Noticing History in Hobart

One of the great benefits of touring a destination where you know several people is that they are familiarly with all the shortcuts and have great insights. It is difficult to make any definitive statements about Hobart given the limited amount of time I spent in the city; however, my impression is of a city rich in history and interests. As is my habit, I noticed many of the smaller historical sites that tell a rich and complex tale of a city, its people and Tasmania.

The one destination that I considered imperative was a visit to the gates of the Beaumaris Zoo. Much like the Berlin Zoo, which I visited earlier this year, it is a place where the folly of humans has had is duly recorded. The zoo, which has been closed for more than 75 years, was the site of interesting stories, such as the attempted escape of a polar bear in 1926. More importantly, Beaumaris Zoo was the location where the last known thylacine died in 1936. More popularly know as Tasmanian Tigers, thylacines were intriguing animals that were drove into extinction. Although there are rumors and hope that there are a few thylacines wondering around the wilds of Tasmania, there is very little good evidence to suggest this is the case. The zoo closed the year following the death of the last thylacine.  

Another tragic event, commemorated high above the city on trails of Mt. Wellington (kunanyi), is the fate of George Radford. Competing in a “go-as-you-please” race to the pinnacle, and return, in September 1903. Radford was caught in snowstorm and perished. Today, a walking and mountain bike trail that meanders through a fern forest is named in his honor. As I walked the trail through the forest, the knowledge that Charles Darwin also walked the same mountain in 1836 gave me much to think about as well.

On a much less somber note, the monuments and signage on docks of Hobart demonstrates the city has several connections with the rest of the world despite its remoteness. This is particularly true of the signing remembering the Jam Factory of Henry Jones. In many ways, the business ethics and manners mirrored the practices of many of Jones’s contemporary. He was very successful and his company’s effort meant that fruit grown in Tasmania, turned into jams and pulp, were consumed around the world. Yet, his treatment of workers were questionable and reflects many of the excesses of the industrial period. Along Hunter Street sits the remains of the factory, now repurposed. His product named, IXL, referred to his personal statement: “I excel at everything I do.” Yet despite his bravado, Jones’s treatment of workers and questionable business practices are remembered at the docks as well. 

Experiencing Hobart

Traveling is often not about a destination; in fact, it may be the least important part of a journey.  What is far more important are the experiences and interactions we have along the way. More so than many of my trips, the interactions in Hobart were significant and personal. While there are several significant sites seen and observed, these are not what will remain in my memory. Instead, spending time in suburban homes, enjoying good meals and better conversations, having a go at backyard cricket, and sitting at cafés and restaurants talking, laughing and sharing stories will be my primary memories. It was not my intent to travel to Tasmania to hold a four-day old baby, but how lucky am I to have that among my catalog of experiences? When I reread this brief entry in the future, it will help me to remember a conversation in which a five-year old friend described the intricacies his new Christmas toy, a Gup X, based upon the children’s television series The Octonauts. His fascinated cousins looked on as he described all the sea creatures that could be rescued by the Gup X vehicle.

Traveling and meeting new people turn mundane events into fond memories and important experiences. Our lives are richer because of them. 

Christmas in Melbourne

Traveling is always provides a sense of dislocation. This is why, perhaps, I like it. We experience something new and different; it is a challenge to understand a new city, different ways of doing things, and translating cultures. Granted that my current trip does not require much in the way of translating language, although there has been a few times when I have asked people to repeat themselves. Nevertheless, travel insists that we examine our own lives, actions and customs, focusing on why we do the things we do.

On a flight from Auckland to Melbourne, on Christmas morning, I was seated on the front row of the aircraft. During take-off and landing this provided an opportunity for me and my fellow passengers to chat with two flight attendants. I commiserated with them on having to work on Christmas; although I did not say this, there were a many of holidays I had to work. The woman from Auckland seated next to me was on her way to Hobart for Christmas with her sister. She asked about my plans and I said that I would be exploring Melbourne. She made some comment about being alone on Christmas, to which I replied, “from my perspective, it doesn't much seem like Christmas.” She commented, “There is no snow, is there?”

It's a Wonderful Life shown on the big
screen in Federation Square, Melbourne

When I arrived in Melbourne I happened upon an article by Jason Wilson, who wrote about how European Christmas traditions made the holiday in Australia surreal.  Walking the city, in perfect 70˚ (F) and sunny weather, was an odd feeling. Santa Claus and snowmen are found throughout the city. Young men and women were wearing red Santa suits with matching caps throughout my travels over the past 48 hours. The most incongruous thing I saw was a group of people watching It’s a Wonderful Life on a big screen television in Federation Square in the city center of Melbourne. The thought of people sitting in summer attire, beneath shade umbrellas, watching the classic film about Christmas avarice and the importance of friendship and family in snowing Bedford Falls was a bit odd. 

