The email versions of my trip blog are frustrating! They are not up to the standard of what is seen on the actual website, where the Boston-Bound travel blog is actually published. Sorry for the broken links and sideways pictures. The website has the proper views! www.ellenhume.com
We were surprised at how deserted the Mississippi River waterfront was, including the tourist area around the St. Louis Arch. Where was everyone?
We found a lovely grassy park and flower garden, and plenty of parking places nearby, along the river. A paddle wheel tourist boat, and a ship consisting almost entirely of a helicopter landing pad, were anchored nearby, but without any takers or helicopters in sight. At the sports bar in our hotel, they were showing a professional soccer feed from Europe. Why was it Real Madrid v. Bayern on TV instead of the St. Louis Cardinals baseball game? “I have no idea,” confessed the waitress. “Do you think there’s a Fake Madrid?” she wisecracked.
We could see the shining Arch from our hotel window, but more prominent in our view was the building directly across the street, advertising “Axe Throwing — Corporate Team Building.” That certainly made sense to me.
Walk-ins welcome
The manager said that his empty hall, with axe-throwing lanes like a bowling alley, had been open only a week. “The escape room people like the axes,” he said, hopefully.
We walked a couple of blocks up the street looking for dinner, dodging several drunks and homeless people, who were begging for money. We did what we could for them, but like San Francisco, the problem was too great for us to solve by ourselves. Our chosen restaurant, recommended by the hotel, turned out to be a little weak on both service and menu options. “We’re closing on Saturday,” the waiter confessed. We packed up our leftovers, and gave them to one of the street people who accosted us on the way home.
The next night we took a taxi to “B.B.’s Ribs, Blues and Soup” in a different part of town, where we found world-class live music, but not all the tables were filled. When we left, the streets were overwhelmed by baseball fans, pouring out of the nearby ballpark. So that’s where everyone was!
We later learned that St. Louis is the second most crime-ridden city in America. What a pity. The blossoming trees around the Arch look so inviting, and the barbecue and blues venues offer something uniquely American, in an authentic setting.
We said a final goodbye to the Lewis and Clark statue by the river, and drove off to Chicago, hoping that St. Louis might find an appreciative audience…in the summertime?
In Abilene, Kansas, we stopped by the Eisenhower Presidential Library to see its version of America. Not only was John curious to see what was there, as the former head of the JFK Presidential Library Foundation, but I wanted to research what happened to my father during the Eisenhower administration’s anti-communist purge of the State Department.
My father had proudly worked at the UN Charter conference in San Francisco, as a junior State Department economist. Seven years later, our family was living in Mexico, where he was serving in the foreign service, when he was suddenly fired with no explanation. A State Department colleague confided to him privately that he had been part of a purge of the civil service, to create more slots for political appointments. The excuse, during these dark days of GOP Sen. Joseph McCarthy’s anti-communist witch hunts, was that he was a security threat! This was preposterous. But apparently when Dad had gone to the UN charter conference, he had needed the sign-off from his State department top boss, someone he really didn’t know. That man’s name was Alger Hiss. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alger_Hiss
So my father, the most patriotic US Navy reservist, intelligence officer during WW2, moderate Republican and pro-American person in every possible way, had summarily lost his government job without any discussion or official explanation from authorities. Our later efforts to find an explanation for this, when the Freedom of Information Act was passed, were fruitless. He was told that his personnel records had been purged and destroyed as a privacy measure!
The Eisenhower library staff were willing to help, but we didn’t make much headway. We drove on to Independence, MO, home of the Harry S. Truman Presidential Library. It was full of propaganda posters that confirmed the scary political atmosphere of the 1950s. McCarthy claimed to have evidence of an international communist conspiracy within the State Department, controlled by Russia.
Forty years later, when I served on the bipartisan Presidential Commission to Protect and Reduce Government Secrecy, I learned that there was indeed a Russian spy network in US government during the 1950s. But historians agree that the threat from a few spies was misused as a broad weapon against innocent officials, artists, liberals, trade unionists, government critics, homosexuals, and others. Fortunately, my father went on to a happy academic career, including many consulting contracts with the U.S. government, so he wasn’t ruined, as many others were, by McCarthy’s reign of terror. When he died, my father was a captain in the US Naval Reserve, and was buried with full military honors at Arlington National Cemetery.
Our current Republican President is waging the opposite kind of scare campaign now, saying Russia’s genuine efforts in 2018 to undermine our democracy, which the intelligence community has documented beyond any doubt, were manufactured by the Democrats to personally discredit him. He calls anyone with specific, verified evidence a liar, and says they are spreading “fake news.” Instead, he says, we should be afraid of the rag-tag refugees who are desperately pouring over our border from war zones.
Let’s see how history judges Trump and his approach to Russia and the refugees.
