Readers of a certain age might remember the Baader-Meinhof gang, which was a German militant group that was frequently in the news in the 1970s. Years later its name came to describe a phenomenon whereby you learn of a new word or thing, and suddenly it starts popping up everywhere. (In this case, it was some guy who learned about the Baader-Meinhof gang, then kept noticing it in books and articles and such. It isn’t that the gang had suddenly had a resurgence; rather it was just that his brain was now primed to notice it. Thus, the Baader-Meinhof effect.)
This all came to mind this morning, when I noticed this wheelbarrow set in a flower bed in downtown Placerville.
Now, as you know I recently did a post about John “Wheelbarrow Johnny” Studebaker, and how Placerville commemorates him with an annual wheelbarrow race. It sure looks like a Studebaker wheelbarrow. Is the fact that I just now noticed the wheelbarrow an example of the Baader-Meinhof effect?
Courtesy of the Studebaker National Museum
Turns out, the wheelbarrow’s been at this location for almost 5 months. According to the local paper, “A decades-long vision to honor local history reached its conclusion April 28 as the Placerville City Council received a presentation on the completion of a replica Studebaker wheelbarrow.” A group of shop students at the local high school built it. The wheelbarrow was constructed from “local oak from a tree downed near Diamond Springs to better match historical materials.” And the ironwork was forged in collaboration with blacksmiths at the local historical park.
According to the article, Placerville resident Sue Rodman called the piece “the most beautiful wheelbarrow I have ever seen.” (Today’s post is about the Baader-Meinhof effect, but perhaps next week we’ll tackle sarcasm…)
Ron P. shared this photo of himself behind the wheel of his dad’s 1951 Studebaker Commander. The photo was taken in 1960. Ron does not identify the specific day the photo was taken, but let’s assume it was on the second Saturday of September, which is International Drive Your Studebaker Day.
The 1951 Commander is an iconic car, with a bullet nose and a wrap-around rear window reminiscent of a B-52. It was truly distinctive and unique. Here’s a shot of the front of the car, theoretically being washed by Ron’s sister:
Meanwhile, the Rev. Jonathan C. shared his own Studebaker story: In 1964 his family drove from New York to California in a Studebaker. Much of that journey followed the storied Route 66. The Studebaker was a 1953 Conestoga. You’ll recall that Studebaker started out making Conestoga wagons in the 1800s, but Jonathan’s Studebaker was a station wagon. (Although his family may have purchased the car in 1953, 1954 was the first model year of the Conestoga.) Also notable about the car: It was the company’s first all-steel station wagon, and it only had two doors. The Conestoga was also available in an ambulance form, which Studebaker called the “Ambulet.” I’m not making this up.
Next, there’s this: Loyal reader Brian W. reminded me that Frank Zappa had a symphonic fairy tale (?) from 1971 titled “Billy the Mountain,” with a short movement that featured Studebaker Hoch. Among the unforgettable lyrics:
Studebaker Hoch, he’s really outta sight! Studebaker Hoch, he does it every night! Studebaker Hoch, he treats the flies all right Studebaker Hoch, that’s why they never bite, hey!
Don’t believe me? Have a listen:
And speaking of Studebaker-associated musicians: Did you know that Alice Cooper owns a Studebaker Avanti? It’s true!
Meanwhile, high school buddy Detlef K. shared this Studebaker reminiscence:
[Driving with the Studebaker Hawk] was an off-the-charts exceedingly cool experience. I can recall back the two of us cruising side by side up Foothill Expressway – I seem to recall driving my mom’s 1974 Chrysler T&C Station Wagon – both machines each with a massive V8s reverberating between the cars made for an unforgettable experience! But keep in mind a 1960 Studebaker in 1979 is only a 19 year old car. Barely can be acknowledged as a used car, let alone a classic. It’s an entirely different thing to consider driving a 1963 production vehicle in 2026. That is a whopping 63 years old!
