Cape Girardeau History and Photos

April 3, 2011

Road Trip Day 1

I don’t know that there will be any other days reported on, but Mother and I left West Palm Beach somewhere between half a day behind schedule, two hours behind schedule or – since I never leave on schedule – ON schedule.

We stopped at Nubbin Slough on Lake Okeechobee long enough to spot some gators, then paused at my old lab tech Hilary’s neat place on Taylor Creek.

Okeechobee Golden Corral

We were hungry by that time, so we pulled in to the Golden Corral. Before you sneer, this one is a cut above any I’ve eaten at anywhere else. Mother was so pleased by the all-you-can eat buffet – particularly the dessert bar – that the manager asked her to pose for a photo. I think they put it on the wall so if they see her coming across the parking lot they can quickly hang up a CLOSED sign.

1990 U.S. 27 Trip

In 1990, a reporter and I retraced the U.S. 27 leg of the 1960 Steinhoff Florida Vacation to see how many of the old tourist traps were still around. We started in Little Havana in Miami and went all the way to Havana, Fla., on the Georgia border.

One of the places we stopped on both trips was the Florida Citrus Tower in Clermont. In 1990, there was a sign at the top that said we were overlooking a gazillion billion citrus trees. Maybe that was true in 1960, but by 1990 there had been a series of disastrous freezes that left us looking over a gazillion billion dead stumps. Today, had the tower been open, we’ve have been looking at a gazillion billion houses.

House of the Presidents

In the shadow if the Citrus Tower is the House of the Presidents. At least, that’s what the sign says below a disgracefully tattered U.S. Flag. It has been rebranded to Presidents Hall of Fame these days.

Abe Lincoln wanted to pose with Mother

Here’s a review on RoadsideAmerica that speaks fondly about the House of the Presidents.

Side trip to Mt. Rushmore

I must have never wandered around to the back of the building to see Mt. Rushmore. How could you pass up a tourist shot like this, even if the sun was about to set?

We’re meandering the back roads to get home. We’ll be passing through Tallie, Circle City, Monkey Town, Smoke City, Choo Choo and Guitar along the way. More adventures to come. Maybe.

By the way, an amazingly large number of my readers didn’t look at the calendar when I posted my “Well Has Run Dry” April Fool post. I’m still around.

April 1, 2011April 1, 2011

The Well Has Run Dry

I’ve been sort of scratching for new content the last few days. I think it’s finally time for me to admit that the well has run dry and that I’ve reached the end of topics to explore in Cape.

The photos from my Ohio years have been exerting a powerful pull lately. It’s time for me to move on to the next era of my young life.

Time to shuffle off like Grandma Gatewood

It’s important to know when it’s time to shuffle off. This, by the way, is a photo of Grandma Gatewood, an extraordinary woman. She’s walking off into the mist in the Hocking Hills of Southern Ohio.

This’ll be the last posting. I’ll keep the site up for folks who want to read the old material.

[Editor’s note: check the calendar. It’s April First.]

If things are a bit light for the next week, it’s because I’m leaving this weekend to head back to Cape to collect new stories and shoot new photos and won’t be posting updates from on the road.

March 31, 2011April 18, 2021

1949 St. Louis Cardinals

I saw a bunch of Facebook postings saying that today was opening day for the St. Louis Cardinals. That got me digging in the back of my sock drawer for a souvenir bat and pennant Dad gave me when we went to a ball game.

I didn’t even notice that he had put my name on it in his distinctive handwriting until the scan was compete. It was just luck that the name side was down.

1949 Cardinals souvenir program

This program was stuck inside the scrapbook my folks made of my early years. It’s possible that the bat dates back to this game, but I don’t know that for sure.

Cardinal Program Chicago lineup

Not being an avid baseball fan, particularly when I was two years old, I don’t recognize the Chicago players. Click on the image to make it larger. I scanned it at a little higher resolution than usual so you can read all the type.

St. Louis Cardinals lineup

HERE are names I grew up hearing. I shot a picture of Red Schoendiest at the Spring Training Opener this year. How could any kid in SE Missouri NOT know Stan the Man?

You have to snack at a ball game

It doesn’t say how much these snacks cost in 1949, but two hot dogs and two bottles of water set me back 20 bucks at the spring training opener.

Birthday bat, ball and cap

I’m guessing this is my sixth or 7th birthday. I’m holding a bat, softball and wearing a St. Louis Cardinals cap in front of my grandparents’ home in Advance. It’s obvious from my body language that these are alien tools.

Actually, I spent many hours playing pitch and catch with Dad in the backyard or just throwing the ball up in the air to play catch with myself. I never got good enough to be picked first, but, at least, I wasn’t always picked last when it was time to grab the end of the bat to chose up teams.

Dad impressed upon me that you always hold the bat with the label up to keep from cracking it. Unfortunately, one of my classmates either didn’t know or didn’t remember that when he grabbed my bat and stepped to the plate. I’ll never forget the sound of my birthday bat breaking. I was devastated.

Son Adam was the baseball player

Son Adam was the ballplayer of the family. When he was about 12, he was a catcher who could nail a runner at second from his knees. Everybody learned not to steal on him. The only problem was that he couldn’t hit. He could only bunt. But, boy, could he ever bunt. The other teams KNEW he was going to bunt, but he’d always lay one down in the hole.

He hates for me to tell this story, but what good are kids if you can’t embarrass them?

The pitchers must have left their arms at home one night, because they quickly gave up walk after walk and hit after hit. Coach cycled through every player on the team until he came to Adam. Now, you’d think that a catcher who can hit second dead on should be able to put a pitch across the plate, right?

“The NEXT one would have been a strike”

Wrong. Not only could he not hit the plate, he couldn’t hit the backstop. Finally, with his mother and me sinking lower and lower in the stands – “Gee, I wonder who that kid is who’s pitching?” – the coach finally walked out to the mound and demanded the ball.

Adam walked off the field, kicking dirt all the way to the dugout.

“What’s the matter, kid?” I asked. “You were stinking the place up. Why are you mad about being yanked?”

“The NEXT one would have been a strike,” he said.

And, that’s why he’s become a good businessman. When he doesn’t get the deal or something goes wrong, he always thinks, “The NEXT one is going to be a strike.”

March 30, 2011

Kent Library circa 1966

I’m publishing these two grossly underexposed, dust-spotted and scratched frames of Kent Library because they may be the only two shots I have of the inside of the place.

Don’t get me wrong. I love libraries. I spent hours in the Cape Library as a kid. Pat Sommers, my debate partner, worked there, so we could get in after closing time to do research.

I took an elderly next door neighbor to the West Palm Beach libraries every Saturday. We’d leave with armloads of books that we would trade off until our next run. Wife Lila even worked in a middle school library for years (except it was called a media center in modern-speak).

Kent Library never felt like home

For some reason, I never developed any kind of connection with Kent Library. It didn’t have the right feel for me.

On one of my trips to Cape last year, I strolled through the place. It’s a lot bigger and brighter than I remembered it.

I happened to pass by a room that mentioned something about special collections or something like that. I stuck my head in, introduced myself to someone, described the photos I have of the era and asked if there was a chance the University might be interested in them when I go to that final Big Darkroom.

The person I talked with took my business card and said someone would get back in touch with me. Nobody ever did.

I guess it’s no great loss. I didn’t hang around there when I was alive; whatever spirit of mine that clings to my old negs probably wouldn’t feel comfortable there after I’m gone.