Grouseland

Posted on August 27, 2017 by admin

Grouseland is the inelegant name of a more elegant-that-expected house, supposedly named after the plentiful birds in the area, and thought to be the first brick building in Indiana — the Indiana Territory in those days. It was the home of territorial Gov. William Henry Harrison and his family in the early years of the 19th century. Long before Tippecanoe and Tyler too.

Even longer before “We Are the Mediocre Presidents,” though I’d argue that Wm. Henry Harrison was one of the great U.S. presidents. And one of the worst. He didn’t have time to be anything else.

Last Sunday we arrived in Vincennes, Indiana, hard by the Wabash River, and Grouseland was our first stop. Guess I need to add it to my vanity list of presidential sites, which I haven’t updated in more than three years. Maybe next Presidents Day.

Patterned after the Harrison manse in Virginia, Grouseland probably would have been no great shakes in the early 19th-century Old Dominion, but out in the wilderness of Indiana, it must have been impressive. It’s still impressive in small-town Vincennes. The exterior walls were built sturdy enough to endure for more than two centuries, but most of the interior is a faithful re-creation, considering that after the Harrisons left, the property was given over the other uses, including a period as a barn.

“As governor, Harrison saw his principal task as opening lands belonging to the local Indian tribes to white settlement,” the NPS says of Grouseland’s heyday. “He negotiated a series of treaties that provided for the cession of millions of acres of land, but his success generated strong resistance.

“Tecumseh, the famous Shawnee leader, who was trying to recruit other tribes to join him in armed resistance, met with Harrison at Grouseland in 1810 and warned that his people would fight to prevent further white encroachment. Located to the left of the center hall, the ‘Council Chamber,’ is where Harrison held many meetings with Indian leaders and conducted much of his business as governor.”

We got to the house just in time for a guided tour, given by a fetching Vincennes University history major undergrad volunteering for the gig. The campus extends off in the distance from Grouseland. Until I looked it up, I knew nothing about the school except as a spot on the map. (Pretty much the same could be said for Vincennes.)

From its web site: “VU is Indiana’s first college. William Henry Harrison, the ninth U.S. President, founded VU in 1801 while serving as governor of the Indiana Territory. VU was incorporated as Vincennes University on November 29, 1806.”

So that’s another Harrison legacy. Attaboy, William Henry.

The Great American Solar Eclipse Road Trip

Posted on August 22, 2017 by admin

How long did I know about this week’s solar eclipse? I don’t know. It wasn’t because of the recent media buzz. The better part of a decade ago, probably. Sometime back then, I filed away the notion: I am going to see the solar eclipse of August 21, 2017. In the path of totality.

So I did yesterday, along with my immediate family. And some unspecified millions of other people. It was an event among events. During totality, we were in Paducah, Kentucky, which occurred there for a bit more than two minutes beginning at 1:22:15 pm CDT. All my remaining days, I will remember where I was at that moment, and what I saw, and I hope so will the other members of my family.

I’d like to report that I overcame various trials and adversity to arrive at that place at that time, like an intrepid 19th-century scientist off to see eclipses over remote parts of the globe, but all it really took was a modest amount of planning, plus a bit of time and money. Back in October, for instance, I booked a room at a limited-service motel in Paducah for the night of August 20. I mentioned this to the clerk.

“That’s why you paid the regular rate,” she said. “People who booked this month had to pay twice as much.” Surge pricing among motels. She also claimed that nearby motels, only a bit better than the one we were staying in, charged $400 a night for some rooms. “And they’re getting it.”

We left on Saturday and drove from the northwest suburbs via Champaign-Urbana to Terre Haute, Indiana, where we spent the night of the 19th. On the way, we stopped at Shades State Park in Montgomery County, Ind.

The next day we went from Terre Haute to Paducah, spending a few hours in between in Vincennes, Indiana, on the Wabash River. We saw three things there: Grouseland, home of William Henry Harrison as governor of the Indiana Territory; the splendid Basilica of St. Francis Xavier, and the monumental yet obscure George Rogers Clark National Historical Park.

The thinking behind these stopovers was that seeing the eclipse at totality was no certain thing. Clouds don’t care about your peak-life-affirming-you-are-a-child-of-the-Universe experience, or even if you’re a scientist (or citizen scientist) looking to add to mankind’s body of total knowledge. It’s just another day to the atmosphere. So in case that happened — and the prospect kept me antsy for days — the trip wouldn’t be a total bust.

All together, the trip from our house to Paducah, using the most direct roads, is nearly 400 miles. St Louis is closer, about 300 miles, but I wanted to stay away from a large city for the event, which would mean adding crowds to crowds. Also, I’d acquainted myself with much smaller Paducah in 2009 at the same time as Metropolis, Ill. (misspelling Paducah in my posting), and found it pleasant enough.

Why see the eclipse at all? Because of the astronomy books I had as a kid that explained and illustrated the phenomenon, especially with maps of where total eclipses would be in far-off future years like 1979. Because of the eclipse of March 7, 1970, which was partial in Texas. My eight-year-old self made a pinhole box but, finding that unsatisfying — and this was before widespread eclipse glasses — I stole an instant’s look at it the thing itself in partly cloudy skies, very clearly seeing the black disk on the bright one. Because the subject came up at the planetarium I visited almost monthly in elementary school. Because men were going to the Moon at the same time. Because of the lyric in “You’re So Vain” that seems to reference the ’70 eclipse. The idea of winging off to Nova Scotia just to see an eclipse seemed (seems) impossibly intoxicating. Because of A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court and “Nightfall” and other stories and movies using an eclipse as a plot point. Because I read Isaac Asimov writing about the Eclipse of Thales, and later read Herodotus on that event, which probably was on May 28, 585 BC, and if so history’s first exact date. Because I read about the eclipse of May 29, 1919, which helped confirm general relativity. Because of the annular eclipse I experienced in Nashville (as a partial) on May 30, 1984, which dimmed the sky in a strange way. Because it’s a cool thing to see not before I die, but while I’m still alive, just like the Transit of Venus. Because, to paraphrase George Mallory, it’s up there.

Indiana’s Central Canal (A Fragment)

Posted on May 8, 2014 by admin

Canals were all the rage in North America the 1830s, inspired by phenomenal success of the Erie Canal. Something like dotcoms were the rage in the 1990s, I believe, and that didn’t turn out so well either. Yet fragments of both investment-speculation manias survived the inevitable collapse, such as Peapod in the case of dotcoms, and a stretch of Indiana’s Central Canal from the earlier mania.

We spent some time on Easter Saturday afternoon walking next to Indiana’s Central Canal, which had been planned to connect the Wabash River in the northern part of the state with the White River in the southern part and then on to the Ohio River. Work began in 1836.

Then came the Panic of 1837. Only a few miles of the canal were ever built, running through Indianapolis. It’s had various uses over the years, but ultimately the canal-builders of the 19th century bequeathed recreational infrastructure to us in the early 21st century. It’s a pleasant place to stroll, or paddleboat or kayak, on a warm spring day.

The last time I visited the canal was on a cold day in early 2005. It wasn’t quite so pleasant then, but I did notice the memorial to the ill-fated USS Indianapolis near the canal. This time we saw a memorial that wasn’t there in 2005, Project 9/11 Indianapolis, on a rise just above the waterway.

The memorial was dedicated on the 10th anniversary of the attacks, and includes two 11,000-pound beams from the Twin Towers, standing upright. One of them has a bronze American eagle perched on top. It made me wonder: how many fragments of those buildings have made their way around the country?

Maxine’s Chicken & Waffles

Posted on May 7, 2014 by admin

Until recently, I was only dimly aware of chicken & waffles. As a combined meal, that is, apparently known to the Pennsylvania Dutch and as a soul-food specialty in the 20th century. (More about it here.) Not long ago, Lilly started mentioning the combo. Not sure why. Maybe she picked it up from a let’s-go-there-and-eat-something show (e.g., Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives.)

Anyway, the notion had lodged in my mind just in time for me to see a listing for Maxine’s Chicken & Waffles, which is at 132 N. East St., right at the eastern edge of downtown Indy. The area’s still mostly small commercial uses and parking lots, though I spotted a couple of apartment complexes being developed nearby.

Once I saw the listing in one of those publications left in hotel rooms, and did a little reading about the place – this is the age of Yelp, after all – I suggested it for Saturday lunch, after we’d finished with the Eiteljorg Museum. I didn’t want to end up at some restaurant that could be anywhere, just because we couldn’t think of anywhere else to go, and everyone wanted to eat right now.

Maxine’s is about a 20-minute walk eastward from the museum, across the heart of downtown Indianapolis. Along the way we spotted the statue of Vice President Hendricks, but also another memorial that goes to show the veneration we still have for President Lincoln.

It marks the spot where Lincoln stopped to speak, on February 11, 1861, on his way to Washington City to become president. (We should still call it Washington City. Maybe that usage will return if DC wins statehood.)

We arrived at Maxine’s for a late lunch. Good thing, too, because I’ll bet the place gets really crowded on Saturday morning and into the early afternoon. As it was, it was mostly full. According to a sign on the wall, and its web site as well, the place only dates from 2007, founded by the children and grandchildren of Ollie and Maxine Bunnell, whose large family had a knack for cooking (Maxine’s regular job was cooking at St. Francis Hospital).

I’m glad that the restaurant survived the recession. Not every venture started in 2007 would be so lucky. But I don’t think luck was the main factor. We all had a variation of chicken & waffles – plain, blueberry and strawberry waffles – and they were terrific. So seemingly simple, so artfully made.

As you can see, it’s your basic waffle, adorned by three fried chicken wings, with a bit of honey-butter on the side, along with syrup. The combo works. They complement each other. After you’ve eaten some of the sweet waffles, you switch to the mildly spicy chicken, and then back. From beginning to end, not a bad bite in sight. Not even a mediocre one. Whatever soul-food recipes the heirs of Ollie and Maxine have come up with, they’re winners.

The Eiteljorg Museum

Posted on May 6, 2014 by admin

The Eiteljorg Museum of American Indians and Western Art is one of a number of attractions at downtown Indianapolis’ White River State Park, just west of the capitol and the CBD. We parked in an underground facility and entered the Eiteljorg through its back entrance, which faces Indy’s canal. The museum’s small sculpture garden is outside that entrance.

When the museum specifies “American Indians and Western Art,” it means Indian art and artifacts of historic interest, but also artwork by contemporary American Indians, as well as art by non-Indians with a theme of the American West. Its collection along these three lines is substantial, housed in a large building adjacent to the Indiana State Museum, and well worth a look.

Ann’s in front of an example of contemporary Indian art in the sculpture garden: “Water Whispers” (2005), a steel-and-glass creation of Truman Lowe, a Ho-Chunk born in 1944 and professor emeritus at the University of Wisconsin-Madison Art Department.

We entered the back entrance and immediately were face-to-face with a totem pole. Nothing like a totem pole right next to you to get your attention.

It’s a replica of a 19th-century Haida totem pole, carved by one Lee Wallace in 1996, great-grandson of the carver of the original pole, Dwight Wallace. Apparently the original pole had made its way from British Columbia to Alaska to the 1904 St. Louis World’s Fair to Indianapolis industrialist David M. Parry, who kept it on his land (as the Golden Hill totem pole) until it deteriorated and fell in 1939. The new pole, “The Legend of Wasgo,” is made of red cedar with acrylic paint.

The Eiteljorg’s Native American collection, according to the museum, “began with the personal holdings of founder Harrison Eiteljorg and the Museum of Indian Heritage formerly located in Eagle Creek Park. Ranging from traditional objects of material culture such as weaponry, clothing, and basketry, to contemporary Hopi Katsina carvings, jewelry, and Inuit sculpture, the collection includes works of historical and aesthetic significance as well as articles produced for everyday use.”

As for the contemporary Indian art, “the collection consists of copious materials from photographs, beadwork, works on paper and canvas, to beaver fur and hides, traditional paintings and large installation pieces incorporating several mediums. While there is recognizable imagery in a lot of the work, it also represents works that are non-representational such as the work of Harry Fonseca (Maidu/Niseman, Portuguese, Hawaiian) who’s painting is inspired by Navajo blankets or James Lavadour’s (Walla Walla) multifaceted landscapes influenced by hiking through the mountains.”

Two large galleries are devoted to Western-themed art. I’d only vaguely been aware of the Taos School, but I got a lesson about it at Eiteljorg. “The collection is especially strong in art by members of the Taos Society of Artists from the late 1890s to the late 1920s,” the museum notes. “The museum collection also includes an expressive collection of works by early modernist artists who found the West to be inspiring. Among highlights in this broad area are works by Georgia O’Keeffe, Robert Henri, Marsden Hartley, Randall Davey, and many more.”

On exhibit at the Eiteljorg until early August is a fine exhibit of 75 Ansel Adams prints, all apparently selected by the photographer himself at some point as his greatest hits (it could have been as recently as 30-odd years ago; I hadn’t realized, or forgotten, that Adams lived until 1984). A good many images were familiar — great hits, all right — but not all of them, including a handful of portraits of people. Not something he’s known for, but he did them sometimes. One of the portraits was of an elderly woman on a screened-in porch somewhere out West, and she reminded me of my grandmother.

As we were headed for the exit – and the gift shop before that – we chanced across an Art*o*Mat, a repurposed cigarette machine that now sells small pieces of art. I’d seen one of those before, at the Chicago Cultural Center, but that was some years ago. For $5 we got some handmade earrings.

I also got a picture of my family reflected in the Art*o*Mat mirror.

Return to Lilly Lake

Posted on May 5, 2014 by admin

Besides being Good Friday, April 18 this year had a good Friday afternoon, as warm as a spring day sometimes is. It was a good day to visit Eagle Creek Park, in northwest Marion County, Indiana, which counts as an Indianapolis city park, though it’s much more like a forest preserve. It’s slightly hilly, forested, and features a number of small lakes.

The smallest of these, I think, is Lilly Lake. We have to like a name like that, though in fact it must be named after one or another of the Lilly pharmaceutical family, whose land this used to be. We parked nearby and took a stroll around Lilly Lake. It was the picture of an early spring day: puffy clouds, green grass, the smallest of buds on the trees.

Besides being a pleasant setting on a warm day, I wanted to come because we’d been there before. Back in early 1999, we did a similar short trip to Indianapolis, and just before we left town, we stopped at Eagle Creek Park, and took a stroll around Lilly Lake. It had been a wet spring, or at least wet recently, and near the edge of the lake was a muddy patch of ground.

Lilly, who was two years old then, stepped into the mud without warning and immediately found her feet stuck. She pulled and pulled and, getting nowhere, burst out crying. Time for Dad to step in – figuratively, since I didn’t need to physically step in the mud. I reached over and picked her up. Her little boots stayed in the mud, to be retrieved separately. The whole incident lasted maybe 30 seconds, but somehow I haven’t forgotten. One of those things.

This time around, with two somewhat older daughters, we had no mud incidents.

A goose did hiss at Lilly, however.

Indianapolis ’14

Posted on May 4, 2014 by admin

On Good Friday, we loaded ourselves into my car and drove to Indianapolis by way of Lafayette, Indiana, and spent the night and much of the next day in Indy. We walked, we ate, we saw things. (There’s got to be a concise Latin translation for that: vidi would be last instead of first, though it won’t be as snappy.)

Years earlier I’d heard about the Eiteljorg Museum, which is downtown Indianapolis, and since then it had been filed in my large, rambling mental file called New Places to Go. That’s actually a large set of files, but the Eiteljorg had the advantage of being nearby. But far enough for an overnight trip.

Naturally, we hit the road later than planned, and so stopped to eat a late lunch in Lafayette, where we spent time wandering around the main street in town, which is helpfully named Main St. Later, just off I-65 in northwest Indianapolis, we rambled around Eagle Creek Park, which is one of the larger municipal parks in the nation – 3,900 acres of forest, plus some lakes.

Considering our arrival in Indy late in the afternoon, Eiteljorg had to wait until the next morning. After a few hours in the museum on Easter Saturday, we set out on foot in downtown Indianapolis, first along ordinary sidewalks, later along the canal. It was a bright spring day, a pleasantly warm, and so a lot of people were out, probably more than many Midwestern downtowns see on Saturdays. Looks like the redevelopment of the canal has been a success. After a late lunch, we headed back to metro Chicago, arriving back before dark.

A simple but interesting trip. And I got to see a statue of a vice president.

Vice President Thomas Hendricks, that is, who was also a governor of Indiana. He was 21st Vice President of the United States from early 1885 to late 1885, during Cleveland’s first term. The 19th century, of course, was hard on U.S. vice presidents. Hendricks went to bed one night in November 1885 and never woke up.

His statue is on the grounds of the Indiana State Capitol. Oddly, while I was taking these pictures, a Japanese tourist asked me to take his picture with Hendricks in the background, using his camera, so I did. Maybe he’s a U.S. vice presidential enthusiast.

Been There, Seen That

By Dees Stribling

Category Archives: US: Indiana