Finally, my brother David B. was musing about how the well-known oil additive STP was a property of the Studebaker Corporation in the 1960s. In their advertising they claimed STP stands for “Studebaker Tested Products.” To which Dave scoffed “As if ‘Studebaker Tested Products’ would be a selling point for anything!”
Note Studebaker logo in lower right-hand corner of sign.
Thus concludes today’s episode of Stude-Talk. Send in your own Studebaker stories and we might do another one!
Unless you’ve been living under a rock, surely you’re aware that today in International Drive Your Studebaker Day. Or, as my friend Vic cheekily calls it, “International Push Your Studebaker Day.” For Vic had been my neighbor many years ago, when I owned a 1960 Studebaker Hawk. And thus Vic witnessed the not-infrequent appearance of a AAA towtruck bringing home the Hawk from its travels.
In its natural state: stationary.
Those of you who have read my memoir know that that Studebaker Hawk was my first car, purchased immediately after I got my license, and it remained my main source of transportation for a good 20 years. I finally felt compelled to get rid of after I found myself married with a young son. My wife wouldn’t let our son ride in “that death trap,” and in any event I didn’t have the time or money or space to maintain it.
You’d think that would be the end of the story. But about five years ago I moved to the town of Placerville, California, which, it turns out, is (almost) literally haunted by John Studebaker. As every schoolchild knows, John Studebaker was lured to Placerville during the Gold Rush, but quickly realized his fortune could be earned not in the gold mines but by selling provisions to the miners. Studebaker took a job at a local blacksmith’s shop, and in his off hours built wheelbarrows that he sold to the miners. After he amassed enough money, he returned to South Bend Indiana, where he and his brothers formed the Studebaker Manufacturing Company. They built wagons for the Union during the Civil War, and in the early 20th century they began producing automobiles. Like my 1960 Hawk.
Living in the town that played such a crucial part in the history of Studebaker reignited my interest in the marque, and so earlier this year I went out and got me another Studebaker–this time a 1963 Studebaker Avanti.
The Avanti was Studebaker’s last-ditch effort to turn around its flagging sales figures. It was conceived as a “luxury sports car,” designed by the legendary industrial designer Raymond Loewy during a six-week crash program in Palm Springs. Alas, the Avanti could not save the company and Studebaker shuttered its South Bend factory in 1964.
So the Avanti, like all Studebakers, is considered an “orphan car,” and their owners keep them on the road thanks to a network of specialty vendors and the mighty Studebaker Drivers Club. It’s the SDC that promotes “International Drive Your Studebaker Day” each year.
So today I did my part: I took the Avanti on a nice, scenic drive along CA Route 49 into downtown Placerville.
Action photo from my drive this morning. The more things that can potentially go wrong with a car, the more gauges you need…
When I got into town, I parked at the site of that old blacksmith’s shop where John Studebaker built his wheelbarrows some 175 years ago. (The site is now a bagel shop.)
175 years later, one of John Studebaker’s progeny returns to the wheel barrow site.
Stude-plaque in front of Bagel Works/blacksmith shop.
I also made a drive out to the Placerville Fairgrounds, where every year they hold the “John M. Studebaker Wheelbarrow Races.” I’m not making this up.
Placerville also has a road named Studebaker Road. I have not been able to determine if John Studebaker had any direct connection to this street, or if it simply honors him. If you have any leads, please share them!
Sadly, I did not see anyone else driving a Studebaker in town. (There is local guy who owns four Studebakers from the 1920s, but they were all parked in his driveway this morning. Maybe he’ll be making a drive later this afternoon.) I am aware that there’s a local Studebaker group based in Sacramento that’s driving together to the Sacramento River Delta for lunch. Me, I mainly just cruised around Placerville’s Main Street.
I’m still getting the hang of parallel parking without a backup camera…
No matter how you choose to celebrate International Drive Your Studebaker Day, I hope all my readers have a Stude-tastic holiday.
