going to be on this street corner if I come back in a few months?” I asked him. The answer was yes, so I guess we have a date for the fall.

And, that’s how Jennifer and I escaped death or worse on the mean streets of New Madrid.

August 11, 2013

Butterflies Flutter By

The butterfly bush (I think that’s what it’s called) out in Mother’s front yard was a clutter of flutter with butterflies and bees this week.

Tattered butterfly

I felt sorry for this guy. He (or she) has been around the block and is the worse for wear. I know exactly how he (or she) feels.

Photo gallery

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