Ruminatin’

January 8, 2024 steveboilard1 Comment

Only a short drive along Route 82 from my hotel takes one to Alabama’s capital city. Montgomery (pop: 200,000) is far and away the largest city I’ve been to on this trip. Montgomery was, of course, ground zero for the Civil Rights movement in the 1950s and 1960s. Throughout the downtown you encounter murals, statues, commemorative plaques, and other installations marking aspects of Montgomery’s civil rights history.

Montgomery’s streets are filled with many dozens of such iconography of the Civil Rights movement. Clearly the city’s official attitudes have changed greatly since the 1950s. And yet, it’s also evident that the city has not fully reconciled its history. The dissonance is captured in the city’s “great seal,” which I spotted on one of the historical markers:

By way of background: For many years, the city seal included the “Cradle of the Confederacy” phrase, but not the reference to the Civil Rights Movement. The latter phrase was added in 2002, in an effort to take the sting out of what sounded like a paean to the confederacy. And yet, to me this seems to simply highlight the simultaneous existence of two conflicting mindsets: an embrace of Montgomery’s history as the capital of the Confederacy, and an embrace of its role in promoting the Civil Movement.

That contradiction becomes clearer as you walk up the street toward the Capitol building. There you can find a series of bronze reliefs depicting aspects of the slave trade and other mistreatment of African Americans. But you’ll also see a solemn statue of Confederate President Jefferson Davis, as well as a bronze star on the steps of the Capitol marking the spot where he took the oath of office.

*Jefferson Davis doing his Count Dracula impersonation.*

*“Placed by Sophie Bibb Chapter Daughters of the Confederacy on the spot where Jefferson Davis stood when inaugurated President of C.S.A. Feb. 16. 1861.”*

You’ll also see the empty spots where Confederate flags had flown until the Governor ordered their removal in 2015. But the bronze and limestone Confederate monument that those flags had surrounded still stands.

I certainly don’t presume to tell Montgomerians how to reconcile the various aspects of their history. But I would observe that there is a difference between acknowledging history and celebrating it.

OK, now that I’ve once and for all solved the cultural arguments over the Civil War, let’s move on…

Believe it or not, while in Montgomery I encountered my third Union Station on this trip. Montgomery’s Union Station was built in 1898 for the Louisville and Nashville Railroad. It was one of the country’s busier stations, serving 44 passenger trains from a dozen railroads during its peak. Over time, of course, rail travel diminished and the last train stopped at Union Station in 1979. Since then the station was converted to a visitor center and has been leased to various commercial clients. You’ll note that this structure has been magnificently preserved; the comparison to Texarkana’s crumbling structure is stark.

*Interior of waiting room–now an event space.*

*Aerial view of covered trainshed adjoining Union Station. (Photo taken from atop a parking structure.)*

Railroads were crucial to the development and survival of southern towns. That’s true for the rest of the country as well, of course. But it seems that railroad infrastructure is more prominent in the towns I’ve encountered on this trip than it is in California towns. Maybe that’s just because California has (sadly) been more aggressive in tearing out the obsolete railroad infrastructure and substituting new housing developments and business parks. Whatever the reason, scenes like the one below (from Eufaula, Alabama) seem common on this trip.

The Vicksburg and Brunswick Railroad built this passenger and freight depot in Eufaula, Alabama in 1872. It has not served passengers for over a century, and it’s now owned by the local Methodist Church for reasons that aren’t entirely clear.

*Note to taggers: PLEASE don’t mess with those historic advertisements!*

This leads to a third thought: I’ve given a lot of thought in this blog to the comparison of thriving and declining historic districts along various US highways, including of course Route 82. I’ve speculated about the influence of local universities, the re-routing of trains and highways (i.e., the Route 66 effect), and other possible factors. There’s also the chicken and egg question about needing funds to redevelop historic buildings, and needing redeveloped historic buildings in order to generate revenue. One thing does seem clear: some of the old towns have managed to successfully preserve and/or renovate their historic districts (let’s call them The Preservationists). Others have knocked down the old structures and replaced them with a Piggly Wiggly or a Dollar General (call them The Replacers). And still others, either due to a lack of will or a lack of funds, don’t do much of anything, and their buildings slowly decay. Call them the Porch-Sitters.

It’s not like any one approach is always the best. Circumstances and resources matter. But it should be clear that I especially appreciate those towns that have found a way to maintain aspects that make their town unique and that connect them with their history. I think the problem with the Replacers is they all end up looking alike, hosting the same Olive Gardens and Kohls and Home Depot and Bed Bath & Beyond.

I feel the sorriest for the Porch-Sitters. I think towns that slowly decay aren’t doing so because they don’t care. Rather, they’ve lost their major employers or their young people have moved away or the interstate siphoned off their drive-through traffic. They fall into a destructive cycle where the population and the infrastructure together age and eventually collapse.

Today I drove through the town of Union Springs, Georgia (pop: 3,300). It’s not a prosperous town; about 44 percent of the population is below the poverty line. The local economy sprung up from the cotton industry, but in the 20th century many of the cotton fields were converted to hunting preserves. Interestingly, the town has capitalized on that change by rebranding itself “The Bird Dog Field Trial Capitol [sic] of the World.” The town hosts annual field trials for hunting dogs every fall and spring, and it has erected monuments and murals celebrating that fact.

The town also restored its historic county courthouse and jail to the tune of about $2 million…

*The 1871 courthouse looks impressive…but it wasn’t open to the public, because the Barney Fife-like guard was taking a break.*

*The 1897 jail was partially restored and converted to a museum….but it was closed to visitors when I saw it.*

At the same time, however, most of the buildings along the commercial main street haven’t had a facelift in many years.