With a level of complication that rivals the Normandy Invasion, my son (Ian) and I decided to rendezvous at a resort near Bend, Oregon, where we used to spend summer vacations once upon a time. Ian flew there from Vermont (which took two days, thanks to United Airlines), while I decided to drive up from Placerville along the east side of the Sierra Nevada range on US 395.
One of the more contemplative drives in California.
As alert readers will recall, I’ve driven various stretches of 395 at various times, most recently on my famous search for the remnants of the Nevada-California-Oregon narrow-gauge railroad. You can read about that trip here. Heading north on this stretch of US 395 is simultaneously one of the most contemplative and dramatic routes in California, with the craggy east slope of the Sierras on your left and lots of open range and the occasional lake on your right. Traffic is fairly sparse and the occasional towns are small and infrequent. My two favorite stops on the route–partly for their names and partly for their oasis-like qualities–are Hallelujah Junction (pop: 1) and Likely (pop: 99).
Hallelujah Junction’s sole resident.
While I didn’t cover new ground during this week’s trip up to Oregon, I did have a new rental car experience. I typically reserve the smallest, cheapest car on offer, knowing that the rental car companies will almost always “upgrade” me to an Altima because that’s pretty much the only car they actually keep on the lot. Ian correctly points out that the price difference between renting the bottom-of-the-line subcompact and just a normal sedan is only a few bucks a day. But it’s that kind of thinking that led to our current $36.2 billion national debt.
So I booked the cheap-o car. And this time they called my bluff. Meet the Mitsubishi Mirage–with three working cylinders and a total displacement (1.2 liters) that’s literally the same as my motorcycle.
78 Horsepower baby.
A little research reveals that the Mirage was the lowest-priced car available when it was manufactured in 2023. In a zen-like way, those savings come at a cost. The interior is as bare-bones as it gets, with manual seats, basic AM-FM radio, hard-plastic door panels, and a no center console of any kind.
I’ve eaten pizzas with a larger diameter than the Mirage’s spare tire.
Plus, in a throwback to the Clinton era, this is one of the last production cars to still require an old-fashioned key to get its three cylinders firing.
Remember these?
But the most remarkable thing about the Mirage is the (lack of) acceleration. This car notoriously has the slowest zero-to-sixty time of any production car. Ian did a Google search and found this review that Carbuzz did of the ten slowest cars. Here’s their take on the Mirage:
And finally, the number one slowest vehicle in America is the soon-to-be-dead Mitsubishi Mirage. It takes you an impressive 12.8 seconds to get from zero to 60 miles per hour in this sad excuse for a passenger vehicle, and it’s all thanks to the minuscule 1.2-liter three-cylinder engine that only produces 78 hp and 74 lb-ft of torque. It isn’t fast, it isn’t comfortable, it isn’t nice, and it’s pretty old. The Mirage won’t be missed.
Now, Ian’s an engineer, and he insisted that we subject this claim to empirical testing. So I stopped the Mirage on a flat stretch of road, Ian readied his stopwatch, and I stomped on the (aspirationally-named) accelerator. The analog speedometer began move, like Frankenstein’s monster on the slab. Five mph, ten mph….my fingernails and hair became noticeably longer….twenty mph…empires rose and fell….thirty, forty, fifty….North America drifted another few inches away from Europe…finally we achieved 60 mph.
The feat required 17 seconds–almost a third longer than even even CarBuzz’s incredulous estimate. On the positive side, the Mirage gets good gas mileage.
Anyway, we spent a few days near Bend simultaneously consuming water, hops, and barley. It was a relaxing break from my mile-a-minute retired life.
Then, just like that, it was time to head home. For the return trip we took US 97 from Bend to Weed, where we connected to Interstate 5 and continued south to Sacramento. A few notable items along the return trip include this decaying roadside relic in Chiloquin, OR (pop: 769).
