Lincoln's tomb

Springfield, Illinois is home to Oak Ridge Cemetery, the site of Lincoln's tomb, as well as many museums and historic sites, including the top-notch Lincoln Museum. 

Oak Ridge was the first stop on a busy day between Wisconsin and Kentucky, and is yet another place in another city that have both been added to the list of places to return to. For someone whose kids have orders to pull the plug, send me through the crematorium, and scatter the remains, I sure enjoy visiting other folks' final resting places, and the older the better.

Lincoln's tomb is away from the cemetery entrance in a spot chosen by his family in May of 1865 but construction did not begin on it until 1869; it was finally dedicated by President Ulysses S. Grant in 1874. It was named a Registered National Historic Landmark in 1964.

These are two of the four statues that anchor the corners of the monument, which represent the major armed services commanded by Lincoln during the Civil War - artillery, navy, cavalry, infantry. They were cast in part with metal from 65 cannon donated by the U.S. government.

Access to the tomb is through the ground-level door, shown a couple of pictures above. Lincoln is not actually buried in this Arkansas marble monument, but is ten feet below and slightly behind it, encased in steel and concrete. Mary Lincoln and three of their four sons are also buried here in separate crypts; son Robert is at Arlington.

The obelisk is 117 feet tall; fifteen feet were added during a 1899-1901 renovation.

Lincoln holds the Emancipation Proclamation. Shields below the statuary, each representing a state, ring the monument in a solid chain, symbolizing an undivided nation.

This is a beautiful and dignified monument - highly recommended.

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Thought of the day:
Now he belongs to the ages. (Secretary of War Edwin Stanton)

Nero fiddled while Rome burned

Spoiler alert: this is a bully pulpit post.

I've been holed up with kids and grands for more than a week but am back on the road, headed to my next volunteer gig at Andersonville National Historic Site in Georgia after short visits in Kentucky with my sister and brother. Headed to Andersonville if, that is, Congress collectively grows a spine, quits its self-serving, posturing malfeasance, and puts this country back to work.

I've been a federal employee, was married to a federal employee, have lived paycheck to paycheck, and grew up in a strong union town, Detroit, so I know what effect this nationwide strike (that's been imposed on everyone by 535 people, by the way) is having on people all across the country. The games Congress has been playing for almost three weeks now are unconscionable, but (and here's where I'm going to make some people mad) I believe it should be an all-or-nothing proposition: no one but absolutely essential personnel and services should be allowed to work or be open, which rules out Congressional staffers, its lunchroom, barbershop, and gym, no Social Security or Medicare, and no federal retiree and VA disability checks. Because these last two categories affect me I'm willing to include myself in the drastic and painful belt-tightening that's affecting hundreds of thousands of people and businesses around the country. Don't even get me started on foreign aid.

What's prompted this rant, although I've been ticked off since the shutdown began, was reading about national parks that have reopened due to special deals their states have negotiated with the National Park Service. I can't blame them, and during my five months at Petrified Forest, when I also had the privilege of visiting many other parks, monuments, and historic sites, I developed a really soft spot for our parks and the people who work there. But until the festering impasse being played out in Washington is resolved, until all federal employees are working, until all services are restored, I think it's a good idea for every possible American to feel the kick this shutdown is administering and when they tire of it, tell Congress to grow up and put this country back on its feet.

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Thought of the day:

The buck stops here. (Harry S Truman, and where is he when we need him?)

Get the hell outta....

One of my goals when I set out in March was to see a lot of museums, the good stuff and the oddball places. Last week I stopped in Dodge City, Kansas, and it was one of the good ones. I expected tacky and didn't get it.

Most of the items in the collection came from Charlie Beeson, who apparently had them piled here and there around his house before moving them to the Beeson Museum. I can only assume his wife said to get all that junk out of the house. Boot Hill Museum acquired many of the 60,000 items in the collection, which date from the 1870s through the 1920s, from the Beeson Museum when it closed in 1964.
 
A nice row of store fronts, maybe the original strip mall, has working sections such as the saloon, the photo parlor, and the restaurant. Other stores have museum exhibits of such things as farm equipment, dry goods, a barber shop, and a tooth-drawer.