The one human being I saw on the street was a guard from the courthouse. He didn’t seem particularly interested in showing off his city to a (presumably rare) winter visitor. I’ll be interested to see how Union Springs fares over the next decade. I can’t quite tell whether the balance is tipping toward Preservation or Porch-Sitting.

About 40 miles further down Route 82 is the town of Eufaula (pop: 13,000). This town seems to be firmly in the Preservationist camp. Large, plantation-style homes line a section of US 82 as you come into town.

The core, historic business district, meanwhile, has a large number of shops, restaurants, cafes, professional services, and even a historic theater. I had lunch at a Mexican restaurant that was completely full of families and couples.

*The 1927 theater facade was recently “restored” (with the unfortunate addition of a garish, pixelated marquee). The interior is still being renovated.*

On a green, tree-lined strip in the middle of Main Street is what looks like a tombstone for a fish.

When the fish (a bass) was caught in 1973, the fisherman (Tom Mann) decided to keep it in an aquarium–sort of a half-ass catch-and-release, I suppose. Mann named the fish Leroy Brown (after the Jim Croce song) and taught him to jump through a hoop he held over the water. Leroy Brown became a town celebrity, and lived for seven years in that tank.

When Leroy Brown died in 1980, Mann held a funeral for him, and it’s said that over 500 mourners attended. The Governor of Alabama even declared it a day of mourning. I’m not making this up. For reasons too complicated to get into here (but not here), Leroy is not buried under this tombstone. But the town fondly recalls his memory.

And since we’re on a whimsical note: Today I had another opportunity to explore paranormal phenomena (after my failed Crossett Spook Light experiment). I learned of a place just a few miles off Route 82 in southwestern Georgia that’s been informally dubbed “Gravity Hill.” At first I thought it might be one of those roadside tourist traps like the Mystery Spot, but it’s actually just an unmarked, lonely stretch of narrow road in the countryside. Here’s how it works: After cresting a gently rolling hill, one drives down to the low point, just before the road begins to climb again. Stop your car here, put it into neutral, and let your foot off the brake. Gravity Hill is supposed to pull you backwards, uphill.

Although skeptical after the Crossett experience, I was willing to give it a whirl. So I cruised to the outskirts of the town of Fort Gaines on a narrow country road. I stopped my car at the low point, put the rental car in neutral, and released the brake. Nothing. I was about to declare this another fraud when I noticed that I was very slowly beginning to roll backwards, up the hill I’d just come down. The car gradually picked up speed until I was rolling uphill at maybe 10 mph. I repeated this several times, and it worked each time. I even recorded this video so you can judge for yourself:

I guarantee there’s no trick photography or anything like that going on. You’re seeing exactly what I saw. You may think it’s some kind of natural illusion or something like that, but I prefer not to think about it too hard.

I lost an hour due to a time zone change when I entered Georgia, so after my gravity experiment I decided to hunker down for the night in Albany, Georgia (pop: 69,000). Tomorrow I plan to reach the coastal terminus of US 82 in Brunswick.

Brew of the Day

I stopped in at the Mellow Mushroom, a pizza restaurant in Albany. It’s part of a multi-state collection of such restaurants, but each one is locally owned. And the company began in nearby Atlanta, so my guilt from eating at a chain restaurant was attenuated a bit.

As you might imagine, the “mellow mushroom” theme is expressed in the decor and menu in the form of psychedelic trips, Jimmy Hendrix, the 1960s, and general hippie-ness. The sculpture in front of the restaurant says it all:

Anyway, this place has a surprisingly large beer menu. So, along with my pepperoni-bacon-jalapeno pizza, I ordered a Stone Xocaveza imperial stout.

Now, San Diego-based Stone is a reliable brewery, with big, hop-forward beers. I especially like their Arrogant Bastard Ale. The Xocoveza looks inviting: the color is of a ruby-shot Coca Cola. It has no head to speak of, and in fact there’s little evidence even of carbonation. But none of this is fatal for a stout. And the nose is quite inviting–it smells of chocolate, maybe a hint of anise. Let’s see how it tastes…

(Sip. Gulp. Gag.)

This is quite possibly the worst Stone beer I’ve tasted. Flat as my feet. It’s like the half-finished glass of generic-brand root beer you put in the refrigerator and then forgot about. For a month.

Unlike a normal stout, this is not malty. And it’s not hoppy. In fact, it’s not really beer-y. The taste reminds me of meatloaf, somehow converted to liquid form.

But that’s a bit unfair…to meatloaf. I’m not a fan of meatloaf, but I acknowledge that it delivers a blend of different tastes. This beer, on the other hand, is one-dimensional. It lacks the complexity that one seeks in a good beer. What you taste on the front end is what you taste on the back end. And this tastes like back end.

And another thing–this is marketed as an “imperial stout.” In my book, the “imperial” part is supposed to signify a “big” beer, with an ABV that gets into the double digits. This, however, weighs in at a puny 8.1 percent. I suppose that might be about right for some people. But unless you wear a short-sleeved white shirt and place the title “Elder” before you last name, I think you’ll find the Xocoveza to lack the bite you’d expect from an imperial stout.

I give it one star. And that’s just because I like the color and the nose on this beer.

California history · cemeteries · churches · movie theaters · Road trips · trains

A Likely Story

August 22, 2023 steveboilard8 Comments

About half a century ago, when I was in the throes of adolescence, my dad loaded up our family and made the seven-hour drive from Sunnyvale to Eagleville, in the northeast corner of California. We were going to spend the Thanksgiving weekend with my Aunt Alice’s family. One of Alice’s brothers owned a house up there (in retrospect, it seems her extended family owned half the town).