Flinder Station, Melbourne

I continued with my own cinematic Christmas tradition. Much like the Parker family in A Christmas Story, I had my Christmas dinner out at a Chinese restaurant. My meal consisted of pork bone soup and steamed pork and wombok dumplings at a traditional restaurant. My dinner at a Chinese restaurant, however, was not necessitated by a pack of wild dogs stealing my turkey. 

Centre Square, Rotorua 

'Twas the night before Christmas at Auckland Airport

Spending the night at a budget hotel near the airport, I planned for dinner assuming that there would be very few dining options available Christmas Eve night. The last thing I wanted was a Christmas Eve dinner consisting of McDonalds.  At the airport, I selected a chicken, brie and cranberry sandwich and a brownie for dessert. It was a pleasant dinner watching New Zealand television; the sandwich was good, the brownie not so much. It was relaxing, there was nowhere to go, hence no guilt for just relaxing. A few hours later, after watching too much television, I wandered down to the lobby for a snack. The old poem suggests that there was “not a creature was stirring;” however, in my case, there was not a vending machine working.  It is alright, it just meant that I could have more for Christmas breakfast

Bus Trip: Auckland-Rotorua

Taking a bus from Auckland to Rotorua was an opportunity for me to see some of the countryside of New Zealand, while at the same time getting to my destination. Travelling by bus, allowed me to observe, if not interact with, other people. It turns out, with a few exceptions, most of the people on the bus were not from New Zealand. My observations and interactions with others were limited and consisted with a few short interchanges with the young man, travelling with his wife, from South Asia (e.g. “What time does this bus arrive in Rotorua?” he asked) and the young Scandinavian woman who frequently had her knees on the back of my seat, making sitting uncomfortable from time to time. 

The old Hannah's building in Rotorua

Seemingly, all towns have a minimum of one superette (a convenience store) and a host other local shops. These small stores sell basic items, magazines, lotto tickets, ice cream and snacks and have interesting signage, which is usually fading. Several of these shops have Coca-Cola advertisements, many of which are faded; a number also have Tip Top signs, a local New Zealand ice cream, since 1936. In many towns, there are buildings several buildings from the 1920s or 1930s that bear the name of the original owners. Although the building has long since found new purposes. It is quite common to see Hannah’s on the front of many buildings. Hannah’s is a shoe store chain in New Zealand, and although still in operation, many of the original buildings have been abandoned for newer shops. Nevertheless, the name and signs for Hannah’s still frequently appears. 

I found it very interesting to read the road signs as the kilometres go by. Just outside of Papakura, a tourist sign “Spookers Haunted Attractions” caught my eye. New Zealand is a car culture country, much like the United States; public transport is not widely used. Pedestrians do not have the right away most of the time and often proceed at their own risk. Nevertheless, the road signs, placed by regional or national government, establish a tone and expectation among drivers. The traffic signs in New Zealand, specifically the Bay of Plenty region, have a different tone than in the United States. One sign that is often seen is: “Think about other road users.” A simple plea not to focus on yourself, but to consider others as your principle for driving. Perhaps the most eye-catching, were a series of roadsigns between Hamilton and Rotorua. The signs feature an owl and warns motorists to obey certain rules and practices, such as slow down in turns. Furthermore they implore the driver to be wise. Some of the signs feature two smaller owls (children), sitting in the back seat, such as one urging people to buckle up. In one devastating sign, approximately 30 kilometres outside Rotorua, the sign depicted the owl weeping with two crosses in the background, with the words underneath: “Speed Kills.” A stark message with great graphics that is probably more effective than simple digital displays along the side of the road.

Interesting Buildings in Auckland

In my previous post, I alluded to the interesting buildings and architecture around Auckland. On my walking explorations of the city I found several examples that demonstrate my contention. Perched on the top of a challenging hill for walkers, Karangahape Road, locally known as K’ Road, has several architecturally significant buildings. The road’s name, translated from Maori, means “a winding ridge of human activity.” I walked the length of the road and explored some of the adjacent areas. Here are some of my favorite examples:

An old tram shelter along K’ Road, built in 1910, still stands although the tram were discontinued more than fifty years ago. 

Also along K’ Road, the intriguing St. Kevin’s shopping arcade was built as an entrance to Myers Park. The park is a gully that runs between two hills and was set aside in 1915 to benefit the citizens of the city. Today, there are a number of eclectic shops and restaurant in the arcade. 

The sixteen terraced shops along Queen Street were built between 1908 and 1912. Currently, restaurants occupy most of the shops. 

The Grey Lynn suburb has a number of shops and businesses. It is not the most prosperous area of Auckland; however, it is vibrant and varied. The seafood shop, with its faded colors, is a great subject for a novice photographer. 