I found an online photo from some years back that helps to clarify what it’s supposed to look like:
Is it a tapir? A cross between a horse and a cow? A dinosaur of some kind? There’s a lot of online debate about this. It’s sort of the Rorschach test of roadside kitch. Turns out it’s a remnant from a place called Thunderbeast Park that opened on this spot in the 1960s. There are some rumors on the internet that the remaining dinosaurs were relocated to a spot along highway 1 on the north coast. Ian claims we actually saw them on an earlier trip, but I think he may be hallucinating. Please let me know if you have any insights on the whereabouts of the Thunderbeasts.
Meanwhile, the town of Crescent (pop: 400) has this unusual, but better-preserved, roadside art on top of the town library. I’m assuming the bear had some meaningful connection to an earlier use of the building?
The town of Crescent also features this lumberjack, who appears to be suffering from a cervical fracture:
Near Klamath Falls we encountered this unexplained castle sitting in a field along US 97. To me it looks like a giant version of the kind of thing you’d see on a miniature golf course. Turns out it’s a trademark display from a bygone place called “Kastle Klamath,” which billed itself as a “Family Fun Land.” It had go-karts and a swimming pool and, yes, miniature golf. Like so many such places, it seems to be a victim of changing tastes in the Internet age.
Eventually we crossed back into California and came to the town of Doris (pop: 860), whose claim to fame is its 200-foot-tall flagpole. A plaque claims it is “America’s tallest flagpole.” (As of this writing, the tallest flagpole in America is actually in Wisconsin, and it stands at 400 feet. Meanwhile, the tallest flagpole in the world currently resides in Cairo, Egypt, at 662 feet.)
The southern end of US 97 terminates at Interstate 5 in the town of Weed (pop: 3,000). Located close to Mount Shasta, the town of Weed is named after Abner Weed, who founded the town when he built a lumber mill here in 1897. Today, the name provides endless opportunities for hilarious puns. For example, the town’s motto is “Weed like to welcome you.” And there are a half-dozen souvenir shops hawking T-shirts saying “I love Weed” and similar phrases that will make you the envy of Deadheads everywhere.
The historic archway to downtown Weed.
Finally, what is a road trip without a Studebaker sighting? We spotted this heavily-modified 1950 Starlight Coupe on the side of the road…where most Studebakers eventually spend a good portion of any outing.
And now, it’s time for the…
BEER OF THE DAY
The BOTD comes from McMenamins Old St. Francis School in Bend, Oregon. McMenamins is a privately-owned chain of historic structures that have been converted into pubs, restaurants, and hotels. This location had been a Catholic school which was built in 1936, and today the classrooms are hotel rooms. It also includes a full restaurant, a brewery, and movie theater, and a public pool.
Photo from The Brew Site.
The offspring and I had lunch in the back patio, and for my beverage I selected the Bamberg Obsession. It’s a Munich Helles (a lightish German beer) to which they’ve added beechwood-smoked malt.
This looks promising.
It’s a beautiful, golden beer the color of light honey. I was mesmerized simply by the look of the thing, radiating sunshine and pot-at-the-end-of-the-rainbow good luck. The taste didn’t disappoint, either. This is a refreshing beer, as you’d expect from a Helles. But the addition of the smoked malt lends a subtle complexity that keeps things interesting. It’s not overwhelming, but rather gives just a hint of peat or a distant campfire. There’s not much bitterness to this drink, which again is consistent with the Helles style. A slight sweetness also comes through. The ABV clocks in just under 5 percent. This is the Arnold Palmer of beers. Highly recommended on a warm day. 4.5 out of 5 stars.
