The Kingdome

Years to build… 17 seconds to implode…

March 26, 2024

The era of professional football in the United States was ascendant in the 1950’s and into the early 1960’s. Pretty much every major city in the United States wanted to get in on the action.

*On the day of the Mariner’s last game in the building 1999.*

But for many cities, weather was a limiting factor. After all, playing in a foot of snow, blistering heat, or constant rain, was not ideal for the players or the fans. In the 1950’s the dream of indoor stadiums took hold. It was in Houston, in the early 1960’s, when the first such venue – the Astrodome – became a reality. Others followed.

Many in Washington State longed to have a pro-football franchise and believed the rainy climate on the west side of the Cascade Mountains called for an indoor stadium. Thus began the quest to build what would eventually be named “The Kingdome.”

It was in 1959 when the idea was first proposed but it took until 1976 for the vision to become a reality. The Infallible Wikipedia tells us:

“The idea of constructing a covered stadium for a major league football or baseball team was first proposed to Seattle officials in 1959. Voters rejected separate measures to approve public funding for such a stadium in 1960 and 1966, but the outcome was different in 1968; King County voters approved the issue of $40 million in municipal bonds to construct the stadium.

*Jim Zorn and Steve Largent in the early days of the Seahawks franchise*

Construction began in 1972 and the stadium opened in 1976 as the home of the Sounders and Seahawks. The Mariners moved in the following year, and the SuperSonics moved in the year after that, only to move back to the Seattle Center Coliseum in 1985.”

The Kingdome, named as such due to its location in King County, Washington, served the community as a venue not only for the Seahawks and other sports teams, but also as an event center to host large events such as the Seattle Home Show and the Seattle Boat Show as well as many rock concerts over the years.

“In the Seahawks’ heyday, the Kingdome was known as one of the loudest stadiums in the league. Opposing teams were known to practice with jet engine sounds blaring at full blast to prepare for the painfully high decibel levels typical of Seahawks games. It was where Seahawks fans, who were long called “the 12th Man” and led the Seahawks to retire the number 12 in honor of them in 1984, made their reputation as one of the most ravenous fan bases in the NFL, a reputation that has carried over to what is now Lumen Field. The Kingdome’s reputation contributed to the NFL’s 1989 vote in favor of enacting a rule penalizing home teams for excessive crowd noise.”

*A view of the Kingdome during one of the Boat Shows*

But, if there was one word to describe the Kingdome it would be ‘utilitarian.’ How else to explain the huge gray cement mushroom which lacked any aesthetic appeal? But it did the job and also became infamous among the indoor venues for the noise levels. Also from the Infallible Wikipedia:

By the 1990’s, the first iteration of domed stadiums had outlived their appeal and useful life. The Kingdome’s roof – problematic from the beginning – had a partial roof collapse in July 1994, and the venue was closed for repairs for nearly four months. But the problems did not end there, threats by then owner, Ken Behring, to move the team out of Seattle – and the Mariners insistence on a new baseball venue – eventually led to the decision to replace the Kingdome.

It was on Sunday, March 26, 2000, when the Kingdome was finally reduced to a pile of rubble, paving the way for the construction of the next generation of a football stadium in Seattle.

*The interior of the Kingdome in 1994 during removal of the ceiling tiles.*

It was a clear and pleasant day and, of course, all the local TV stations had been covering the story for months as everything from inside the building was removed leaving, at last, the concrete shell. For weeks – who knows maybe it was months – holes were drilled in the walls and a serpentine of detonating cord was laid. Eventually dynamite was inserted into the holes and it was all connected up in anticipation of the implosion which would take down the concrete beast.

At the time, my family was living on the eastside of Lake Sammamish, about 13 miles – as the crow flies – from the Kingdome. We gathered around the TV and watched live as the first sticks of dynamite on the roof sent streaks of sparks down the spines and the chain reaction encircled the building. It was over in a matter of seconds as clouds of dust obliterated the area. Me, the hubby, and our two kids – then ages 10 and 7 – once the main event was over, rushed out to our west facing deck and a few seconds later the sound waves of the Kingdome’s demise reached us.

A recap of King5’s coverage and a bit of history of the Kingdome. We were likely watching this channel that morning.

It was a surreal experience.

In some ways I miss the Kingdome and all it represented. It was Seattle – and Washington States’ – message to the world that we were ready to play with the big boys. The construction of the Kingdome represented a heady era in Seattle as we welcomed the Seahawk celebrities of the era: Jim Zorn, Steve Largent, and Sherman Smith to name a few. We were hometown proud of the Nordstrom family for owning the team and you could find no more loyal fans anywhere.

It was, truly, a bittersweet day when the Kingdome came down. It’s been gone for 24 years now but for those of us who lived in King County in that era, it won’t ever be forgotten.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kingdome

https://youtu.be/Yt2ekbkDVv4?si=MPgKbrFeS3BCkCtZ – Issued on the 20^th anniversary from the Seahawks is this recap of the implosion

https://www.concertarchives.org/venues/kingdome

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Astrodome

https://www.historylink.org/File/2164

Anne Frank

Mar12

Diary of A Young Girl

March 12, 2024

A Tuesday Newsday Classic Updated

Required reading for all junior high students in the 1970’s, Anne Frank: Diary of a Young Girl, both inspired and dismayed.

Although the exact date of the 15 year olds death is in question, March 12, 1945, is designated as such.

While I tend to avoid controversial and depressing topics, there is no question that this book ranks within the top tier of the most important works of the 20^th century and deserves recognition as such.

Anne Frank lived in the Netherlands on June 12, 1942 – her 13^th birthday – along with her parents and sister. It was on that date she was given her first ‘diary.’ From the Infallible Wikipedia:

“During the Nazi occupation of the Netherlands, Anne Frank received a blank diary as one of her presents on June 12, 1942, her 13th birthday. According to the Anne Frank House, the red, checkered autograph book which Anne used as her diary was actually not a surprise, since she had chosen it the day before with her father when browsing a bookstore near her home. She began to write in it on June 14, 1942, two days later.

*Anne Frank’s Diary which is preserved at the Anne Frank House museum*

On July 5, 1942, Anne’s older sister Margot received an official summons to report to a Nazi work camp in Germany, and on July 6, Margot and Anne went into hiding with their father Otto and mother Edith. They were joined by Hermann van Pels, Otto’s business partner, including his wife Auguste and their teenage son Peter. Their hiding place was in the sealed-off upper rooms of the annex at the back of Otto’s company building in Amsterdam. Otto Frank started his business, named Opekta, in 1933. He was licensed to manufacture and sell pectin, a substance used to make jam. He stopped running his business while everybody was in hiding. But once he returned, he found his employees running it. The rooms that everyone hid in were concealed behind a movable bookcase in the same building as Opekta. Mrs. van Pels’s dentist, Fritz Pfeffer, joined them four months later. In the published version, names were changed: The van Pelses are known as the Van Daans, and Fritz Pfeffer as Albert Dussel. With the assistance of a group of Otto Frank’s trusted colleagues, they remained hidden for two years and one month.”