Exploring Auckland

The first time I seriously considered Auckland was in college. I remember reading a brief story, in our local newspaper, about a guy who got on plane heading for Oakland, but ended up in Auckland. The man, Michael Lewis,  said that he was having trouble understanding the accent and thought he was going Oakland, but then grew concerned when the flight was taking him to Tahiti first. At the time, I was dubious about his story thinking that it was a clever scam to get a free trip to an exotic and costly destination; however, upon tracking down a few articles the story does seem to make more sense. 

My story is different: I intended to fly to Auckland, or more specifically to New Zealand. I once read that New Zealand looks like England did fifty years ago. I was not in England fifty years ago; however, judging from my, thus far, limited sojourns in Auckland, I am not sure that the observation is true. Auckland, which is not only the largest city in New Zealand but in the entire South Pacific, is different from many major cities. The city is a place of interesting architecture, where remnants of the the colonial past are still visible. 

A Pukeko in Western Springs, Lakeside Park 

The idea that a country of islands, half a world away, could come, occupy and colonize another chain of islands in the South Pacific is fascinating. Even today, with modern technology and transportation, New Zealand is isolated and exotic. As John Chambers points out, the interchange of cultures between the staid English and the sexually adventurous Polynesians makes the story of colonization improbably intriguing, with the potential for misunderstanding mores. Yet, the remoteness of the sizable islands of New Zealand gives it an other worldly draw. It took time for nature to colonize these remote islands. With no natural predators, some birds abandoned the use of flight. Trees and vegetation did not have the same development patterns as other areas.

The remoteness and mixing of identities, together with more recent arrivals, produces different kind of country. It does cause a tension between what New Zealand is and what it wants to be. Upon entry into the country, the traveller has a number of procedures he/she encounters. The arriving aircraft is sprayed with an aerosol in an attempt to prevent foreign insects from entering the ecosystem. A customs form, which all people arriving must fill out, uses draconian language in an attempt to enforce compliance with laws designed to protect native plants and animals. [Despite the ominous language, I found all the officials courtesy and helpful.] These measures are, no doubt, necessary to protect what remains of the fragile ecosystem. 

Whitcoulls in Central Auckland

Yet, things seem strangely familiar. The most common small bird I have seen while walking around Auckland is the sparrow. There are plenty of familiar stores and fast food restaurants.  Even Christmas is celebrated with a similar enthusiasm and tradition as in the Northern Hemisphere. During the holiday season, which is summer in the Southern Hemisphere, many of the decorations, carols and traditions appear to be centered around the notion that it is supposed to be cold. I was sitting in a café, having a coffee, while blaring over the speakers were two, back-to-back, versions of “White Christmas.” Santa and his reindeers adorn what was once Farmer’s Trading Company, a major department store in New Zealand now a huge bookshop, and snowmen dot the city. Yet, there are subtle differences. A restaurant I had dinner in one evening announced the following day (20 December) that is would be closing until mid-January for the holidays, a tradition that dates back to when shops in New Zealand closed at 6PM everyday. There are rather large flightless birds wondering around the numerous city parks.  And, after all, there are quite a few people wearing shorts and sandals wandering the city. 

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A Few Hours in Waikiki

A layover offered the chance to spend a few hours exploring Waikiki. Because I was spending less than a day, I made no specific plans and had no itinerary. I just needed to make sure I got a good night sleep and spend a few hours exploring. My expectations of Hawaii were, no doubt, shaped by popular culture. I often think about Tom Selleck’s character on Magnum P.I. routinely referring to the state of Hawaii as “paradise” rather than by its moniker. I suppose to many people it is. The temperate weather, beautiful and lush vegetation, and attractive and exotic setting makes it an important draw for many.

Queen Liluokalani

Hawaii has a different history from the rest of the United States. Yet, in many ways, the islands have become Americanized. A short ride through central Honolulu confirms that several popular American chains are available for shoppers to address their needs. On the shuttle I took from the airport to the hotel, I had difficulty hearing the driver from the back of the minibus; however, the one story I did catch was while we were sitting at a stoplight in central Honolulu. The driver noted that the Walmart to our left was once Macy’s, “but now it is Walmart.” I thought to myself that this could not be the most significant sight in central Honolulu.

One thing that is noticeable around Honolulu is the reverence for its royal past. Evidence of Hawaii’s monarchy is seemingly everywhere. While many of the monuments honor Queen Liliuokalani, the last queen of Hawaii, there are a number of other monuments and statues that commemorate individuals who are not as well known outside of the state. Among the more interesting is Prince Jonah Kuhio Kalaniana’ole Pi’ikoi who has a statue at a busy intersection on Waikiki beach. Kuhio joined a counter revolution in 1895 in an attempt to overthrow the Republic of Hawaii and restore the monarchy. He was charged with treason and jailed. Very popular among Hawaiians, he was elected as the territorial delegate from Hawaii to the United States Congress (1902-1922).