Today’s drive along highway 20 was reflective. The route took me from Toledo Ohio (at the west end of Lake Erie), around the bottom of Lake Michigan, and up to the town of North Lake, Illinois, which is just west of Chicago. Here’s a map:
Though it doesn’t show up on this map, Route 20 passes through the city of South Bend, Indiana (pop: 103,400). Named after the southernmost bend of the St. Joseph River, South Bend has an interesting history. It’s been home to Notre Dame University since 1842 (Go Fighting Irish!), of course. But ten years later the Studebaker Brothers came to town and established a very successful wagon manufacturing plant that, around the turn of the century, switched to building automobiles. Studebaker was one of the larger “independent” auto manufacturers, and at its peak it employed 22,000 workers in South Bend. It would be stretching things to say that South Bend was a company town, but Studebaker certainly was a major contributor to the local economy.
Studebaker factory in South Bend, circa 1940.
Some of you young ones might never have heard of Studebaker; it closed its doors in South Bend in 1963, and then shut its last remaining facility in Canada three years later. But I actually owned one. It was my first car, which I bought in 1978. Behold!
Parked at stately Boilard Manor around 1980.
I owned that car for about 25 years, and then, in a rash act, I sold it. Recently I’ve been wondering if I should have kept it. I’ve even had dreams about it. And then, a couple of days ago, I spotted what at first glance appeared to be my old car on the side of US 20 in New York:
Back from the dead, like Christine?
A couple of telltale signs convinced me this wasn’t the same car. But it was eerie nonetheless. And it was eerier still to see a version of the car again today, in the Studebaker National Museum in South Bend:
But I digress. My point was that Studebaker was a major contributor to South Bend’s economy. And so when it shut down in the 1960s, it had a major negative impact on unemployment. It’s estimated that, at the time of its closure, Studebaker employed two thirds of the city’s African-American labor force. To make matters worse, South Bend was already suffering from the general effects of deindustrialization that were besetting towns throughout the Rust Belt.
Terra Cotta logo that once graced the Studebaker factory.
South Bend gained national prominence with presidential candidate Pete Buttigieg as mayor from 2011-2018. He and others have worked to gain investment in the city’s businesses and infrastructure. But I can report from my visit today there’s still a long way to go. Block after block has vacant and dilapidated buildings. The area around the old Studebaker factory is especially rough. Most of the Studebaker buildings have been torn down, but a few, such as Studebaker’s main administration building, still stand, albeit to no good purpose.
Used to be the nerve center of the Studebaker empire.
Here’s another random, old building on Michigan Street that appears to be serving no purpose. It caught my eye for two reasons: First, because of the tubular external fire escape.
I wonder if this is where the McDonald’s folks got the idea for their Playplace (TM)?
Second, and more importantly, the building caught my eye because of this barely-legible painted signage facing the road:
“US 20” is still clearly visible. (Less clearly, it seems to read “7 MICH ST.”) Funny thing, though, I had to turn off US 20 to drive down this road (on my way to a brew pub. More on that later). It turns out that US 20 used to be routed through here, before being re-routed around the downtown in the 1960s.
Now, some of you know my pet theory that you can tell a lot about the health of a town by its historic theaters. Almost all older towns have had a theater or two along the way. And almost all theaters declined with the advent of television and VCRs and such. But what did the towns do with their old theaters? Did they knock them down to make way for “progress”? Did they let them decay? Did they repurpose them? The answers to these questions tell a lot about the priority of the arts in the community, the extent of civic pride in the city’s history, the functionality of local government, and so forth. And I’m happy to report that South Bend has restored and preserved its beautiful, large, historic Morris Theater. The original theater opened in 1922 as a vaudeville house. It’s now a performing arts center that seats over 2,500. It’s home to the South Bend Symphony Orchestra, and it hosts broadway shows.
And the inside is even more beautiful than the outside!
What’s more, South Bend has a second historic theater that it’s actively working to restore. The 1919 Blackstone-State theater was operating on and off up until 2016. As of a couple of months ago, the South Bend Redevelopment Commission approved the City’s purchase of the building for $800,000. Presumably, as a city-owned property, it will have more stability going forward.