*Motto: “Any further north and you’d be in Oregon.”*

Eagleville is a tiny town in Modoc County. (Today it boasts 45 residents, about half of whom presumably are related to Aunt Alice). I have three main memories from that weekend we spent there: (1) Mom was sick with a migraine headache, Dad was distracted by mom’s condition, and Dave and I knew no one else other than Aunt Alice and Uncle Edward (Dad’s brother). (2) The general store was the only business open that weekend, so my brother Dave and I hung out there for what seemed like hours, studying the comic books and MAD magazines. (3) There was a tiny church that was unlocked and empty; as a city slicker, I was surprised that people could be so trusting as to leave a building full of chalices and patens and suchlike just sitting there unattended. Even though Dave and I were not known for our high moral principles, we realized that it would be extremely bad karma to rip off anything from a church. So we left well enough alone.

As I recall, our Thanksgiving dinner was a traditional though awkward affair. All the expected Thanksgiving staples were there: turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, etc. But the four of us in my immediate family were clearly unfamiliar outsiders, while Aunt Alice’s family members were all comfortable together, laughing and joking and having fun. I envied their ease being in their own skin, and their grounding in that remote corner of California.

That Thanksgiving weekend still stands out from the 60 undistinguished others I’ve experienced. Perhaps it’s because it was the only Thanksgiving I spent with snow. Perhaps it’s because Eagleville felt like such a mysterious, remote, foreign place. Notably, I’ve never been back to Eagleville.

Until now.

Recently I decided, for no particular reason, that I would revisit that tiny town and see how the reality stacked up against my memory. So I contacted my Uncle Edward, who helpfully supplied me with the address of the house where we stayed, which evidently still remains in Alice’s family. As loyal readers of this blog know, Uncle Ed is the creator and sole “staff” of The Dome of Foam, which is internationally recognized as the premier, authoritative, entertaining website on western railroads (particularly the Southern Pacific). I asked Uncle Ed if he could recommend any railroad-related sites in the greater Eagleville area, and he connected me with a doozy: The Nevada-California-Oregon (N-C-O) Railway, a now-defunct narrow-gauge railroad that connected Eagleville’s Surprise Valley with the outside world.

In doing a little research I read that the N-C-O Railway’s southern terminus was in Reno, Nevada, and I recalled that son Ian and I had visited that same depot just last winter. (Scroll down to the BOTD in this post.) It’s now a brewery/distillery, but they’ve keep the original exterior largely intact. The N-C-O also had a major presence in Alturas, which is just west of Eagleville. And the northern terminus was in Lakeview, Oregon, which is just north of Alturas.

So my plan became clear: my trip to Eagleville would generally follow the entire route of the N-C-O Railway, an I’d be able to visit historic structures in each of the three states served by the railroad.

And so this morning I set out on the trusty Speedmaster eastward to Reno (pop: 264,000). Within a couple of hours I was standing in front of the N-C-O’s Reno depot. Originally built in 1910, the building served as a railroad depot until 1937. After that it was used for railroad offices and was finally sold off for non-railroad purposes in 1975. It was eventually abandoned, then in 2014 it underwent renovation to become the brewery/restaurant it is today.

*Once the southern terminus of the NCO Railway.*

*The rail line still runs alongside the Depot.*

*The Depot sits in the middle of Reno’s Brewery District, alongside a handful of other breweries and distilleries.*

I next headed north on US 395. I’ve written about US 395 before (here and here and here, for example). You’ll recall that Hallelujah Junction (where US 395 intersects with CA-70) holds special significance. So I made a brief stop as as I passed through, to relive the magic.

*Where I learned about the Seven Wonders of the Railroad World.*

US 395 has a stark beauty to it. You don’t see much in the way of towns or even other cars. The quietude and long horizon are conducive to contemplation if not meditation.

When the rare town does appear, I feel compelled to stop and look around a bit. One such town is Doyle (pop: 700). A couple of years ago Doyle lost much of its housing stock due to wildfires, so there really isn’t much going on here. But I was charmed by this historic chapel that somehow escaped the fire. Constantina Church was built around 1900 about five miles south of Doyle, and infrequent worship services were held there whenever a circuit priest was available. Services stopped around the 1920s, and the chapel was eventually abandoned. The structure was moved to Doyle in 1994, and it appears to be in regular use as a church once again.

*Same church in 2021, after the town’s fire.*

*A historic cemetery is next to the church.*

I also passed through the town of Likely (pop: 99). The story goes that, back when the area was being settled, some homesteaders were speculating about whether the settlement would become a proper town. One man (Billy Nelson) reportedly said “There’s likely to be a town here one day, and there’s just as likely not to be. So let’s call it Likely.”

Finally I arrived at the relative metropolis of Alturas (pop: 2,700). Approaching from the south, the first thing you encounter is a striking, if somewhat faded, 1904 steam locomotive that used to run on the NCO line. The locomotive was presented to Alturas in 1956 by Southern Pacific (which had earlier bought up the NCO), and it resides outside the Modoc County Museum.

The story of the locomotive, as told by the local boosters, makes clear how much the NCO had meant to Alturas:

“This particular locomotive was utilized on the Alturas, California to Reno, Nevada route. The railroad was chartered as N.C.O. (Nevada, California, Oregon) in 1884. It was first established in Alturas in 1908 reaching Lakeview by 1912. The railroad and Alturas have an extensive symbiotic relationship from its inception to the day that Alturas was terminated as a home terminal on January 17, 1972, which was a devastating blow to the city as a large percentage of the population was forced to relocate to Klamath Falls, Oregon. Every business in town interacted with the railroad, whether by the influx of tourists or business travelers when the Southern Pacific offered a passenger service from 1927 to 1938. Even railroad workers who made their home base in Alturas, or stayed in one of the hotels made on impact on the town. The third floor of the Niles Hotel offered dorm style living for the railroad workers for decades. Before and during the time of passenger rails, the Southern Pacific and N.C.O. offered livestock shipment from 1908 to 1972, which provided most of its revenue. This was an option for the ranchers throughout the region to get their livestock to markets and sustained a way of life followed since the pioneers first arrived to this region.”

The docent at the museum was incredibly helpful when I told him of my interest in the NCO. He directed me to a place down the road where an old NCO structure was being renovated. “Look for the red truck and ask for Shane.” Dutifully I followed the directions, and was rewarded by the sight of a large NCO sign…and a red truck.

Shane turned out to be the head of a nonprofit organization called the Nevada-California-Oregon Railway. (Evidently the name was free to use.) The nonprofit is working to preserve the history of the NCO railroad, including buildings and rolling stock. The building where I met him (and where he was restoring some woodwork) had once been NCO crew quarters, and Shane’s dream is to turn the building into a museum.

*Shane (left) and Andrew, taking a break from restoring the NCO crew quarters on Main Street, Alturas.*

According to Shane, there are several NCO buildings still standing in Alturas. He pointed to a large Mission Revival building that had once served as the NCO’s headquarters. Built in 1918, the building became an Elks Lodge in 1974 and remains such today.

Attentive readers will recall that I encountered this building when I drove through town coming back from my Weiser trip last year. At the time I didn’t put together that this building and the Reno Depot shared the same lineage.

Shane also pointed to a carpet store which had once been the NCO’s freight depot in Alturas.

And finally, Shane directed me to the NCO’s passenger depot, which was constructed in 1908. Seven years later, it was decided that the station should be closer to the center of town, so it was moved, stone by stone, several blocks.

The Southern Pacific RR bought the NCO in 1926, and passenger service to Alturas was discontinued in 1938. Freight service ended in 1988. Still, Alturas remembers the NCO as an influential and pivotal part of its history. Indeed, the Modoc County museum includes a number of photographs and artifacts from the railroad.

I’m holing up for the night in the Hotel Niles, a historic hotel that was built before the First World War. The hotel remains authentic, by which I mean the floors creak and the widows rattle. But it’s a fitting place to spend the night on this day of historical exploration.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is hotel-niles.jpg — *I’m on the second floor of the left side.*

Incidentally, the hotel sits across the street from the Niles Theater. Built in 1937, it dates back to the era of art deco movie palaces. The neon itself is a sight to behold. An unlike many historic theaters, this one still shows first-run movies. (Next week it starts showing the Barbie movie. I’m not making this up.)

*Note the telltale pink “B” on the lobby card.*

*(Night photo c/o the theater’s website.)*

What are the odds that two buildings in such close proximity (the hotel and the theater) would both be named “Niles?” Well, both were built by local businessman J.E. Niles. He was 85 years old when the theater first opened.

I had dinner down the block at a place called Antonio’s. Sadly I can’t recommend it. Even the BOTD is not worth mentioning.

*You’d think I would have taken a hint from the condition of the sign.*

Tomorrow I’m making the hour’s drive up to Lakeview to see the northern terminus of the NCO Railway. Then it’s off to Eagleville!

churches · movie theaters · Road trips · trains

Another Hub City and the Big Easy

April 3, 2023 steveboilard1 Comment

I spent an hour this morning puttering around Hattiesburg a little longer. I really like this city. Two recurring themes really struck me:

First, how many cities call themselves Hub City?? I’d thought it was a quaint moniker for Clarksdale, with its Devils Crossroads and all that. But Hattiesburg also claims the nickname. A quick search of Wikipedia lists about a score of cities that refer to themselves as “Hub City,” so it’s not at all unique. But admittedly Hattiesburg has good cause: it’s strategically located, with numerous highways and freeways and historic railroad routes. Indeed, its 1910 railroad station is huge, suggesting that a large number of trains came through here in the day.

The station was restored about 15 years ago, and today serves as an intermodal transportation hub (there’s that word again), including daily Amtrak service.

*The Amtrak main line at the back of the station.*

The second thing that struck me about Hattiesburg is that this city values the arts. Music (a recurring theme of this trip) is celebrated everywhere, such as this public art installation called “The Jook.”

The Jook is a collection of whimsical instruments that the public is invited to use to make their own music. They include a trash can bass, chimes and bells, a giant guitar, and a xylophone (of sorts).

The Jook’s name is a reference to Blind Roosevelt Graves and his Mississippi Jook Band, which recorded blues music in Hattiesburg in the 1920s and 1930s. Two of their 1936 songs–“Barbeque Bust” and “Dangerous Woman”–are considered by some to be the first rock&roll songs. Listen and decide for yourself:

It’s not exactly Chubby Checker, but I do sense some elements of early Rock&Roll.

Other evidence of Hattiesburg’s musical bona fides is Mississippi Music Inc., a musical instrument sales and repair service and music teaching academy that opened in Hattiesburg in 1946.

And then there’s the theater. I’ve come to the conclusion that one of the quickest, surest ways to measure a town’s cultural health is to see what they’ve done with their historic theater. Hattiesburg’s Saenger Theater was built in 1929 as a huge, thousand-seat silent movie theater, and it had an equally-impressive 778-pipe theater organ. The theater remained open for about 45 years, and closed in 1974. Along the way the organ (largely obsolete after the introduction of talkies) was sold off.

The city of Hattiesburg acquired the theater from Saenger, restored it, and (here’s the impressive part) managed to track down the original organ, purchased it, and put it back into the theater. The theater underwent a more extensive renovation in 2000, and today it serves as a major performing arts venue.