War Monument at Waikiki

The War Monument on Waikiki Beach honors soldiers who fought in the First World War from American territories, which Hawaii was at the time. Interestingly, the monument is in severe disrepair. At one time there had been a pool, but today the fence is padlocked and sign warns of danger and a lack of structural integrity. Given the relative wealth of the area and the proximity of the monument, it seems odd that this war memorial would be in such a state. 

Culinary Delights of Rural Western Ohio

Display in the window of Home Bakery

It was a rainy, cold early December Saturday, but the comfort foods of small town Ohio are an excellent remedy for nostalgia and loss. Early in the morning, I stopped by the Home Bakery in Coldwater, Ohio. This old, independent bakery on Main Street, which dates from at least the 1930s, has real homemade break and pastries. When I was there, about 8AM, the place was hopping. There were four customers ahead of me; two guys who were probably going to work, buying a quick breakfast and two other customers who ordered a dozen and a half dozen of doughnuts, respectively. While I was waiting, a kindly father brought three young daughters into the store, roughly aged from 3 to 6 years old. When he asked the girls what kind of doughnuts they would like to have, the middle child spoke up emphatically, “sprinkles!” As for me, it was a simple order: a loaf of white bread (a family-loved item), a pumpkin doughnut and a large cup of coffee to take the edge off a bitter rainy day. The bake goods are fresh and light; it is good I do not live in the vicinity. If I did, I would be 40 pounds heavier. But this is the real thing, no preservatives and made by local people. The total cost of my purchase was less than I would spend for a cup of coffee later in the day.

There is nothing quite like Maid-Rite Sandwich Shoppe in Greenville, Ohio. It is an old diner-style restaurant dating from 1934. There is a franchise of the same name that was founded in the 1920s and has stores sprinkled across the Midwest. Although those stores have the same name and virtually the same products, there appears to be no present link between the Greenville Shoppe and the current Maid-Rite franchise.

Long before you walk inside, there is no doubt that Maid-Rite in Greenville is a unique place. Often there is a line so long at the drive-in window that it spills out onto North Broadway where the right hand lane is a line of cars waiting patiently to order. The outside of the small brick building is adorned with used pieces of chewing gum creating culinary piece of art of questionable taste.  The specialty is the Maid-Rite, a loose meat sandwich of pure beef and spices, which seems to be primarily salt and pepper but seems to have a hint of ground mustard. Ordering the Maid-Rite with everything, the most common form, means that it comes with mustard, pickles and onions. Part of the allure of the sandwich, I think, is that the buns are steamed making the entire sandwich warm.

The interior is a rather plain and simple. There is a counter, where swivel seats invite patrons to have a quick bite to eat. Behind the counter a team of five to six high school/college age employees take orders, cook the meat and assemble sandwiches. There are usually a couple of older people who supervise as well. Sitting at the counter means that you can watch the food being prepared. Huge blocks of ground beef, about five pounds at a time, are dropped into one of the two wells that have a hot plate on the bottom. One of the employees mixes and stirs the beef until it is cooked to a golden brown, gradually added the requisite spice. The same employee will pull out steamed buns, place meat in it, and hand the sandwich to their partner standing adjacent, who will add pickles, onions and mustard, optional cheese and wrap the Maid-Rite in wax paper. While an incredibly simple sandwich, its popularity and taste defy explanation.

Gum on the wall of Maid-Rite

For many people who grew up in western Ohio, and others of us who have connections, places like Home Bakery and Maid-Rite are distinct reminders of home or family. It is funny how we have abandoned these places, only to try to create chain restaurants and coffee shops to remind us of those places we have left behind. Perhaps this is a sign of our increasingly mobile society where when we move to new places we default to the chain we know, rather than the local place we do not. Either way, each time one of these classic places go out of business a little bit of our identity, our heritage and our past fades away too.

Shopping in Sunrise

Like many things in South Florida, Sawgrass Mills Mall is an artificial destination. Built in 1995 as the Sunrise Galleria, the mall is a sprawling shopping destination for local and international visitors alike. When I was a kid the area was nothing but swamp and farmland. Today, it is difficult to discern that there was once farmland where a gigantic mall and parking lot now stands. The highway that leads to the destination, which also contains the BB&T Center, is modern and congested. 

As a shopping experience, Sawgrass is almost daunting.  My visit to the mall on a Saturday evening (in mid-November) was not a shopping experience. I was there to kill a few hours while waiting for companions to attend a show at BB&T. I noticed that patrons were engaged in an orgy of shopping. It was surprising the number of shoppers, many international, who had purchased rolling luggage and were in the process of filling their bags up with clothes, toys and the latest electronic gadgets. The mall has even tried to transform nature. It moved people almost imperceptibly from outside to inside. If it were not for the change in temperature and humidity, most patrons might not even know that where he/she was. As I watched several people busily explore their avarice laden desires, I was struck about how the mall might have resembled a traditional market on a Saturday, the major difference being that no traditional market would be open at 9PM. 