The family and the others were discovered in August 1944 and taken to concentration camps. It was in the Bergen-Belsan camp where Anne, who contracted Typhus, and her sister both died. Of the hidden group, only Otto Frank survived. Those who concealed the family found and saved her diaries and gave the books to her father. It was he who got them published.

I can’t say exactly when I was first required to read the book, but no doubt it was in junior high (middle school to Americans under the age of 40). The timing of it likely coincided with when I became obsessed with keeping a diary. Perhaps I had visions of my musings being enshrined forever in a similar manner. Young teenage girls are, particularly, susceptible to drama and tragedy. Unlike Anne Frank, however, my diary entries included such riveting entries such as this one:

“March 1 (1972)

Well here we go again another month gone by. I’m 14 years, 7 months today. It was strange today we have had about four inches of snow, oh joy! I felt like I was being watched. We had a meeting at Mrs. Hughey’s this evening. We started Co-education volleyball in P.E. but I didn’t take it because I can’t, doctor’s orders. Yea! It can’t be that bad but if you take a look at last year’s diary today, you’d understand!”

When I look back to that first week of March of 1971, the misery of having to play co-ed volleyball with 14 year old boys screams through the pages. I know for certain those boys wanted to play Co-ed volleyball about as much as the girls did. Which was not at all. I imagine they were frustrated by the experience also.

The five diaries I have saved. One year I switched to writing in a looseleaf notebook and ALWAYS used a green Flair pen. I am not sure what happened to that year. The 1976 diary is the last one I kept but by then I was 18 and the entries are few and far between. In 1971 I decided to write to my diary which I named Karri. Who knows!

For me, playing co-ed volleyball when you have the co-ordination and look of a newborn colt, is about the worse torture you can inflict on a teenage girl. The reason I couldn’t play volleyball in 1972 is that I was still recovering from a nine day case of the hard measles. (We didn’t have a measles vaccination then… get your kids vaccinated. Trust me on this) While I was sick I lost approximately 10 pounds… weight I could not afford to lose since I was, according to the identification pages at the front of my diary, 5’7” and 110 pounds. Yes, the colt reference is accurate. And, apparently, getting snow in early March isn’t that uncommon either.

What I do know is that the keeping of a diary galvanized for me a thing which has been a lifelong passion: to write. My musings are juvenile and without finesse and yet I do a credible job in dutifully recording all that was going on in my life at that time.

I am thankful that my teenage years were during an easier time in history; they will never carry the same weight and warnings of Anne Frank. The five years of books which I still have are a reminder that being a teenager is an awkward time in life regardless of the era. I suspect, also, that every teenager experiences some angst to one degree or another. Well, except maybe the most popular girl in my class… I’m certain HER life was perfect. Or not.

Anne Frank’s diaries – despite being written under the most challenging of circumstances – still ring true as to the thoughts and emotions of a girl on the cusp of becoming a woman. While her story had a tragic ending, I am thankful that her father made it his mission to see her words published and to serve as a reminder that each generation must be vigilant as to the dangers of persecution.

For more about Anne Frank and her diary, a couple of links:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Diary_of_a_Young_Girl

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anne_Frank

Albuquerque Balloon Festival

Nov21

Celebrating over two centuries of balloon flight

November 21, 2023

A Tuesday Newsday Classic Updated

If you want to see the largest gathering of hot air balloons in the world, mark your calendar for October 2024 and plan to visit the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta. From a small gathering of 13 balloons in 1972, the spectacle has grown to become the largest display of balloons in the world. Now, 51 years later, there are about 600 balloons and 700 pilots featured at the annual event.

*Just a few of the hundreds of balloons and thousands of people at the Albuquerque Balloon Festival 2018*

In the world of hot air balloons, November 21, is an important first. It was on this date in 1783 when two Frenchmen, Jean-François Pilâtre deRozier and the Marquis d’Arlandes, became the first humans to travel in a ship through the ‘air.’

From the moment people could harness their imaginations, there has been no greater desire than to be able to soar like birds, high above the ground.

*Artwork depicting De Rosier’s November 1783 flight*

DeRozier, who can credibly be dubbed the father of flight, made this happen after years of experimenting with gases and how they reacted and interacted; he parlayed his obsession to a career as a teacher and scientist and, as such, opened a museum for nobles to come and witness his experiments.

From the Infallible Wikipedia:

“After several tethered tests to gain some experience of controlling the balloon, DeRozier and d’Arlandes made their first un-tethered flight in a Montgolfier hot air balloon on 21 November 1783, taking off at around 2 p.m. from the garden of the Château de la Muette in the Bois de Boulogne, in the presence of the King. Their 25-minute flight travelled slowly about 5½ miles (some 9 km) to the southeast, attaining an altitude of 3,000 feet, before returning to the ground at the Butte-aux-Cailles, then on the outskirts of Paris.”

By all accounts, DeRozier was fearless and continued his experiments with what we know as ‘hot air balloons.’ Several successful balloon flights followed and, in June 1785, he took on his most ambitious journey which was to travel from France to England across the English Channel. Because of the distance involved, DeRozier determined that using just hot air (powered by stoves set up in the balloon basket!) would not be enough to make the journey. Instead he developed his own balloon – called the DeRozier Balloon – which was powered by use of hydrogen fuel to heat the air. By all accounts it should have worked. But a sudden change in wind direction pushed the balloon back, and caused it to rapidly deflate. It plummeted 1500 feet to the ground, killing DeRozier and the two others onboard.

The accident ended the adventurer’s life and research, but the “modern hybrid gas and hot air balloon is named the Rozière balloon after his pioneering design.”

*The author and her hubby at the 2018 Festival*

When we lived in Redmond, Washington, it was always fun to head to the Sammamish slough and watch the cluster of hot air balloons which would soar over the valley on summer evenings. Then, in 2018, the hubby and I had the opportunity to attend the Albuquerque International Balloon Festival with a group from Washington Eastern Star. What an incredible experience! We left our hotel long before dawn and rode on a tour bus to the venue. The roads were jammed with festival goers. And out the windows of the bus we could see, one by one, the balloons in the distance glow to life in the dark skies, illuminated by the burning gases.