While I was exploring the downtown I was literally walking in the footsteps of a long-ago Hattiesburgian (?) named John Wesley Farley. Mr. Farley had once been enslaved, but eventually became a successful businessman in town. As a publicity stunt that I still don’t quite understand, he had bronze casts made of his size-14 feet. These were set into the sidewalk in front of a department store in 1903. The sidewalks were replaced in 1983, but the public works dept returned the footprints to their original location. Somehow that warms my heart.

Another impressive story about Hattiesburg’s commitment to historic preservation is found at the old high school.

Originally built in 1921, the original high school building closed in 1959. After being used as the school district’s administrative offices for a few years, it became an antiques mall–which is typically the last stop before the wrecking ball. However, in 2002, the local historical society acquired the property with the intention of renovating it. Then Hurricane Katrina hit in 2005, And if that weren’t enough, arsonists torched the place in 2007. Despite all this, a project was funded to restore the historic structure and convert the interior to senior apartments. I consider this another sign of a healthy city: addressing civic needs while preserving the town’s history.

Oh, and I just wanted to include this photo of True Light Missionary Baptist Church (a name which rivals “the Holy Ghost Big Bang Theory Pentecostal Fire and Brimstone Mission Temple Firework Stand“). Anyway, this huge, impressive structure was built in 1903 and renovated in 1990. I can only imagine what it must be like in there on a Sunday. They also run a childcare center and various other missions.

But what really delighted me (a phrase I seldom use) most about Hattiesburg was the “pocket art gallery” on a random alley behind a parking garage. At first I simply noticed what I thought were some tiny plastic figures that some child left on a water meter.

But then I saw more….

…and more…

…and more.

Soon, I realized the the alley was full of random, whimsical art installations.

What I found most notable was that these small, delicate installations were unmolested. So that’s another sign that Hattiesburg values the arts.

I hated to leave Hattiesburg–my new favorite city–but it was time to head south to the Big Easy. Along the way I stopped for gas in Slidell, Louisiana, which was the last stop before New Orleans. Like so many of these towns, Slidell (pop: 29,000) has a historic railroad station. This one, built in 1913, is still a functioning Amtrak station, but it also houses a popular restaurant and an art gallery. I’m starting to feel that the Deep South has something to teach the rest of us about preserving historic civic buildings.

*The station supposedly has a nice waiting room…but I didn’t arrive during the 2 hours and 5 minutes that it’s open each day. (C’mon, Amtrak! Do better!)*

After getting gas and a coffee, I eased onto the 5-1/2 mile long causeway that crosses Lake Ponchartrain and drops you into New Orleans.

*Lake Ponchartrain (viewed from downtown New Orleans).*

New Orleans (pop: 380,000) is of course a historic, culturally-rich, music-infused city. It’s also almost as hard to navigate by car as San Francisco. My goal was to get to the New Orleans Jazz Museum, which required life-threatening maneuvers along the narrow streets, several illegal turns, and a 20-minute search for a parking spot. Alas, after all that, I found the door to the museum was locked. They’re closed on Monday. So I spent the afternoon walking around the French Quarter. It was actually a good way to end this trip. Music floated from every corner. There were street buskers, jazz combos playing in restaurants, stereos blaring from upstairs apartments, and a second line performance, to name a few. Heck, there was even a pair of obviously inebriated street beggars who decided to sing their appeal for funds (“Can you spare a buck?/We’re down on our luck.”)

There are lots of different types of music played here in New Orleans, but the city is best known for its jazz. It feels like the natural progression from the other musical styles I’ve encountered on this road trip: Country, bluegrass, soul, R&B, Memphis blues, delta blues, and so on. I’m no expert on any of this music, but I can understand how they’re related–how they grow out of a uniquely American experience. I intend to expand my listening when I get home, following up on some of the styles and artists that I’ve encountered.

So that’s it for the trip. As always, I’m thankful for all the people I encountered along the way who’ve patiently explained their cities to me, taken me on tours, cooked food for me, served me drinks, and even cut my hair. I really love the people of this country.

I’m at the Airport Hilton getting ready to fly home on an early morning flight. But there’s one thing left, and that’s the…

BREW OF THE DAY

While wandering around the French Quarter I paid a visit to the Crescent City Brewhouse. They have a good selection of beers, all of which they brew themselves. I asked my server what he recommended, and he told me his favorite hands down was the “Weizenboch.” So that’s what I had–living on the edge.

This is a German style beer (as should be obvious from the name). The appearance screams the opposite of a Sleepy Hollow beer (i.e., it has a very prominent head). All that foam ensures an attractive presentation and it makes the first few sips especially enjoyable. The appearance is very cloudy, with a golden tan color. At only 6 percent ABV, it’s well suited for a mid-afternoon drink.

The taste is incredibly yeasty–like sourdough starter. Notes of banana peel and clove are prominent. Maybe a tiny bit of lemon? It’s not too hoppy (unlike some of the English styles I normally drink). Overall this is a very drinkable, approachable beer. It gets a solid 4 stars. Heck, I’m feeling good at the end of this trip; let’s give it a 4.5.

cemeteries · churches · movie theaters · Road trips · trains

Driving Into Natchez

April 2, 2023 steveboilard4 Comments

One of my favorite songs is “Don’t Think About Her When You’re Trying To Drive,” recorded by Little Village on their first and only album in 1991. Little Village was a collaboration of four established musicians: John Hiatt, Ry Cooder, Nick Lowe, and Jim Keltner. Their musical style was heavily blues-influenced, and the group’s name is a reference to a famous foul-mouthed diatribe by Sonny Boy Williamson, whose name keeps showing up at the blues museums I’ve been visiting.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking about that song because one of its lines is “Driving out of Natchez/You drive her back and forth across your mind.” And the reason I’m thinking about that is because I’m driving into Natchez.

Anyway, here’s the song, if you’re interested: (the song starts at 8:40)

With that out of the way, let’s turn to today’s trip, whose theme is “southern ruins.”

On my way out of Vicksburg I passed these ruins within sigh of the Mississippi:

The background on this place is a little sketchy, but it seems that Margaret Rogers, who was born in the area in 1906, ran a general store on this site for many years. It’s said that throughout the 1960s and 1970s it was the only store along Route 61 that was run by an African American woman. In the late 1970s Margaret’s husband was shot and killed in a robbery. A few years later Martha met Rev. H.D. “Preacher” Dennis, who promised to build her “a castle to our love” if she would marry him. She accepted and for the many years Preacher Dennis spent each day working on this structure.

*Preacher Dennis, Margaret, and their “castle.”*

Margaret died in 2009 and Preacher Dennis died in 2012 (age 96). The structure has been deteriorating ever since. Many locals consider it to be a good example of folk art and there’s a group actively raising funds to restore the structure. They’ve set up a gofundme page. I’m going to make a small contribution when I get to a secure internet connection.

Continuing my way out of town I stopped at the historic Cedar Hill Cemetery which contains the mortal remains of a camel that was buried with military honors.

Here’s the story of the Confederate camel:

In the 1850s the War Department experimented with a “Camel Corps,” employing camels as pack animals in the arid southwest regions of the continent. The US Secretary of War at the time was one Jefferson Davis. Davis of course would become the president of the Confederacy a few years later, and so it’s not surprising that his armies would try using camels as pack animals in the Civil War. Old Douglas was a much-loved member of the 43rd infantry, but he was shot and killed by a Union sharpshooter.

*The back of Old Douglas’ headstone is full of bad news.*

As a footnote, attentive readers will recall one of my earlier road trips where I visited the grave of Hi Jolly, one of main camel drivers of the US Army’s Camel Corps.

*Hi Jolly’s tomb in Quartzite, AZ. (Photo from my Route 60 Blog, 2019)*

*Quartzite really ran with the camel theme. (Photo from my Route 60 blog, 2019.)*

Anyway, back to today’s drive. After leaving the cemetery I got back on US Route 61, heading south to Natchez. Along the way I stopped at a decimated city named Port Gibson (1,500). For the first half of the 20th century Port Gibson was the home base of an influential, traveling minstrel show called the Rabbits Foot Company. It’s been credited with influencing and advancing blues music in the Delta. There’s a placard to this effect on the site of the old Rabbits Foot offices.

The town’s economy relied on labor-intensive agricultural jobs, which largely disappeared in the post-World War II era. Since then the population has been declining and poverty is pervasive. Today I was struck by a number of historic buildings that speak of a more prosperous time. Most have been simply abandoned.

*Mississippi National Bank building, built in 1901. Currently vacant.*

*Rollins Funeral Home building, abandoned. Structure dates to 1899.*

The Trace Theater, originally built in 1870 and remodeled in Art Deco style in 1940. It closed in 1968 and sat vacant for almost 50 years (!) The inside was refurbished in 2017 and it reopened as a night club. Sadly, it suffered a fire in 2020.

*2011 (?) photo from Cinema Treasures website.*

This is the interior of the Trace Theater today. I took this photo through the glass front doors. At least they’ve cleaned up the debris from the 2020 fire, and they appear to have installed a new set of doors on the front.

*Port Gibson still has a few pockets of relative prosperity.*

It was eerie walking among these vacant buildings on these empty streets. Eventually I got back in the car and continued down the Blues Highway. A few miles south of town the the highway intersects with the Natchez Trace Parkway. I recalled that my good friend Victor R had recommended I drive along that route if I had the opportunity.

The Natchez Trace runs from Nashville to Natchez, roughly following the Cumberland, Tennessee and Mississippi Rivers. It began as an ancient trail used by Indians (themselves following trails created by grazing and migrating animals. The general contours of the trace became more firmly established over time, and it eventually became a network of major trails used by traders, emigrants, and others. In 1938 President Roosevelt signed legislation that created the Natchez Trace Parkway, a paved road built by the Civilian Conservation Corps. This is what I drove on today (or the last 40 miles of it). It’s a verdant, gracefully-meandering, low-key road that is almost entirely devoid of signage, signals, intersections, and other signs of civilization. It’s just a narrow two-lane ribbon of asphalt cutting through the woods.

Of course, being out in nature has its drawbacks, as detailed on this “welcome” sign along the route:

*It’s enough to make you stay in the car.*

I did leave the car and risk being swarmed by fire ants and the other plagues a few times. First, I followed a side road to the “Windsor Ruins.” I had no idea what it was, but it seemed to fit within today’s theme of Southern ruins. A few miles later I was standing in a clearing from which rose an impressive display of 27 corinthian (?) columns. It used to be a plantation home, and a placard illustrated what the place used to look like:

The becolumned mansion was built in 1861 by a wealthy planter by the name of Daniell, who owned the Windsor cotton plantation. Unfortunately for him, he died just a few weeks after his home was finished. The mansion somehow survived the Civil War, but it burned to the ground in 1890. All that remains are these columns. When I arrived today, the ruins were surrounded by temporary fencing, as the state (which now owns the ruins) is working to stabilize them from damage by the elements.

On my way back to the Natchez Trace I passed this 200-year-old Presbyterian church.

*Bethel Presbyterian Church, built in 1842.*

The church has been standing for over 180 years. A tornado in 143 (when the church was 101 years old) did major damage, notably tearing of its tall, pointed steeple. The church was rebuilt, but the steeple was omitted from the new design. Why tempt fate? Over the years the congregation dwindled, until it was no longer classified as an active church by the Presbyterian leadership.

But what’s this? An open door? I poked my head inside:

*Looks like you could still hold a service in here.*

A little research informed me that the church can still be used as a chapel by whomever wants to to do. And a nearby church in Port Gibson (!) conducts a two services here each year, in the spring and the fall.

A final set of ruins I encountered on the way to Natchez was something called the Elizabeth Female Academy. Opening in 1818, it was Mississippi’s first higher education institution for women. For a short time, the faculty included a drawing instructor by the name of John James Audubon (yes, the Audubon). The academy closed in 1845 due to declining enrollment (linked to a shrinking population in the area). The building burned in the late 1870s, and these ruins were all that remained.

And you know what’s striking about all these ruins and abandoned buildings I saw today? I didn’t spot a single bit of graffiti. The elements are certainly taking their toll on the Delta’s history, but it seems that, by and large, the residents of the region either appreciate the value of these historical treasures…or maybe they just ignore them.

Finally I arrived at the end of the Natchez Trace, appropriately enough in the city of Natchez (pop: 14,500). The city, which for a short time had been the Mississippi state capital, reminds me of Vicksburg. Both are historic and seemingly prosperous towns located on the east bank of the Mississippi.

*View of the Mississippi from downtown Natchez.*

And, like Vickburg, Natchez seems to place value on its historic resources. For example, the 1915 Yazoo &Mississippi Valley Railway depot has been restored–at least on the outside. The inside is gutted, awaiting a tenant (like a restaurant) to lease it out.

The city hall building will have its hundredth birthday next year, and it looks great as well.

On the front lawn I noticed a small grave marker for “Tripod,” who was a feral, three-legged cat that showed up at City Hall in 1979 and never left. Literally. When he died four years later the city held a full memorial service and placed him under this marker.

Evidently Tripod was more beloved than some of the humans around City Hall. One of the city Aldermen–Hal Wilson–was allergic to cats and made a motion Tripod be banned from the building. The motion failed to get a second, and the Mayor then moved to have Wilson banned from the building. (That motion failed as well. But still.)

Speaking of graves, Natchez Cemetery had this unusual specimen:

Florence Irene Ford was only 10 years old when she died of yellow fever in 1871. The story goes that she always sought comfort from her mother during a storm. So when she died her parents had a staircase built into the ground of her grave so that her mother could descend to a specially outfitted window and comfort the spirit of her daughter during storms. That’s not creepy, is it?

*There used to be a glass window with a view of the Florence’s coffin, but this was cemented over in the 1950s–long after Florence’s mother had herself died.*

After leaving Natchez I departed from the Blues Highway and headed southeast to the city of Hattiesburg (pop: 49,000). Hattiesburg is on US route 49–which I’d encountered way back in Clarksdale. (Recall the possibly literally damned crossroads of Route 61 and Route 49 where Robert Johnson sold his soul to the Devil.) Highway 49 essentially forms the hypotenuse of the right triangle formed by my route (Highway 61 south to Highway 84 east).

Along the way to Hattiesburg I encountered two notable pieces of historic roadside kitch:

*The Coffee Pot Inn was built in 1931 as the first drive-in restaurant in Brookhaven, MS.*

*Mammy’s Cupboard is a roadside restaurant that was built at the outskirts (ha!) of Natchez in 1940. It’s still open for lunch daily except Sundays. And today is Sunday, sadly.*

Tonight I’m spending the night in Hattiesburg. Tomorrow it’s off to New Orleans!

Beer of the Day

I went into Natchez Brewing Company, where owners Lisa and Patrick Miller were working hard to handle the lunch crowd. I ordered a “Smorish Imperial Stout” and a calzone the size of a Frisbee.

I think “Smorish” is supposed to evoke s’mores. Indeed the description claims it’s got chocolate, graham cracker, and marshmallow notes.

I’m not so sure about all that. The malt has a seriously roasted taste, to the point of charring. It’s as if the marshmallow of your s’more caught on fire. I don’t taste much sweetness. The dominant taste is bitter dark chocolate and black coffee.

The mouthfeel isn’t that creamy, but it is smooth. It’s also what I call a Sleepy Hollow Beer (i.e., headless).

The ABV is 10.3 percent, which is pretty standard for an imperial stout. Overall, it’s quite drinkable, though the s’more reference is false advertising.

3.5 stars (out of 5)

movie theaters · Road trips

Deep Into the Delta

March 31, 2023April 1, 2023 steveboilard2 Comments

A surprising number of you were interested in learning more about Anthony Turner (my Delta barber). I’ll share two anecdotes that have been running through my head since yesterday. First, there is a method to the madness of the Menagerie Museum. Sure, it’s a tangled and confused congeries of seemingly unrelated trinkets and kitch. But it’s all connected (quite literally, with fishing line and rubber bands) in a way that Anthony seems to have dedicated much thought and deliberation. What’s more, schoolchildren visit his museum as part of their curriculum, and Anthony teaches them an inspirational lesson about what’s probable versus what’s possible. The teachers seem to think it’s a worthy message, delivered with earnestness, kindness, and the most overwhelming number of props imaginable. There’s a method to all this madness. I’m fully convinced that Anthony knows every piece of his collection, and sees a purpose for each one.

*Even the markings on the floor have meaning and purpose.*

Second, Anthony told me a story about how there had been an empty spot in front of his shop that “needed something.” Then one day he spotted that something: A giant metal rooster that was for sale elsewhere in town. Alas, at $800, the rooster was beyond his means. He mentioned this in passing to a customer in his barber chair, and by the end of the day that customer had taken up a collection around town and presented Anthony with $800. The rooster now stands in the spot where it belongs.

We now return to today:

This morning I woke up in Clarksdale, Mississippi. As proof, the downstairs buffet had biscuits and gravy, and the map on my cellphone revealed there to be two blues clubs, three churches, and a blues museum in the immediate area.

Clarksdale (pop: 14,000) is the birthplace of Sam Cooke, John Lee Hooker, Ike Turner, and many other blues musicians. Muddy Waters moved here as a child. Just east of the mighty Mississippi River (or, as the locals call it, the Mississip), Clarksdale sits at the crossroads of US Route 61 (the Blues Highway) and US Route 49 (which runs south to the Gulf Coast).

That crossroads is sometimes called the Devil’s Crossroads. Legend has it that a struggling, less-than-skilled blues player named Robert Johnson went to the Crossroads one night about a century ago, where a strange man tuned his guitar for him and showed him some techniques. Johnson disappeared for a few months. He eventually reappeared as a blues guitar virtuoso, achieving fame on the blues circuit and earning the respect of the established bluesmen.

As you might imagine, things didn’t end well for Johnson, who died under mysterious circumstances at age 27. The legend holds that Johnson had sold his soul to the Devil that night at the crossroads. And the fact that Johnson recorded a song entitled “Me and the Devil Blues” seems to support that hypothesis.

I got breakfast at a place called Yazoo Pass in the historic downtown, where I met a literal fellow-traveler. Jim has been making his own Blues pilgrimage that began in (what I assume to be his home of) Pensacola. He’s now traveling north on 61, while I’m traveling south. We exchanged a few stories and tips. He put me to shame with his extensive knowledge of blues history, his obvious emotional attachment to the art form, and his extensive photo collection from this trip.

I continue to be struck by how much people are deeply affected by music, and in particular by the blues. I’m a mere novice when it comes to this music, but I’m quickly learning of its power to affect moods and impart lessons. I’m especially struck by how dedicated the musicians are to this music which they seem to treat as a religion.

After breakfast I went to the famous Delta Blues Museum, which is housed in a hundred-year-old building that once was the freight depot of the Yazoo and Mississippi Valley Railroad.

It’s a modern and slick affair, but it does a great job of illustrating the importance of the blues to the delta, and vice versa. I’m beginning to learn about some of the key names in blues history. (A number of them I dimly recognize from when friends Chris and Jerry and I all went to the San Francisco (!) Blues Festival some forty (!) years ago. I knew nothing about Albert King and various other headliners, but I sure liked their music.)

I also noticed that as I get deeper into the delta, the music changes. What started as twangy country music in Nashville became gospel-infused bluegrass in Jackson and slick, horn-centered R&B in Memphis. Down here in rural Clarksdale the music is a bit more stripped-down and raw.

After I left the museum I took a brief break from the blues and visited the J W Cutrer House. Built in 1916 by a wealthy local attorney, the house and the Cutrer family served as inspirations for Tennessee Williams when he wrote A Streetcar Named Desire and Orpheus Descending. I don’t know about all that, but it sure is an impressive mansion.

It was now time to say goodbye to Clarksdale and get back on Route 61. Truth be told, Route 61 is not the most beautiful highway I’ve been on. The countryside is relatively flat with large, treeless expanses of grasses, low scrub, and sickly-looking farms. I didn’t see much cotton, with the exception of this designer plot.

One of the sparse settlements along The Blues Highway is the town of Alligator (pop: 116).

Soon I came to Leland, Mississippi, where things shifted from the Blues to the Greens. For, incredibly, it seems that this is Kermit the Frog country.

Leland was the boyhood home of Jim Henson, who lived here until he was 12. Leland claims Henson as a native son, and the chamber of commerce has set up a small Jim Henson museum just off the road.

*It’s not easy being green in the land of the blues.*

Docent Heather explained to me the history, and directed me to the nearby “Rainbow Connection Bridge.”

*Shockingly, this bridge, which is directly behind the museum, is NOT the Rainbow Connection Bridge. But it should be!*

While I was in Leland I was hoping to visit the Highway 61 Blues Museum, which is touted as one of the most earnest (albeit small) of the museums along the Blues Highway. Alas, Heather reported that the museum closed at the beginning of the Covid pandemic and never reopened. As an alternative she recommended something called the “wildlife heritage museum.” I thanked her but I chose instead to head down to the next town: Indianola. It’s the birthplace (and final resting place) of B.B King, and it boasts the impressive B.B. King Museum. As you probably already know, B.B. King was one of the most successful blues artists of all time, and was known around the world.

Believe it or not, BB King’s “The Thrill is Gone” was the first record I ever bought. I was 8 years old, and my parents took my brother and me to a record store and allowed us each to pick a record. “The Thrill is Gone” was a crossover hit and playing on top 40 radio. Mom tried to steer me towards Blood, Sweat, and Tears’ “Spinning Wheel,” but I would not be moved. Interestingly, both songs seem to have a very similar groove and have stood the test of time.

Anyway, this is not the place to recount B.B. King’s life, which is well told in many, many other places. But I did want to share this small scrap I learned at the museum: When B.B. King’s mother lay on her deathbed, she held her son’s hand and said “Be kind. It will always bring you good things.” He was and it did. (It also sounds very much like something barber Anthony Turner might say!)

I’m spending the night in Greenville, which is just west of Indianola and right on the east bank of the Mississip. Tomorrow it’s onward to Vicksburg… as Ulysses S. Grant might have said…

Bonus Material!

I did come across an old theater in Clarksdale. The Marion Theater opened in 1918–one of the first theaters constructed to show (silent) movies. It was renamed the Paramount in 1931. It closed in 1976, and has only been partially and fitfully restored by a local performing arts group. Heaven only knows what all those upstairs rooms are for. There is evidence of a fire in those upper rooms. But on the ground floor, I did see some evidence of recent renovation. Let’s hope they’re able to save this impressive structure!