Longfellow Bridge

Every other November, I have the opportunity to take long, cold walks across the Longfellow Bridge. This year, construction is taking place to rehabilitate the bridge that crosses the Charles River and links Boston with the city of Cambridge. The bridge connects the two cities by foot, subway (The T) and automobile and is a great piece of architecture that provides travelers with a beautiful view of the skyline. The bridge was originally constructed in 1908 and is referred locally to the “Salt and Pepper Bridge” because the granite towers at the center remind people of tableware. I am unsure of the plans; however, I hope the cast iron fences that line the sidewalks, admittedly in bad shape, survive the restoration of the bridge.

Historic Matthews Arena

Matthews Arena, Boston

What is it that attracts us to old sports facilities? In an era when virtually every major sports team (and many minor ones) clamor for modern facilities, many knowledgeable fans seek out and celebrate classic venues. Perhaps it is those of us trying to recapture the pure thrill of competition and sports we experienced as children. 

When one thinks about historic sports venues in Boston, the natural first thought is Fenway. Yet, the old city has more hidden treasures. Opened in 1910, Matthews Arena is the nation's oldest multifunction sports facility and the oldest sheet of ice in hockey. Since 1930 it has been the home of the Northeastern University Huskies hockey team. Previously, however, it was the original home of the Boston Bruins (1924-1928) and the only "Original Six" arena still extant. Other tenants have included the Boston Celtics (basketball, 1946-1955) and the New England Whalers (1972-1973) of the World Hockey League.

Obstructed view seats

Although the arena has been renovated several times there are some distinctive features. The ceiling of the barn is made of planks of wood. There are numerous obstructed-view seats, especially in the top level of the arena. Rather than side-by-side, the benches are across the ice from one another. 

With an arena this old, it is hard to avoid a sense of nostalgia. The photographs in the lobby contains team pictures dating back to 1929. Banners in the rafters tell of a great tradition, but limited success in conference play and at the national level. But this is not the grandeur of the arena. Instead, it is in the bricks and mortar, the seats and the memories of over a decade of entertainment, joys and sorrows, friendship and comradery. 

On the occasion of your 106th birthday

I have been thinking about you a lot lately; it has been a little over 25 years since you died. Many of the things that you might have recognized are no more. The church building that you loved and nurtured is still standing; however, the congregation that you knew has been disbursed. The buildings of the railroad where you toiled in a lifetime of work are still standing, but the company has long since been bought and it is now part of a major international corporation. Sadly your son is no longer with us; however, your grandsons and your great-grandchildren thrive and are happy.

Even though you are no longer with us, you are in my mind. You are still a role model, especially when it comes to treating people with kindness and patience. Your memory reminds me that quietness and thoughtfulness are not vices; they are comforting to those around us. It is those who are patient and kind get the most out of life. Greatness is not found in grandiose awards, but in the simple recognition of your friends and neighbors. 

You once told me, a couple years before you died, how much you enjoyed your travels. I still remember long drives on Sunday afternoons in the country, just exploring. We were seeing what was “around that bend” or “over that hill.” Your one travel regret, you said, was that you never had the opportunity to visit the land of our ancestors, and of your mother: Germany. I have been there and I am lucky enough to visit often. You should know it is interesting and beautiful and you would have loved it. On the day before your first birthday after your death, momentous events in Berlin changed the world. It was remarkable and I remembered you that evening. All these years later, I continue to think of you often and especially every time I find myself in Germany. 

Happy birthday, Fred. 

October Trees

For many October is a time of dread. The days grow shorter and the shadows longer. For me, the autumn represents the beginning of a metamorphosis. A change that portends new possibilities and adventures. The changing colors of the trees create a surreal landscape in which walks become idyllic wanderings, the smell of leaves decaying is reminiscent of a long ago Saturday afternoons, raking leaves and playing games that required us to dive into the piles we made.

One fall, we raked leaves and put them into plastic bags. Eventually we would take them to a city park where the city would dispose of them somehow. This particular year we devised a game in which the bags of leaves were substitute, imaginary players in a game of football. The bags were fellow teammates or obstacles to avoid during a running play. Some bags, strategically distributed around the backyard acted as receivers for our errant passes. Of course, the game devolved into one in which we would throw each other the ball so that the receiver had to dive across multiple bags to catch the ball. As we landed on the bags, great geysers of leaves would fly high into the air. It was fun, and the smell of wet decaying leaves today remind me of that invented game. Not too long after the game began, it became one of diving into the bags, resulting in torn bags and leaves once again strewn across the backyard. My father was there to sternly remind us that we were wasting trash bags and with that we needed to recommence our labor.

Gold finch

The end of October brings more birds to our feeders, as the trees lose their foliage. My memories of recklessly and aimlessly diving into piles and bags of leaves is revived each time I walk and marvel at the changing colors of October. But these days I do walk, not dive…and I think of one of my favorite poems: “Being But Men” by Dylan Thomas. Children have imagination, energy, adventures and insight. “Being but men, we walked into the trees.”

Rain, Books and Lewes

Biblion Used Book & Rare Fins in Lewes, Delaware

A rainy weekend at the Delaware shore brought me once again to Biblion Used Books & Rare Finds in Lewes. This cozy and comfortable shop offers an eclectic selection of books, journal and note cards. When the weather is nice, the sign in the front of the store usually has a good literary quote.

It was by chance that I made my periodic visit to Biblion on the same day I read an article in the Guardian about the “weird and wonderful bookshops” around the world. The article reminds me of some of the great stores I have visited and the treasures I have procured. 

My Life with Trains (Part 2) Nostalgia

I grew up in a railroad family; both my father and my grandfather worked for the same small railroad, the Kentucky & Indiana Railroad, better known as the K&I. Before the final sale of the K&I in late 1981, my dad transferred to the L&N (Louisville and Nashville Railroad). Both of these railroads are no more. The L&N as a separate entity disappeared into the larger corporate name of CSX. The fortunes of the K&I, its workers and my grandfather were key topics of discussion in my early childhood.

Although the yards of the K&I are still in the Portland section of Louisville, the only substantial reminder of the old company is a railroad bridge, the K&I Terminal Bridge, from Portland to New Albany, Indiana. When I was growing up, we would often cross into southern Indiana over the bridge. I often remember it as a nerve-racking adventure. The bridge was high and the paths for automobiles were narrow. It seemed that there were only inches on either side for the car to pass through the blackened steel fences.

Lady watching the model train around our
Christmas tree (still from family 8mm film)

From my young perspective, the best thing to come from that old railroad was a dirty old dog. I do not actually remember it, but the family legend was that my dad called my mother and asked if it was alright to bring her home. When she arrived, the dog, which had been hanging around the yards for a few days looking for food was filthy. It took several baths to clean the oil and soot out of her fur. That dog, despite her humble beginning, would go on to become one of the legends of family. Given the name Lady, she became very protective of me. She climbed on top of my toy box each night and waited for me to go to sleep before creeping out of the room, signaling my parents that I was, indeed, asleep. She was a trusted, and loved, member of the family.

On another occasion the K&I yards offered an abortive miracle. My father, the religious man he was, was transfixed and perplexed by a question my brother once asked. We have driven down to the K&I yards so that my father could speak with my grandfather about something. (Perhaps it was a ruse to get out of the house) It had been a longstanding practice to see my grandfather at work. He was kind and always glad to see us; however, on this day, my brother and I were told to sit in the truck (a 1950 Ford Pickup) and wait because it was too dangerous to go in to the shop where my grandfather worked. While sitting there I asked my younger brother if he had noticed the little plastic crucifix that was propped up on the side of the building.

When my dad returned my brother asked, “Can we go around to the side of the building and see Jesus?” The look on my dad’s face was enough to tell me what he was thinking. Either that his young son was having visions of the Christ appearing at, of all places, the rail yards of the Kentucky & Indiana Railway, or he was having hallucinations with religious overtones. Either way, this was something monumental. I relished the moment for a split second. I enjoyed the confusion; the irony of something mundane being mistaken for something extraordinary. But in an instant, my dad gave me a look. All of the sudden I was being considered with suspicion. What had I done or said to lead my brother to assume that Jesus was inhabiting the side of a building at the K&I? My father’s stare became more focused on me, “What the hell is he talking about?”

I explained that there was a plastic crucifix on the side of the building where my grandfather worked. My dad drove around to look at it, one of the arms, the right one if I am not mistaken, was missing – probably broken off after a fall. My brother asked if we could have it and dad replied that he would rather buy us one. This one had been exposed to the elements and coal soot, and was broken.

Abandoned rail line behind the library in Lewes, Delaware

The disappearance and history of railroads continues to interest me. Although one of the great nineteenth century inventions, its utility and allure continues well into the twenty-first century. Railroad archaeology, abandoned stations, former right-of-ways converted into paths for walkers and cyclists, and historic excursion rides are all evidence of the profound effect the railroad industry has had on the modern world. For me, it is a reminder of a bygone, yet personal, past that evokes a great deal of nostalgia.

Exploring Lancaster PA

Penn Square at night

Several years ago, I was traveling with a friend in Europe. During the trip we spent each weekend away from the program. When we reconvene on Monday I have asked my friend, “How was your weekend?” His response was, “Ah! The charms of (the named town) are somewhat limited.” For years this somewhat pretentious phrase reverberated in my mind as a place where there is little to do or see. I suppose, in many ways, it is how I (mistakenly) viewed Lancaster, Pennsylvania as well.