The apothecary has a display case of tonics and patent medicines, including Canadian Hemp, Persian Pills, and Cramp Bark. No idea what good they were supposed to do.

Another section of the store fronts displays a bank teller's cage with a marvelous safe.

Here's something I can identify with, having peeled bushels of apples over the years with an automatic peeler, but nothing as formidable as this.

The Union Church:

This is from the Boot Hill museum's website:

"The interdenominational Union Church, which our church exhibit replicates, was built in 1874 or 1875 at First Avenue and Spruce Street, north of the downtown. It cost $1,000 to construct and held at least 100 worshipers.
"The Union Church used circuit preachers and hosted a wide variety of community functions. Dodge City had a reputation in its early days of being a place so wild and sinful that even God did not venture into her city limits. The Rev. Ormond W. Wright sought to change this when he went to Front Street saloons and gambling houses to solicit funds to maintain this church as a place where cowboys and settlers alike could join together to practice their faith in Christ.
"Wyatt Earp and Bat Masterson were deacons of this new church. The Union Church was the first building constructed in Dodge City dedicated to the practice of religion. With the construction of this building began the taming of the 'wickedest little city in America.'"

These communion cups fascinate me. Catholics used nothing of the kind and never got wine at all until after Vatican II.

A separate building had an impressive exhibit on the Plains Indians. I was especially taken with how the arrowheads were displayed, which reminded me of the head of a stalk of wheat.

Imagine the skill involved in knapping arrowheads like these. Just think of working for a couple of hours and dang! the final strike turns it into rubble.

Lamp posts around town are flagged with historical scenes such as this one. Dodge City has made the most of its history in a very nice way. I'm glad I stopped.

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Thought of the day:

What is life?
It is the flash of a firefly in the night.
It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime.
It is the little shadow which 
    runs across the grass 
       and loses itself in the sunset.

(Crowfoot, Blackfoot Warrior and Orator)

It's a long, long way to Tucumcari

(But only when you spend two hours at Costco in Albuquerque.) (And, yes, I know it's supposed to be Tipperary.)

It was good to be back on the road again yesterday, and I spent the first night out in Tucumcari, New Mexico. Tucumcari is a Route 66 town that's kept a lot of its charm. I'm a sucker for old signs and this place has an abundance.


Just $15 a night at the Cactus RV Park, a bargain, and a really nice office lady to boot. That's not the office lady; it's me.

The motel that used to be part of the RV park. I'm pretty sure, from the looks of it, that no one stays here anymore.

 

The Route 66 sign at the edge of town.

Lots of old motels are still open and have kept what look like the original signs.

 

The Blue Swallow Motel is the prettiest, and has refrigerated air.

I had dinner at Del's. Before I went in I got on the Character Readings scale in the lobby. I must not have any character, though; even though I paid all of a penny, nothing showed up in the little window. Oh yes, the machine could show my weight, no problem, but no character.

 

 Quality food at the Drive-Inn.

Eyes on Route 66. I thought this was an optometrist's office but it was just a Route 66 mural. Not sure I get the connection.

 
La Cita Mexican Foods is now a florist who had the sense to keep the sign and the architecture.

 I think Rubee's is still open.

The Texaco station is now an antique shop with a great paint job.

 The Welcome Center has a great George Jensen Jetson arrow/boomerang/space-thing going on. (Who is George Jensen?)

 

Trails West has an unmistakable arrow pointing the way.

Not too many of the neon signs are still lit, but Tepee Curios is in perfect working order.

What I would have called the Thunderbird Lounge is instead called the Lizard Lounge. Don't ask me.

I'm fairly certain the Drive In part does not refer to getting a tattoo.

 The truck might be Art. There's no other explanation.

After leaving Tucumcari, the road took me through a small part of the Texas panhandle. When I left Texas in 1987 after four loooooooooooong years, I swore I'd never set foot in the state again. Yet here I was. You just can't say never.

This accordion building was next to where I stopped for a break, somewhere near Dalhart, Texas.

Nowhere but Texas. Really.

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Thought of the day:
I haven't been everywhere, but it's on my list. (Susan Sontag)

I haven’t been everywhere, but it’s on my list.