*A kaleidoscope of colorful balloons fill the sky*

Although it was after sunrise when our bus finally arrived on site, we feasted on the spectacle of hundreds of colorful balloons. It was fascinating to watch as each balloon grew large, eventually lifting into the sky. There were all shapes of animals; Balloons from cartoons and movies; geometric designs, patriotic themes, and holidays. There was even one balloon depicting Vincent Van Gogh. I never tired of the colorful variety or the ever changing kaleidoscope of balloons and hope to one day have a return trip to New Mexico’s Balloon Fiesta.

To read more about DeRozier and balloon flight:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jean-Fran%C3%A7ois_Pil%C3%A2tre_de_Rozier

A general history of Balloon flight: http://bellestar.org/faq/default.html

A link to the Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta: https://balloonfiesta.com/

Tacoma Narrows Bridge

Nov7

The rise and fall of Galloping Gertie

November 7, 2023

A Tuesday Newsday Classic

*Galloping Gertie just before the collapse on November 7, 1940*

Last week we explored the world of horseracing and author Dick Francis. This week we will be discussing galloping. But unlike how a horse gallops, this galloping took place on November 7, 1940 and has since become a text-book example of what NOT to do when building a bridge.

It was on this date when the Tacoma Narrows Bridge collapsed and sank. It was dubbed ‘Galloping Gertie’ as even the most gentle of breezes would cause the roadway to sway. I can only imagine the feeling of unease one had when driving over the structure.

For a local newsman it proved terrifying. From the Infallible Wikipedia:

“Leonard Coatsworth, a Tacoma News Tribune editor, was the last person to drive on the bridge:

‘Around me I could hear concrete cracking. I started back to the car to get the dog, but was thrown before I could reach it. The car itself began to slide from side to side on the roadway. I decided the bridge was breaking up and my only hope was to get back to shore.

‘On hands and knees most of the time, I crawled 500 yards or more to the towers… My breath was coming in gasps; my knees were raw and bleeding, my hands bruised and swollen from gripping the concrete curb… Toward the last, I risked rising to my feet and running a few yards at a time… Safely back at the toll plaza, I saw the bridge in its final collapse and saw my car plunge into the Narrows.’”

The bridge had opened only four months earlier! In reading about everything that went wrong the biggest mistake seemed to have been that in a desire to save money on what was perceived as a bridge which would be lightly used, the design was flawed from the beginning.

Ultimately they determined the bridge failure was due to ‘aeroelastic flutter’. Unless, of course, you are an engineer the term means little. The film of the event for us laypeople, however, reveals a structure bucking like an unbroken stallion during its first ride.

*The Hood Canal bridge after it sank in February 1979*

Although I was not around in 1940, I was attending college in Tacoma on February 13, 1979 when another bridge met the same fate as Galloping Gertie. It was on this day when I truly grasped the power of a Pacific Northwest windstorm. During the night prior to its sinking, sustained winds of 85 mph buffeted the Hood Canal floating bridge. They estimated gusts up to 120 mph (called a ‘hurricane’ most any place else as any sustained wind over 72 mph is classified as such) had occurred. The structure was swamped and at 7 a.m. that dark, windy and rainy morning, the bridge sank.

Fast forward to November of 1990 and yet a third Washington state bridge met a similar doom. We watched in fascinated horror live TV news on the morning of November 25^th as the floating bridge – being resurfaced to continue carrying traffic while a new span was constructed – which connected Mercer Island to Seattle was inundated. As my husband no doubt said at the time: “surf’s up!”

In the 30 plus years I’ve lived in Western Washington there are a couple rules you can count on me following. First, I will do anything I can to avoid driving in a windstorm. I’ll drive in rain, snow, sleet, and dark of night but the wind stops me. I’m not talking about a bit of wind but sustained winds over 40 mph.

*The I-90 bridge between Mercer Island and Seattle as it sank in November 1990*

Second, I will move to the northeast corner of any structure, especially one with nearby cedar trees. The worst PNW winds almost always blow from the southwest; if a tree is going to come down it will fall from that direction. Plus, cedar trees have very shallow roots and, unless there’s a cluster of them with an intertwined root system, tend to be the trees which come down during the storms. When we lived in Kirkland, my family knew that a heavy wind meant ‘going to the mattresses’ and sleeping on the floor of the living room as far from the trees as possible.

November is definitely the start of windstorm ‘season’ so remember to batten your hatches when the wind blows…and you just might want to avoid driving on bridges.

As always some interesting links PLUS a video from the Washington State History museum which tells the entire Galloping Gertie story.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tacoma_Narrows_Bridge_(1940)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pacific_Northwest_windstorm

http://www.wsdot.wa.gov/TNBhistory/Connections/connections3.htm

Hernando De Soto vs. The Crimson Tide

May30

Florida in June? Not so much.

May 30, 2023

It’s a Tuesday Newsday Classic updated with fun new observations!

According to the “Today in History” site it was on May 30, 1539, when explorer Hernando de Soto landed near Tampa Bay, Florida. Being that it was almost June and not January, de Soto didn’t spend long there. After all, Disney World would not be carved from the alligator and snake infested swamp lands until October 1971, 432 years later. And June in Florida is rather hot and humid, so I can’t really blame him for not wanting to be there that time of year. Who would?

De Soto is an interesting explorer. Sponsored by Spain his mission appears to have been to claim what was to become the United States for the mother country. He left Florida and meandered about the south through Georgia, South Carolina and Tennessee. Things were going okay until he got to Alabama where he encountered a rather hostile group of native people. According to the Infallible Wikipedia:

“De Soto’s expedition spent another month in the Coosa chiefdom before turning south toward the Gulf of Mexico to meet two ships bearing fresh supplies from Havana. Along the way, de Soto was led into Mauvila (or Mabila), a fortified city in southern Alabama. The Mobilian tribe, under Chief Tuskaloosa, ambushed de Soto’s army. Other sources suggest de Soto’s men were attacked after attempting to force their way into a cabin occupied by Tuskaloosa. The Spaniards fought their way out, and retaliated by burning the town to the ground. During the nine-hour encounter, about 200 Spaniards died, and 150 more were badly wounded, according to the chronicler Elvas. Twenty more died during the next few weeks. They killed an estimated 2,000-6,000 warriors at Mabila, making the battle one of the bloodiest in recorded North American history.”

De Soto was, it would seem, the first visiting team to face the mighty Crimson Tide. The Spaniards escaped to Mississippi but their quest for a national championship was doomed. Their bad luck continued and they were plagued by more unhappy natives, disease and lack of supplies. De Soto, committed to his mission, eventually was stopped by the Big Muddy near what is the happy sounding, present day, Sunflower Landing, Mississippi. He saw that body of water as a pain in the neck, keeping him from his westward march for domination. His relationship with the Mississippi River did not end well.

Every once in awhile someone will record a video of the Florida natives…

No, it wasn’t the natives, the gators, or the snakes which killed him nor did he drown in the river. Instead it was a fever. He died May 21, 1542 in a native village on the western banks of the river near present day MacArthur, Arkansas.

Truly I am surprised that it wasn’t some sort of wildlife. Take alligators for instance. These fascinating creatures, according to urban legend, occupy EVERY pond, lake, roadside ditch and swamp in Florida. Consider that there are some 7,500 lakes, ponds, etc. What if most contain two gators? Or three? We are talking at least 15,000 alligators hanging out and waiting for some unsuspecting critter or person to wander by and provide them dinner. No thank you.

Then there are the snakes. With nearly 50 species which call Florida home the chances of seeing one is probably fairly high. Which the hubby and I found out when visiting there in May 2007. We had flown down for a conference he was attending and on our final day we walked across the street from the hotel to find a Geocache (https://barbaradevore.com/2022/05/03/geocaching/).

The GPS directed us to the other side of a band of scrubby trees. There was some knee high grass growing up through the cracks of abandoned asphalt and it all seemed perfectly benign. Right up to when the 47 foot black snake slithered towards us. Okay, so the snake wasn’t 47 feet. More like eight. I mean it was huge to us wusses from Western Washington who never have to deal with such things. The worst thing we ever see are garter snakes and those are about the cutest, most benign snake ever. The snake we saw in Florida was either a Black Indigo Snake or Black Racer Snake. Not one of the six venomous ones which live there. Right.

A quick internet search turned up one estimate that there are about 50,000 snakes just in Florida. That’s more snakes than people in the line ahead of you to ride the Tower of Terror.

Our snake encounter was dutifully recorded in our Geocaching log:

While visiting Florida was fun, encountering snakes, worrying about alligators, sinkholes, and hurricanes not so much.

As it turned out for Hernando, Florida was not quite ready to be colonized. It was the stodgy British who, seventy years later, successfully established colonies in the new world. But those people had to live in Massachusetts in the winter since cheap flights to Florida for a sunny getaway in dreary January were not yet a thing. I would have been stodgy too.

*The author as far away from the snakes as possible in Florida.*

For more about the life of Hernando de Soto: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hernando_de_Soto

For more about alligators: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_alligator

University of Florida guide to black colored snakes: https://edis.ifas.ufl.edu/publication/uw251

Fort Clatsop

Dec6

Retreat from a Dismal Nitch

December 6, 2022

I think I can trace my interest in – and love of – history back to this place which was identified as the location where the Lewis & Clark Expedition would spend the winter of 1805-06. It was on December 6, 1805 when the various scribes for the expedition reported being flooded out by a particularly high tide. The next day, they moved their camp to what would become Fort Clatsop.

For anyone who lives in the Pacific Northwest, you know that winters tend to be wet, miserable, and cold. I often joke (well, sort of) that winter in Seattle is forty degrees and rain.

And so it was for the L&C Expedition. When they arrived at the mouth of the Columbia River in November 1805, they set up camp on the north – in what would become the state of Washington – side of the river in a spot which, according to the Infallible Wikipedia was described as follows:

“On November 10, 1805, a severe winter storm struck the area, forcing them off the river for six days and preventing them from meeting the supply ships. The group landed in a cove on the north bank of the river that Captain William Clark called in his journals ‘that dismal little nitch’. With no more fresh food and their soaked clothes literally rotting away, he wrote that ‘A feeling person would be distressed by our situation’ and was concerned for the Corps safety for just the second time in the expedition, in danger of foundering just a few miles short. Upon the arrival of calm weather, the company left in great haste and moved to Station Camp on the west side of Point Ellice (referred to by Clark as ‘blustering point’, ‘Stormey point’, and ‘Point Distress.’), and camped at that location for 10 days before relocating for the winter to what would become Fort Clatsop.”

It is apparent that the explorers were treated to a pretty typical northwest winter. When they arrived at their final destination, they went right to work building the Fort. Also from the Infallible Wikipedia:

“Construction of the fort was slow, due to the incessant precipitation and unyielding wind that made working conditions less than ideal. On December 23, people started to move into the dwelling, even though it didn’t yet have a roof. The next day, Christmas Eve, everyone moved in. On Christmas Day it was named ‘Fort Clatsop’ in reference to the local Indian tribe.”

*Firefighters putting out the last of the October 2005 fire which destroyed the 50 year old structure*

Now, I don’t know about all of you, but for them to get the fort completed in 15 days doesn’t sound particularly slow what with all the permits they no doubt needed. Or not.

Regardless, it does seem that the weather affected them at every turn. They endured a long and rainy winter. The elk they killed for food would spoil quickly and many in the expedition were dealing with chronic maladies, made worse by the conditions.

Although they originally planned to stay until April 1, 1806, that date was moved up to March 20 and then delayed for three days due… to the weather.

After they departed, the rough hewn fort fell into disrepair and by the middle of the 19^th century had rotted away. Then to mark the 150^th anniversary of Fort Clatsop’s founding, a replica of the original structure was built using William Clark’s drawings as a guide.

For 50 years that fort stood and then, on October 3, 2005, a fire destroyed it, a mere two months before the planned celebration of the 200^th year since Fort Clatsop’s founding.

Yet, in the spirit of the Corps of Discovery, a team of volunteers sprang into action:

“A new replica, more rustic and rough-hewn, was built by about 700 volunteers in 2006; it opened with a dedication ceremony that took place on December 9. The site is currently operated by the National Park Service.”

It speaks volumes to think that the original Corps of Discovery had 36 men who managed to build Fort Clatsop in 15 days and then 200 years later it took 700 to do the same.

*My sister and her daughters along with my son and daughter at Fort Clatsop 1999*

Now, if you are wondering how it is that Fort Clatsop inspired my love of history, we have to go back to a few short years after the original replica was built. My first trip to Long Beach, Washington, was – from what I have gathered based on home movies – was likely the summer of 1961 or 1962. There is footage of our family along with another family, vacationing on the Washington coast. It is possible we went to Fort Clatsop for the first time that trip.

What I do know is that the ONLY vacation my family took every year was always to the Long Beach Peninsula. And one of the favorite days of the vacation was when we ventured across the Columbia River to explore Astoria and visit Fort Clatsop.

*The author with her sister and mother in a dugout canoe at Fort Clatsop. Image taken from home movies circa 1967. My grandmother DeVore is to the left.*

*The author with her own daughter in a dugout canoe at Fort Clatsop 1997*

For a child still in single digits as far as her age, Fort Clatsop inspired the imagination. I was awed by the thought of Lewis and Clark and their adventures; inspired by the young mother, Sacagawea, the only woman in their troop, caring for a baby in the wilderness.

Each summer – and NOT in the rain and wind and certainly warmer than 40 degrees – we would sprint from room to room, examining the wooden bunk beds where the men slept. Looked at the tiny bed where Sacagawea’s son, Jean Baptiste Charbonneau, only 10 months old when Fort Clatsop was built, spent his first year.

*My grandmother and our history teacher Dad at Fort Clatsop. Image captured from home movie footage. Circa 1967*

We would walk the trail to the stream where they had to go to get water each day. We’d hike down to the Lewis and Clark River (the original name of the river was the Netul River. It was renamed in 1925) and pretend to row in the dugout canoes displayed there. For one afternoon, we’d imagine we were pioneers, living in a wilderness just like Lewis and Clark.

My father went back to school in 1962 to get his education degree and a couple years later became a Washington State History teacher at Franklin Junior High in Yakima.

My siblings and I were, in many ways, his first students as our summer trip to the beach was chock full of historical tidbits mostly about Lewis and Clark. And each year there was ALWAYS the trip to Fort Clatsop.

With the arrival of my own children, the annual trips to the beach resumed and for most of those years the obligatory visit to Fort Clatsop was included.

*My son and niece dressing up in fun early 19th century style costumes circa 1997*

October 2005’s fire left me feeling shocked and sad. Fort Clatsop was gone. And yet it rose again quickly and we visited the next summer. Of course the structure was not exactly the same but in one way it was much better. It felt more historically accurate.

The Fort Clatsop of my day was dank and seemed old. And it smelled musty. In the summer of 2006 I was struck by the aroma of the newly hewn cedar and how bright the wood looked, not yet wet and stinky. This, I thought, was how it must have looked to the Corps of Discovery when they occupied it, perhaps not quite as dark and miserable as the replica of the 1960’s and 70’s portrayed.

I like to think that my children also think about their many visits to Fort Clatsop and remember them as a wonderful family tradition. Just not in the month of December. Although that would be historically accurate.

A few links:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fort_Clatsop

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dismal_Nitch

https://www.nps.gov/lecl/learn/historyculture/fort-clatsop.html

October 1582

Oct11

Ten Days Erased from History

October 11, 2022

In today’s world people are more connected than ever to time. We hardly go anywhere without our phones or there being a clock of some sort telling us the exact time, often down to the 100th of a second.

Yet, there are also moments in our lives when we lose track of time. Maybe a few minutes here and there. An hour or two. Possibly even a day.

But to lose ten whole days requires a pretty major event.

This singular event, which took place in October 1582, corrected a worldwide problem over 1200 years in the making. Imagine this: you go to bed on October 4^th and you wake up and it’s now October 15.

Like last week’s post, you might think it could only happen in The Twilight Zone. But the ten days between those two dates in 1582 were, literally, erased from the calendar as though they never happened.

What was ushered in was a new calendar which we still follow 440 years later. The Infallible Wikipedia helpfully tells us:

“The Gregorian calendar is the calendar used in most parts of the world. It was introduced in October 1582 by Pope Gregory XIII as a modification of, and replacement for, the Julian calendar. The principal change was to space leap years differently so as to make the average calendar year 365.2425 days long, more closely approximating the 365.2422-day ‘tropical’ or ‘solar’ year that is determined by the Earth’s revolution around the Sun. (snip)

There were two reasons to establish the Gregorian calendar. First, the Julian calendar assumed incorrectly that the average solar year is exactly 365.25 days long, an overestimate of a little under one day per century, and thus has a leap year every four years without exception. The Gregorian reform shortened the average (calendar) year by 0.0075 days to stop the drift of the calendar with respect to the equinoxes.^”

Use of the Julian calendar had caused many problems, not the least of which being that the seasons no longer aligned with the longest and shortest days of the year or the spring or autumn equinoxes.

The most innovative part of the calendar adjustment had to do with the calculation of leap years. Since we experience a 366 day year once every four years, leap years were the perfect vehicle to make adjustments.

So every four years we gain a day… except when we don’t. If the leap year is set to occur in a ‘century’ year (1800, 1900, 2000, etc) then there is NOT a leap year. But with one exception. Any ‘century’ year which can be divided by 400 IS a leap year. Which is why the year 2000 was a leap year but 2100, 2200, and 2300 will NOT be. The next ‘century’ leap year does not occur until 2400.

In thinking about those ten days simply being erased got me thinking about a few times in my own life when time lost all meaning and a series of days squished together without definition.

There were several times when severe illness did that for me. An allergic reaction to penicillin in the sixth grade caused me to miss the Central Washington Fair as I lay in bed for a week and half; contracting the hard measles the year I was in 8th grade (https://barbaradevore.com/2020/03/03/seasons-in-the-sun/); The two weeks I came home from college in January of 1978 with the chicken pox; and, more recently, in late February 2020 when I had Covid 19.

But there was one particular event which occurred when the whole world seemed to stop for ten days. I had been in Yakima in September and October 2019 nearly full time as my Dad’s health deteriorated and he had been placed on hospice. Although I had returned home for a couple days, the call came from the hospice that the end was approaching.

My message to my siblings from Tuesday, October 15, 2019:

“Dad is in bed now and minimally responsive. He is not opening his eyes on command. The only time he does respond is when the staff needs to take care of his physical needs such as changing him, etc. He dislikes being touched although he did let her hold his hand. But he does not want to be rubbed, etc.

His BP is still good and he still has some fight left in him…. However, Lecia (the hospice nurse) said she expects him to pass within the next few days and would be surprised if he makes it through the weekend.”

As it turned out Lecia, and everyone else, were completely wrong.

Dad had slipped into a comatose state… and remained that way for a total of ten days. Over the course of those days, all of his children and various family members came to see him.

Even though the days seemed to morph together, I was moved enough by the fall colors in Yakima to pull to the side of the road and snap a couple shots looking west towards the mountains where an early snowfall had dusted their tops. October 19 2019

It was a weird scene. Dad lay in bed, eyes closed, unresponsive, as family visited and reminisced. And he hung on. Day after day. Night after night. Every day the caregivers at Apple Creek (a wonderful and caring place!) were baffled by how long he was able to survive without food or water. His mouth was moistened with an oral sponge on a stick.

Time morphed into episodes of light and dark and lost all meaning. Eventually, family members had to return to their lives and, on the last few days, it was just three of us – my brother, my sister, and me – who were there, taking turns in our vigil.

My sister and I did two ‘overnights’ together, each using one of the recliners so we could sleep.

Finally, a night arrived where, due to her job as teacher and the need to make lesson plans for the substitute, my sister could not stay overnight. So I volunteered to take on the duty solo. When I fell asleep that night, I could not have told you the date or the time. All I know is that I was going to be there with dad.

Then, around 4 a.m., things started to change. In those ten days of sameness dad never moved, never ate, never talked, never drank. It was just always the same.

Except that when, suddenly, it was no longer the same. At the moment of death, an electric impulse vibrated through his entire body for several seconds, his whole being coming to life; it was as if it was his final resistance to death.

When it was over I knew I had experienced something extraordinary; even so I was shaken by the ordeal. And yet the first thing I did after that event was to look at the clock and note the time and the day.

It was 5:06 a.m. on Thursday, October 24. As surely as the ten days which were erased in October 1582, so had time been reset for me in October 2019.

The link:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gregorian_calendar

Queen Victoria

May24

“Isn’t this the Queen’s court?”

May 24, 2022

Alexandrina Victoria was born on May 24, 1819, and – until 2015 – had the distinction of being the longest reigning world monarch ever.

*Victoria, age 18, when she became Queen of England*

We know her as Queen Victoria. She ascended to the British throne, at age 18, through a series of serendipitous occurrences. Despite having three uncles in line for the monarchy before her, their deaths – and the death of her own father when she was less than a year old – put in place the exact circumstances necessary for her to become Queen.

When she was barely 18 years old, King George III – her grandfather – died and she became the heir. She went on to reign for 63 years.

Victoria – along with her husband Prince Albert – seemed to understand the future of the monarchy would be one of ceremonial influence. From the Infallible Wikipedia:

“Through Victoria’s reign, the gradual establishment of a modern constitutional monarchy in Britain continued. Reforms of the voting system increased the power of the House of Commons at the expense of the House of Lords and the monarch. In 1867, Walter Bagehot wrote that the monarch only retained ‘the right to be consulted, the right to encourage, and the right to warn’. As Victoria’s monarchy became more symbolic than political, it placed a strong emphasis on morality and family values, in contrast to the sexual, financial and personal scandals that had been associated with previous members of the House of Hanover and which had discredited the monarchy. The concept of the ‘family monarchy’, with which the burgeoning middle classes could identify, was solidified.”

During her six decades reign, her popularity waxed and waned. After an assassination attempt in 1882, sympathy and approval of the Queen soared. Victoria said – when the-would -be assassin was found not guilty by reason of insanity – it was “worth being shot at—to see how much one is loved.”

*Victoria and Albert on their wedding day*

Perhaps her greatest influence was on the culture of the day. As the mother of nine children and 42 grandchildren, she came to represent home and hearth.

The Infallible Wikipedia offers this:

“The rise of the middle class during the era had a formative effect on its character; the historian Walter E. Houghton reflects that ‘once the middle class attained political as well as financial eminence, their social influence became decisive. The Victorian frame of mind is largely composed of their characteristic modes of thought and feeling’.

Industrialisation brought with it a rapidly growing middle class whose increase in numbers had a significant effect on the social strata itself: cultural norms, lifestyle, values and morality. Identifiable characteristics came to define the middle-class home and lifestyle. Previously, in town and city, residential space was adjacent to or incorporated into the work site, virtually occupying the same geographical space. The difference between private life and commerce was a fluid one distinguished by an informal demarcation of function. In the Victorian era, English family life increasingly became compartmentalized, the home a self-contained structure housing a nuclear family extended according to need and circumstance to include blood relations. The concept of ‘privacy’ became a hallmark of the middle-class life.”

*Victoria has been called the ‘grandmother of Europe’ as her nine children produced 42 grandchildren*

For those of us who observe the British Monarchy from a distance, it’s impossible to fathom a system built on a tradition of grandeur and pomp. Yet out of the monarch system – especially true of the Regency and Victorian eras – mountains of fiction have been written.

During the era, novels erupted in popularity, chronicling the time. Even today, the Victorian novel remains popular. A quick search reveals 214 current “Victorian” novels for sale on GoodReads.

Besides the books written by the Bronte sisters, I’d never read many Regency or Victorian novels. But my mother did. She loved the eras and the stories, especially Regency author, Georgette Heyer.

When, in late November 2010, my mother fell ill, she ended up spending 9 days in the hospital as she had contracted the H1N1 flu. It was touch and go, but eventually she no longer required hospitalization and was to be moved to Good Samaritan in Yakima for rehab. Transfer day was scheduled for December 7 and I had driven over the mountains the previous afternoon to be there to facilitate her relocation.

There were patches of snow and ice on the ground. It was cold, gray, and raw. I spent the night at my sister’s house and the next morning made my way to the hospital. Soon Mom was in the aid car and then arrived at her new room at Good Sam.

I spent the afternoon with her as a parade of nurses and caregivers came and went as they got her settled in.

Now, my mother had been suffering with dementia/Alzheimers for at least a few years by then. Nearly two weeks of severe illness had exacerbated the situation.

But the folks at Good Sam didn’t know her and did not realize how extensive the memory issues were.

About 3 p.m., a young woman enters the room and introduces herself as the Occupational Therapist (OT) and wants to talk with Mom. Mom’s bed is parallel to a window which looks out onto an interior courtyard. I’m sitting on a chair right next to Mom, between the bed and the window; the OT is on the other side, closer to the door.

Mom and me snapping green beans at her and my Dad’s home, Thanksgiving Day 2010. Dad was in the hospital THAT day but came home the next afternoon; four days later Mom ended up in the hospital with the H1N1 flu… and was never able to live at home again.

So Mom keeps swiveling her head between us as the OT asks the questions; it’s as if Mom is looking to me for confirmation that she is answering correctly. For my part I am, of course, letting her answer the questions even if the answer is “I don’t know.”

Mom does know her name, her birthday, and the name of the town where she lives. Then the OT asks the following:

“Do you know where you are?”

Silence. Mom looks over at me and clearly does not know for SURE where she is, then turns back to the OT and says “Isn’t this the Queen’s court?”

The OT’s eyes lock on to mine and get very wide. I nod and smile because in that one answer the OT understood quite clearly that rehab for Mom wasn’t going to mean sending her home to resume life as most of us know it.

After the OT left, I stayed with Mom through her dinner and then made my way back to my sister’s for the night.

The next morning, before heading home, I stop in to see how Mom is doing. The first thing I notice is how pretty the snow looks as it gently falls outside the window, the ground now a blanket of white. Mom is awake, propped up in the bed and finishing breakfast. The room is warm and Mom looks comfortable.

With a big smile – she’s obviously glad to see me – exclaims “Oh, you’re back from England!”

Indeed. We had been to the Queen’s Court and back. The nearest to a monarchy I’m ever likely to get.

The links:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Queen_Victoria

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Victorian_era

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Georgette_Heyer

Yellowstone National Park

Mar1

One of the world’s most magical places

March 1, 2022

*The family at the northern entrance to the park in 2013*

There are only a few places in the world I consider to be magical. This site – which became America’s first National Park – is such a place.

Long before that event, however, stories of this fantastical spot were dismissed as the ravings of madmen. Yet, as more and more intrepid explorers ventured into the American west, the stories of superheated water shooting hundreds of feet into the air, boiling mud lakes, and running water in winter, could no longer be dismissed as pure fantasy. Eventually, the stories proved to be true and, on March 1, 1872, Yellowstone National Park was established. Today marks the 150^th anniversary of that event.

As always, the Infallible Wikipedia, shares some of that history:

“In 1806, John Colter, a member of the Lewis and Clark Expedition, left to join a group of fur trappers. After splitting up with the other trappers in 1807, Colter passed through a portion of what later became the park, during the winter of 1807–1808. He observed at least one geothermal area in the northeastern section of the park, near Tower Fall. After surviving wounds he suffered in a battle with members of the Crow and Blackfoot tribes in 1809, Colter described a place of ‘fire and brimstone’ that most people dismissed as delirium; the supposedly mystical place was nicknamed ‘Colter’s Hell’. Over the next 40 years, numerous reports from mountain men and trappers told of boiling mud, steaming rivers, and petrified trees, yet most of these reports were believed at the time to be myth.

*Honeymooner Hubby at Old Faithful September 2, 1980*

After an 1856 exploration, mountain man Jim Bridger (also believed to be the first or second European American to have seen the Great Salt Lake) reported observing boiling springs, spouting water, and a mountain of glass and yellow rock. These reports were largely ignored because Bridger was a known ‘spinner of yarns.’ In 1859, a U.S. Army Surveyor named Captain William F. Raynolds embarked on a two-year survey of the northern Rockies. After wintering in Wyoming, in May 1860, Raynolds and his party—which included naturalist Ferdinand Vandeveer Hayden and guide Jim Bridger—attempted to cross the Continental Divide over Two Ocean Plateau from the Wind River drainage in northwest Wyoming. Heavy spring snows prevented their passage, but had they been able to traverse the divide, the party would have been the first organized survey to enter the Yellowstone region.”

*The author at Liberty Cap in the Mammoth Hot Springs region July 1982*

While today we take for granted our National Parks, in the early years the western lands were often auctioned off, with the thought that having private enterprise take over regions would be best for getting the vast western lands settled.

Thankfully, due primarily to the efforts of geologist Ferdinand Hayden, Congress was convinced to create Yellowstone NP, preserving the lands for future generations to enjoy in as natural a state as possible.

Now, to be fair, this article could go on for pages and pages. There have been books written about the park and its 150 year history. It truly is an amazing story and a good start is on the Infallible Wikipedia page or the official National Park Service site (links below).

Reading about Yellowstone – or even watching video – simply does not do it justice. It has to be seen, smelled, felt, to truly be embraced by the magic of the place.

*The author on a hike 1982. The upper geyser basin in the background.*

As a child, my family never strayed far from home when we went on vacations. Each summer was a week or two at the beach. As a teenager, we took one trip to California and Disneyland with a stop at Crater Lake in Oregon on the way home.

I was 23 years old the first time I laid eyes on Yellowstone. The hubby and I had been married two days earlier and our honeymoon trip was, in theory, to drive back to Tampico, Illinois to visit his sister and her family. It turned in to so much more.

It was late afternoon on September 1, 1980, when we drove into Yellowstone. From my accounting of that day:

“About 5 p.m. we were at the park entrance. We did stop briefly in West Yellowstone for gas and miscellaneous groceries. While in the park that evening we stopped to see the mud paint pots and smaller geysers. (The hubby) was amazed at me upon witnessing someone who was seeing Yellowstone for the first time.

At every new site, I’d get excited just like a kid at Christmas. The same words always flowed from my mouth: ‘Oh! Wow!’”

*Riverside Geyser adorned with a rainbow. 1982*

Actually, I think my reaction was more like ‘Oooh! Oooh! Oooh!’

It was not until the next day that I saw a few of the ‘big’ geysers, including Old Faithful. Once again, I was stunned by the amazing displays:

“Two of the more notable geysers we saw erupting were Grand and Riverside. Grand was by far the more spectacular of the two, shooting 200-250 feet into the air.”

That 24 hour visit to Yellowstone was a lot like speed dating. We crammed as much into the visit as our time allowed before continuing east to Illinois.

Yet the ‘date’ left me wanting more. Two summers later we planned and then set out on a two week western US trip which took us back to Yellowstone. Our goal for that trip was to drive on every road in the park, and stay at least one night in each distinctive region. On that trip we found ourselves, literally, walking in the middle of an elk herd! (It was dusky and we were on our way to a campfire program put on by the ranger) We counted 29 does and fawns.

*Upright petrified trees can only be seen on an insane hike called ‘Climb Through Time.’*

*Son and daughter at Minerva Terrace 2013*

We saw a moose, marmots, and bison. We climbed to the top of Mt. Washburn and enjoyed spectacular views. We shared our camping spot with an Italian couple who had inadvertently joined us when they didn’t understand how the system worked. We visited the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone and the Mammoth Hot Springs area. We did a ‘climb through time’ to see a standing petrified forest.

And we achieved our goal of driving every road in the park.

When we left Yellowstone on August 1^st, I felt as if I had gotten my fill… at least for a few years.

The pair of us returned in 1989, and then brought the kids in 1998 when they were 8 and 5. Our last visit to the park was in 2013, the kids now 23 and 20, as part of a journey to move our daughter to Nashville.

Even writing about the trips creates a yearning to visit Yellowstone once again. Perhaps it is time to start planning for at least one more journey to this magical place.

The links:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yellowstone_National_Park

https://www.nps.gov/yell/index.htm

*The hubby and kids from our last Yellowstone visit in September 2013*

The Dakotas

Nov2

But Which One Was First?

November 2, 2021

Up until November 2, 1889, this region was collectively known as Dakota Territory. But it was on that date when the two were split and became the 39^th and 40^th states in America. But which was first? South Dakota or North Dakota? No one knows for sure.

The Infallible Wikipedia shares the following story:

“As the southern part of the former Dakota Territory, South Dakota became a state on November 2, 1889, simultaneously with North Dakota. They are the 39th and 40th states admitted to the union; President Benjamin Harrison shuffled the statehood papers before signing them so that no one could tell which became a state first.”

*The scene is all blue and yellow at an entrance to North Dakota Road Sign*

Or, if you prefer it from the perspective of the other half:

“North Dakota was admitted to the Union on November 2, 1889, along with neighboring South Dakota, as the 39th and 40th states. President Benjamin Harrison shuffled the statehood papers before signing them so that no one could tell which became a state first; consequently, the two states are officially numbered in alphabetical order.”

Sure sounds like North Dakota thinks they were first. For those paying attention, there were four states admitted to the union in November 1889. Besides these two, Montana and Washington were welcomed on November 8^th and 11^th respectively. But back to the Dakotas.

I find it interesting that they were split north and south since in reading about them geographically, an east/west split would have probably made more sense. The Eastern half of both states are considered part of the Great Plains with climates and an emphasis on agriculture which reflects this. For both states, the majority of their populations live in the Eastern half.

West of the Missouri river – which bisects all of South Dakota and most of North Dakota – the terrain changes. One notices that there are more mountains and the landscape is more rugged as the climb towards the Rocky Mountains begins.

Both states have abundant natural resources particularly gold in South Dakota, rich oil deposits in North Dakota.

The number of folks who call each state home live in their cities as follows for South Dakota:

“Sioux Falls is the largest city in South Dakota, with a 2010 population of 153,888, and a metropolitan area population of 238,122. The city, founded in 1856, is in the southeast corner of the state. (snip)

Rapid City, with a 2010 population of 67,956, and a metropolitan area population of 124,766, is the second-largest city in the state. It is on the eastern edge of the Black Hills, and was founded in 1876. (snip)

The next eight largest cities in the state, in order of descending 2010 population, are Aberdeen (26,091), Brookings (22,056), Watertown (21,482), Mitchell (15,254), Yankton (14,45), Pierre (13,646), Huron (12,592), and Vermillion (10,571)”

North Dakota’s cities are even smaller with Fargo, based on 2021 estimated numbers, coming in the largest at 125,804 residents. The next nine are:

Bismarck (74,129), Grand Forks (54,243), Minot (47,236), West Fargo (38,654), Williston (32,189), Dickinson (24,007), Mandan (23,190), Jamestown (14,840), Watford City (9,345)

I compared these numbers to the three cities of Bellevue, Kirkland, and Redmond, Washington – where the family lived for many years – which has a combined population of about 331,000 people. King County claims 2.3 million people. The two Dakota states combined have about 1.67 million population.

Over the years, the hubby, the kids, and me, have been to both North and South Dakota. Never more than a few days at a time and mostly as brief stops to visit a National Park, Monument, or to spend the night on the way somewhere else.

After the hubby I were married in 1980 something, we drove east on our way to Illinois so that I could meet his older sister and her family. It was day four of our drive when I first saw South Dakota. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. I cannot claim actually ‘seeing’ much since we arrived at the hotel where we were able to get reservations in the middle of the night. It was now September 3^rd.

After a short night’s sleep, we were up and out the door by 9 a.m. I wrote about that day with the following:

“Our major stop of the day was at Mt. Rushmore. We saw the presidents and then had a picnic lunch on the shores of Horsethief Lake. We barbequed 3 veal cubesteaks on the hibachi.

*The author in all of her age 23 glory at Mt. Rushmore in early September 1980*

By 1:30 we left Rapid City, S.D. and headed east on I-90. We drove all day until we got to the Lake Vermillion Recreation area, only to discover that it was no longer a picnic area (or a campground as shown on our AAA map!)

We almost cooked dinner there, but gusty winds made us decide differently. We also learned why it was called Lake Vermillion as just at sunset, the lake turned a deep, blood red color. It was quite pretty against the deep green grass along its bank and the blue and purple puffed clouds in the eastern sky.

*The sky which caused us to rethink our plans for camping out on the South Dakota prairie.*

Sioux Falls was only a few miles down the road so we decided to eat there. We also decided to stop there – instead of in Fairmont, Minn – when we saw a huge thunder and lightning storm boiling up in front of us.

We stayed at the ‘Thrifty Scot Motel.’ We ended up eating dinner at the “Happy Chef’ – a VIP’s or Sambo type restaurant.* We tried to eat at a Mexican restaurant but it had closed by the time we found it.

One nice feature of the Thrifty Scot was that they had doughnuts and Orange juice for breakfast at no extra cost. We paid $22 for our room there.”

*A 1960’s era matchbook cover from Sambo’s restaurant. Because back then not only was the theme politically incorrect, but smoking inside a restaurant was also allowed!*

A few things come to mind as I read this account from 40 some years ago. One, anyone under the age of 60 has likely NEVER heard of VIP’s since the last of the chain of 53 restaurants closed in 1988. Two, you can be forgiven for not knowing what a Sambo’s is either as it filed for Chapter 11 in 1981. The owners, Sam Battistone Sr. and Newell Bohnett, combined their names to get the name “Sambo’s” never intending it to be associated with the popular 1899 children’s story of the Indian boy Sambo who turns tigers to butter.

I also guess that the Thrifty Scot was ahead of its time, giving ‘breakfast’ to the travelers for free. J Nowadays, I’d likely skip both the doughnut and the OJ.

In all fairness to North Dakota, we traversed THAT State on the return from Illinois. Unfortunately, I was sick which prompted a stop in Fargo at the emergency clinic, the acquisition of a sulfa prescription for a bladder infection, and then spent the night in the highly entertaining town of Bowbells. (Population 587 in 1980… now about 336) Which is also a story for another post or, possibly, the basis for a work of fiction.

Personally, I think everyone who has the time and the means should attempt to visit every state in the United States. There are interesting things to see and do and one gets a different perspective when one goes beyond the familiar surrounds of where they live.

For more information about the two Dakotas and other items in the post here are some links:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/North_Dakota

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/South_Dakota

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sambo%27s

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/VIP%27s_(restaurant)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bowbells,_North_Dakota

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Story_of_Little_Black_Sambo

Barbara DeVore

“Love is the answer to everything. It’s the only reason to do anything. If you don’t write stories you love, you’ll never make it. If you don’t write stories that other people love, you’ll never make it.” Ray Bradbury

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