To my surprise Lancaster is much more than simply kitschy tourist destination that capitalizes on it Amish heritage. Beyond the notable and interesting events that took place in the city, today there are number of destinations that belie my initial impressions. Our twenty-four hours in Lancaster was a good reminder of the relationship between food and culture. Chief among our destinations was the Lancaster Central Market, a farmers market in downtown. Dating from 1780, and housed in the same building for 125 years, the farmers market in Lancaster is a great destination for locally-grown and organic food. 

Lancaster Central Market

In addition to the farmers market we were able to sample few of Lancaster's fantastic restaurant and café. Chief among our discoveries was La Dolce Vita Courthouse Bakery, a fine Italian bakery and coffee shop. After having a cinnamon almond twist and a coffee, I decided that it was the bakery and coffee shop of our desires; beautiful, yet low-key.

La Dolce Vita

Despite our gastronomic adventures, a demonstration at Penn Square reminded us of the importance of food not only to those enjoy it in abundance, but to those who are less fortunate. On display was an entire blanket of perfectly good food rescued from dumpsters. It reminded me of a powerful book from a few years ago, Waste: Uncovering the Global Food Scandal, and the amount of food that fails to make it from plough to plate.

Newspapers: Now and Then

One of my friends told me that he purchased a home-delivery subscription to the Washington Post. Noting how reasonable it was, he said that he wanted his daughters to see him reading a newspaper. While he could read the Post on his phone or a tablet, they might not know what he was reading. He knew quite well that his daughters might never hold or read an actual newspaper. More than likely, they would read some electronic version of the news and it will look vastly different from what we would call a newspaper. Nonetheless, he wanted his daughters to see that reading the newspaper was something he valued and, whatever form it took, they would do the same.

Steinman Park, Lancaster, Pennsylvania 

It was something of a coincidence that the following weekend I would find myself in Steinman Park in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, where a bronze statue of a man reading a copy of the Lancaster Sunday News, sits near the offices of the local newspaper. The man has a pipe in his suit jacket as he reads a copy of the 16 September 1925 edition of the paper, turned to a page with the headline, “Workmen Leave Permanent Record of Liquor Strike in 1815.” Since the article appeared during prohibition, it makes the story all the more intriguing. Laying beside the man on a bench sits two more editions pf the local newspaper waiting to be read, with men walking on the moon (1969) and the accident at Three Mile Island (1979).

I like newspapers as well. One of my great pleasures is sitting in a library thumbing through old newspapers or skimming microfilm copies. Some of the stories are incredible. It is not that I disparage new technology; in fact, it offers wider access to many of these great stories for those who look. But the format of how news is delivered does make me wonder what will become of these great archives and the treasures they hold.

Neon Signs

Ever since I heard an interview, on Thinking Allowed, with Christoph Ribbat, neon signs and lights have caught my attention more often. I have been attracted by their beauty and mysterious glow, but had not really thought about their social significance. Subsequently, I bought and read his book and have thought more about the place of these lights in our cultures. My visit to the Museum of Vancouver, with multiple restored neon lights, was a great introduction to the use, construction and preservation of neon. A segment in the recent Ric Sebak film, A History of Pittsburgh in 17 Objects focuses on the importance of neon as a dying art form.

Rather than creating multiple blog entries for newly discovered neon sign, I have created a page dedicated to some of my photographs of neon signs and the stories behind them. I will update as I find more signs, new places and interesting stories.

My collection of neon signs can be found at: http://curioussojourner.blogspot.com/p/neon-signs.html

August Explorations

Spence and I had a good week exploring some classic Americana sites. We had lunch at Eddie’s Diner, Wilkes Barre, Pennsylvania, that looks like a classic diner that has been remodeled, updated and has had substantial additions. In the original section, there are three booths to the right and a cashier stand with two additional booths to the left. There are 18 affixed stools along the straight counter, with a banner behind the counter noting the 25th anniversary of the diner (in 2012). The primary color scheme of the diner is a dark pink set against the stainless steel fixtures. Eddie’s Diner offered Spencer is first opportunity to try Birch Beer, which I think her enjoyed. The diner was busy and the servers knew many of the patrons by name.

The following day we made our way to Crystal Grottoes Caverns just outside Boonsboro, Maryland. The cave was discovered on 18 September 1920 when workers, excavating limestone to build Route 34, broke through and felt cool air emerging from the ground. After exploring the caverns, excavations were halted with the provision that the cave would be open to the public. The cave’s first day of business was 2 April 1922 when tourists were charged 7 cents to enter. Because no humans entered the cave until the twentieth century, many of the formations are pristine. This small roadside attraction, the only caves open to the general public in Maryland, is both fun and educational.

Just a few miles away stands the first completed memorial dedicated to George Washington on South Mountain.  Washington Monument State Park, located in Middletown, Maryland, was built by the citizens of Boonsboro on 4 July 1827. The more famous monument, the marble obelisk in Washington DC, was built between 1848 and 1884. Standing fifteen feet high at the end of the day, the Maryland monument was completed in September of that year can stood thirty feet. It has fallen into disrepair from time to time and was most recently rebuilt by the Civilian Conservation Corp in 1936.

A fellow visitor at the
Washington Monument

Holsum Bread Advertisement at Keystone Stores

The monument, which you can climb to the top of, offers a beautiful view of the valley below. Unfortunately, on the day we visited, the mountain was shrouded in clouds and fog. Every so often, the clouds would momentarily part to offer a tantalizing view of the valley below.

Our week ended with an exploration of the small borough of Pine Grove Pennsylvania. Among the interesting sites in the town was the Pine Grove Theatre, opened in 1910 and the Keystone Stores, an old grocery store that still has many of the old advertisements in its windows.

Grover Cleveland’s Boyhood Home

I had a few minutes to kill on a Monday morning in August and decided to seek out the boyhood home of the only American president to serve non-consecutive terms in office. Located on Academy Street Cleveland’s home in Fayetteville, NY still looks much the same as it did in the late nineteenth century. 

New York Central Railroad Station (Rome, NY)

Located on Martin Street, the train station in Rome was built between 1912 and 1914. The station was necessitated when tracks were realigned in the city and replaced an older station downtown. Currently, the station is served by Amtrak.

Restored in 2004, the interior of this lightly used station is beautiful. Many of the original (or at least old) features have been preserved. The wood benches that are fixtures in many stations look pristine. Signs direct patrons to services, such as newsagents and subways, that are no longer available. Overall, the station is a portal, not only to other places, but to a time when Rome was larger and more prosperous.  

A Texas Lunch in Lock Haven

Even though I had multiple ringed coffee-stains on my khaki shorts from a leaky cup I rested on my leg while driving, the employees and management of the Texas Lunch Restaurant in Lock Haven, Pennsylvania welcomed me to their fine establishment. After much consideration I chose the Texas Lunch after hearing an interview with Shawn Micallef about his new book about how we dismiss some eating options because of class concerns. This establishment, I decided, is where you have breakfast, not brunch. Open since 1918, the restaurant bills itself as the “home of the Growler,” which appears to be a hot dog of sorts. Large hot dogs and hamburgers seem to be a theme of “Texas lunch” establishments that dot Pennsylvania.

As you walk into the Texas Lunch, there are ten small booths that line the right hand wall. To the left is an open kitchen with a grill top and a deep fryer. Stainless steel is the predominant material throughout the restaurant. Beyond the cooking area, there is a double-U shaped counter with traditional diner stools, which is where I had my lunch. Prominently adorning the walls in the back of the restaurant are four replica New York Yankee uniforms (Ruth #3, Gehrig #4, DiMaggio #5, and Mantle #7). Across the way is a large shadow box with several autographed baseballs. There are a few items from Lock Haven University as well.

As I was having my grilled ham and cheese sandwich, two fellows wearing sleeveless shirts sat a few seats away at the counter. They each had two chili dogs and shared a plate of fries. Meanwhile, in a booth behind me, two late-middle age men talked about the experience of serving in the military while finishing the remainders of their soft drinks. This restaurant, located in the heart of downtown Lock Haven, is a place where all kinds of people gather for food and conversation, apparently for nearly 100 years.

Baseball: July 2014

Bowman Field in Williamsport, PA

This month I attended a game in my 48th minor league stadium, Susquehanna Bank Park at Historical Bowman Field in Williamsport, Pennsylvania. The stadium was built in 1926 and is currently the home of the Williamsport Crosscutters. Originally the field was named Memorial Field but was renamed in 1929 to honor J. Warren Bowman.

The outfield wall of Forbes Field

Bowman Field hosted its first game on 27 April 1926, which was the first of a two game series between the Williamsport Grays and the Harrisburg Giants of the Negro National League. The Grays played as a member of the New York-Pennsylvania League in 1926, but opened against the Giants as a warm-up exhibition. The Giants, a much more experienced team, won both games easily.

Homeplate from the final game at Forbes Field, 28 June 1970

On my way to see two games at PNC Park in Pittsburgh, I stopped by to recce the remains of old Forbes Field. The former home of the Pittsburgh Pirates, from 1909 to 1971, was the site of some historic players and games, including Roberto Clements and Honus Wagner. The stadium saw Bill Mazeroski’s World Series winning homerun as well as the final three homeruns of the Babe Ruth’s career. Today, all that remains of the great stadium are the outfield wall and home plate, which is situated inside Posvar Hall (University of Pittsburgh).

PNC Park (July 2014)

Statue of Satchel Paige at PNC Park 

Shippensburg Community Fair

Every year since 1958, during the full week in July, Shippensburg hosts the community fair that appeals to all generations. I know many people who regularly attend the fair so that they can eat meals on the fairgrounds. There is something nostalgic about the fair: the bright lights, the noises, and the smell of classic fair food, which entices us to amusement. Older people seem to channel their inner child; young people enjoy everything with reckless abandon. And the community renews itself each summer.