Feeling as if we were refugees from Trump’s America, and had been transported back into a simpler past in the 1950s, we stopped for an ice cream sundae at the drug store lunch counter in Independence, MO where Truman worked as a young man.
Then we got into Easy Rider, and headed back to reality. Our next stop: St. Louis, home of the Lewis and Clark expedition, wicked barbecue, and those famous Blues. We would leave white suburban America for Black urban America, with its many cultural gifts and challenges.
We left the dinosaur tracks behind and headed toward Kansas’s Chisholm Trail, stopping at the historic watering holes of Hays and Abilene. This was truly the wild west 150 years ago, when gun-slinging cowboys herded 5 million Texas longhorn cattle through this flat and fertile land, infuriating both the local cattle ranchers and civilized society.
“In 1866, cattle in Texas were worth only $4 per head, compared to over $40 per head in the North and East, because lack of market access during the American Civil War had led to over stock of cattle in Texas.—Wikipedia, The Chisholm Trail
We didn’t see many cattle, as we passed through vast stretches of wheat fields and windmills. Finally we pulled off to a side road, without any promise of a real town or a restaurant, and stumbled upon Lulu’s, whose hand-lettered sign offered no hint of the vibrant establishment inside. We sat a few tables away from a dozen motorcycle dudes in full leather and tattoos. Audie, our waitress, said the place was “blue collar, but family-oriented.” Pointing to the vast dance floor, she recommended coming back for the live bands, alternating country and rock music, on weekends. There was a horseshoe pitch out back, she added.
We reluctantly pushed off, because we needed to get to Abilene by nightfall. But there was one more unexpected stop that we couldn’t resist. “Vitame Vas! Wilson, Czech Capitol of Kansas,” said the sign along the highway. We turned off for a quick visit, eager to reconnect with our Czech memories from living in Prague from 1998-2000.
Sure enough, in the middle of once-thriving Wilson, next to the remains of a giant grain elevator and the weedy railroad tracks, we encountered the world’s largest Czech Easter Egg.
Hoping for some immigrant stories to go with it, we followed the weather-beaten signs to the Czech cultural center. Alas, it was nowhere to be found among Wilson’s modest houses and shuttered storefronts. So we stopped at the sole establishment that seemed open, a bakery and café with a homemade sign indicating its name was Made From Scratch. The waitress was friendly, especially since strangers didn’t stop in Wilson very often. But she had bad news for us. She guessed that the Czech cultural center burned down years ago. Seeing our disappointment, she motioned to an old guy at the bar, with a flowing beard. Joe pieced together some directions for where it might be. “Where are you from?” he asked. “Boston,” we said. “Take me with you,” he said.
We cruised around town, peering in the window of one possible place, hoping to try out our Czech. But no one answered the bell. Even the Chamber of Commerce was closed.
So here in Kansas was another haunted rural outpost, like Green River, UT, that once bustled with promise. Wilson had its days of agricultural glory and hopeful, hard-working immigrants. On a sunny Monday in mid-April, there was little left to see or do there.The town seemed deserted and the businesses closed. Yet still the remaining townsfolk displayed a unique contribution to America’s greatness: a gigantic, perfectly painted Czech Easter Egg. Wishing we could come back in July for the promised after-harvest Czech festival, we left, saying “Dobry Den!” and “Na schledanou” to no one in particular, out the car window, in case someone might hear us and take heart.
April 20-21 Glenwood Hot Springs and Lakewood, Colorado
Driving east into Colorado, we found Glenwood’s sulphorous hot springs especially relaxing after the dusty hike through Arches. We had ascended in a snow storm through the Rocky Mountains. Freezing sleet fell on our heads as we soaked in the open-air pool, but we were oblivious, melting in the hot waters. It took a hearty dinner to restore our energy and our ambition to keep going.
Sulphurous Hot Springs
The next morning we crossed over the Continental Divide, stopping for lunch in Vail, where the slopes had closed for the season, so the tourists were gone. The snow stopped before we had to install our chains, but now the emergency roadside signs said the main highway to Denver was closed by a wildfire! The area has been suffering multiple years of drought. We managed to find our way past the smoky remains of the roadside fire, arriving at nightfall in Lakewood, the southern Denver suburb we had randomly picked out so we could avoid the city.
The dinosaur motif in our motel lobby should have tipped us off, but it took a while to figure out we had landed right next to Morrison, CO where the first Stegasauraus bones were discovered! We had stumbled into a mecca of dinosaur digs and archeology treasures. What a fabulous, unexpected joy to spend the next morning at Dinosaur Ridge, with its “Jurassic Time Bronto Bulges”, baby dinosaur tracks, and prehistoric mangrove swamp.
By mid-day it was time to make our own tracks to Hays, Kansas, which I remembered as a wild west cowboy town. We left behind the stormy Colorado mountain peaks, and descended onto an entirely different landscape: the flat, sunny wheat fields of America’s Midwest.