Note the non-Potter fire escape.
So I judge South Bend to be on an upward trajectory, despite the significant challenges it still faces.
I’m less bullish on the next major town I drove through today: Gary, Indiana. I became quite depressed just passing through. Broadway was once a grand boulevard, but now it looked like it’d been bombed, with half-standing buildings, vacant lots, and rubble lining the street. People roamed the sidewalks in a fashion that seemed aimless and hopeless. And, most damningly, the historic theaters looked like they weren’t ever going to be saved.
Gary’s Palace Theater.
Detail of the marquee. That street lamp looks good, at least.
While I was taking a picture of the Palace theater (above) a man who was passing by stopped to tell me about how it used to be his favorite movie theater. “Apple” (as he called himself) used to sit up in the balcony and watch double features in the 1960s. He was sorry to see it go. Now, he says, he lives in an “old people’s home” and walks past the theater every day on his way to the corner store. He was a kind and sympathetic man, but he didn’t seem to have any spark in his eyes.
Apple, waving ciao.
Now, you probably know Gary Indiana for one of two things: the song from The Music Man (sung by a young Ron Howard), or the birthplace of Michael Jackson.
In fact, while driving through the town I passed a sign directing me to the Jackson House. I dutifully followed the sign and ended up on Jackson Street (whose name, I assume, was changed after the Jacksons became famous. Otherwise it would be too much of a coincidence!) The neighborhood is severely run down, and seems to be populated by people who haven’t had a break. There’s no obvious signs of graffiti or gangs or drugs or anything like that; just poverty and neglect. Many houses are boarded up and/or abandoned.
Sad state of affairs.
But then you come to the Jackson place. It’s a tidy and tiny (two-bedroom) bungalow, in which the eleven Jackson family members somehow lived. It makes me glad to know they hit the big time, but my heart goes out to the rest of the folks around here who didn’t.
Stately Jackson Manor.
Memorials in the driveway. I don’t think I’d hire Diamond Yard Bricks to do any installation work.
Anyway, I left Gary feeling sad for a dead city and the people who still live in it.
After passing through Gary Indiana, Route 20 skirts around the edge of Chicago. I happen to love Chicago as a city, but visiting it is a commitment, and this is not that kind of road trip. So I stuck to Route 20, skirting around the outer edges of the city. I’ve parked myself in a nondescript town called North Lake, about 13 miles west of Chi-Town. Tomorrow I should finish crossing Indiana.
BEER OF THE DAY
I nabbed my BOTD at the South Bend Brew Werks. It’s another example of how South Bend is on the way up: It’s a nice, bright, new space with art on the walls and a big outdoor patio. They’re part of an energetic business district near the Morris Theater. They take their beer and their food seriously.
My server–Jason–was incredibly knowledgeable about beer, not just the stuff they brew but also the beers at breweries throughout the region. He’s also a rubber-stamp artist, and his work is currently hanging in this restaurant.
Jason, beer-savant.
On Jason’s recommendation, I had the “Disinhibited Ep. IV: A New Haze.” It’s a double hazy IPA.
It’s a highly drinkable beer, though it clocks in at 8 percent ABV. The appearance, as you would expect, is hazy. And as an IPA, it has the expected piney hoppiness and medium carbonation. But the flavor is more interesting than your average IPA. It has notes of grapefruit and dandelion, balanced by the aforementioned hops. There’s just a suggestion of sweetness. Overall, the flavor is more sunny than bright, and more juicy than refreshing. It’s a very solid effort and manages to stand out in a world dominated by endless IPAs. 4 stars.
COINCIDENCE CORNER:
Yesterday I posted a picture of the Christmas Story house in Cleveland. Today I saw this in the corner of the South Bend Brewing Company:
Also, in April I did a blog post about the stretch of the Lincoln Highway that runs near my home in El Dorado County, CA. Today I saw this on a street corner in downtown South Bend:
