» May 17th, 2013
Little House On The Prairie
Linda Burton posting from Springfield, Illinois – Frank Lloyd Wright (1867-1959) was a man who dared to be different. And as with anyone who puts forth new ideas, he was controversial. In 1893 Frank left the office of his mentor, Louis Sullivan, and began to practice as an independent architect. Frank believed that rooms in Victorian era homes were boxed-in and confining, so he began to design houses with low horizontal lines and open interior spaces, aiming for congruence between the interior of a building and its surroundings. In the 1901 Ladies Home Journal, a Frank Lloyd Wright houseplan called “A Home in Prairie Town” was featured; thereafter Frank’s concept became known as “Prairie Style.” It was fitting; prairie houses were meant to blend with the flat prairie 
landscape. Susan Lawrence Dana (1862–1946) was an independent woman and heiress to a substantial fortune, including silver mines in the Rocky Mountains. Widowed in 1900, Susan enjoyed complete control over her household and fortune. Eager to express her personality and to become the leading hostess in Springfield, she decided to completely remodel her family’s Italianate mansion in the state capital’s fashionable “Aristocracy Hill” neighborhood. Her search for an architect to match her aspirations ended when she was introduced to Frank Lloyd Wright, at the time considered the rising leader of a new movement. Susan’s 1902 commission to Frank for the remodeling of the Lawrence Victorian mansion was the largest commission he had ever received. The personalities and tastes of the two were a perfect match; Frank wound up designing and building what was, in effect, an entirely new house for Susan. The house contains the largest collection of site-specific, original Wright art glass and furniture in the world; this gorgeous treasure is today a museum operated by the Illinois Historic Preservation Agency. » read more
» May 15th, 2013
A Trace Of Times
Linda Burton posting from Springfield, Illinois – It was a time warp. Two just-up cozy dogs and a side of rings sat before me on 50’s-era formica, a squirt of mustard puddled beside them in the cardboard cup. Over by the door two eight-foot cozy dogs complete with hairbow and gloves stood in loving embrace. Over in the corner two cozy customers stood mesmerized by memorabilia plastered floor to ceiling on the restaurant walls. Outside, two cozy dogs atop the sign explained: Cozy Drive In Home of the Famous Hot Dog On A Stick. And beyond that, the highway once known as Route 66 
carried the midday traffic on what is now Sixth Avenue. Times may change, but the past is safe in here. I swirled my corndog in the mustard, bit off the end, and began to read the back of my newly purchased map. Route 66 runs from the shores of Lake Michigan in Chicago to the Pacific Ocean at Santa Monica, California. Begun in 1926, it was built under several Federal Aid Highway Acts and was one of the largest public works projects to take place in the US. Route 66 helped create a distribution of America’s population from the areas affected most by the great depression to 
new areas in the west. From 1945-1965 many unique businesses opened along the route to service the increased travel prompted by the post-war economic boom. Restaurants, motels, and novelty shops created miles of neon signs that marked the way of Route 66. “And I’m in one of those restaurants right now,” I thought, as I unfolded the map to read about other spots along the route still there to offer nostalgic travelers a trace of times gone by. » read more
» May 13th, 2013
Honestly Abe
Linda Burton posting from Springfield, Illinois – “It’s like Epcot,” I was told by a Springfield resident, referring to the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Museum at the corner of Jefferson and Sixth. “You’ve got to see it!” In a town that’s filled with Abe-ness, this is the spot where every facet of the Lincoln story is presented “Disney style,” in ways designed to hold the attention of even the most blasé. Everybody knows Abraham Lincoln basics; born February 12, 1809, assassinated April 15, 1865; 16th President of the United States. His rugged face is familiar to us; he’s often portrayed wearing a top hat and a somber expression. His boyhood poverty and 
rise to leader of the land is the stuff of inspiration; “he learned to read by candlelight,” we’re told, and thus we know we can achieve greatness too, no matter how humble our beginnings, just like Abe. This is the place to kick up what you know a notch; it’s all there in an air-conditioned walk – the replica of “Abe’s Boyhood Cabin;” his courtship of Mary Todd; his children Willie and Tad playing in his office; his presidential campaign; his time in the White House; his coffin in the Springfield capitol. Special effects surround you; there’s a TV studio 
playing the 1860 presidential campaign as though it were held in modern times; a barrage of words and images depict the world that surrounded Lincoln as he sat as his desk to sign the Emancipation Proclamation. During the projection show in the Union Theater the seats tremble when Civil War cannons are fired; in Ghosts of the Library a live actor debates holographic ghosts. A fabulous experience, all in all. But here in Springfield you can see the honest-to-Lincoln sites too, like the Lincoln home, and offices. For real. » read more
» May 10th, 2013
Love What You’ve Got
Linda Burton posting from Springfield, Illinois – I woke in Indianapolis today; from my room overlooking the city I watched the sun rise in the morning window-sparkle of downtown skyscrapers. I sleep tonight in Springfield; outside my room a single tree somewhat blocks my view of the long-haul trucks in the parking lot, waiting for daylight to hit the road. Though both cities are the center of government for their state, they are very different in style. Indianapolis (pop 829,718) thrives on the adrenalin of sports; speedways and stadiums dot the landscape, surrounded by the accoutrements that accommodate large crowds; restaurants of every ilk, high-rise hotels, taxi cabs. Stand and cheer! Springfield (pop 116,250) is Lincoln’s land; everywhere is evidence of the quiet reflective man who lived here, is buried here. In Springfield he practiced law; in Springfield he campaigned to become president of the land, though when he arrived he didn’t have money to even buy a bed. Inspiration of a different sort; such is the way of the Journey Across America, now 60% complete (stand and cheer!). Today I claim 30 capital cities as my home towns; for the last 443 days I’ve experienced life with big-city bustle, and small-town charm. I’ve seen mountains and 
valleys and rivers and lakes, fishing and farming and mining and making things, fresh air and fresh food and history and her story, progress and dropping back and growth and decline, sun belts and bible belts and rust belts and no belts at all, just space. Or congestion. I knew capital cities would be interesting; I had no idea how such a mix of lifestyles and scenery and climate would affect my sensibilities, and begin to explain the world. It’s not what you’ve got that matters, I’ve discovered, it’s how much you love what you’ve got. » read more
» May 7th, 2013
Rock Solid
Linda Burton posting from Indianapolis, Indiana – “I know you are very smart,” the tour guide said, her lapel-mike echoing her voice in the great hall, “Your teachers are very good, and you have come here today to learn more about your state. I am proud of you.” “Rapt attention” may sound a bit clichéd, but the fourth-grade class circle-seated on the rotunda’s marble floor was seriously paying attention. I felt pretty smart myself, and right at home; there was something in the air, was it the light filtering through the colorful art-glass dome of the rotunda? Or the pleasant musty smell of the oaks doors facing the spacious hall – offices of the Governor, the Secretary of State, the 
Treasurer – knock to come in, communicate. Upstairs, on the balcony, I passed a window-in-the-wall that allowed a view straight into the Senate chambers; a passing staff member explained – “We want people to know what’s going on. You can watch from the hallway or the gallery above.” No session today, but the Chamber doors were open; “You’re welcome to go in,” she urged, “And don’t miss the Supreme Court room.” I followed her suggestion, noting the “Activities For Kids” bulletin board just outside the Supreme Court door. Inside I settled in a wooden chair to rest a moment and opened the booklet I’d picked up at the Visitors Desk. I read the chapter titles first: A Center of Civic Life. In Character With The Parthenon. In Clear Arrangement. The First One Hundred Years. Restoration At Its Best. A Solid Foundation. I flipped to the last sentence on the last page: “Indiana’s State House has a rock-solid foundation.” My interest was thoroughly piqued by now, I decided to begin at the beginning. » read more
» May 3rd, 2013
Two Hoosier Guys
Linda Burton posting from Indianapolis, Indiana – An unopened letter under glass. A hat and cane on the bed. These lonely mementos are remnants of the lives of two men whose words have touched virtually every school child and avid reader of the last hundred years. I’m talking about James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916) and Kurt Vonnegut Jr (1922-2007), both with inextricable ties to Indianapolis. Riley was an American writer known as the Hoosier Poet. His work tended to be humorous or sentimental and most of the thousand poems he published were in dialect, like Little Orphant Annie (1885). Vonnegut was an American writer known for his unique blend of satire and science fiction. His black comic voice became his trademark in novels such as Slaughterhouse Five (1969). The James Whitcomb Riley Museum Home and the Kurt Vonnegut Memorial Library sit only blocks apart in downtown Indianapolis. I visited both today, looking for more personal glimpses of the men and hoping to better understand what led them down their 
chosen paths. I never thought of them as anything alike, but before the day was over, I found that I was wrong; they had a great deal in common. Though born in different centuries, they grew up on Indiana time; little boys raised with Indiana values. As with most of us, they were greatly influenced by their families. James was the third of the six children of Reuben and Elizabeth Riley; Kurt Jr was the youngest of three children born to Kurt and Edith Vonnegut. Both families suffered a traumatic change of circumstances that reflected forever in the writings, and behaviors, of these two men. » read more
» May 1st, 2013
Birth Of A Capital City
Linda Burton posting from Indianapolis, Indiana –How many capital cities have the name of the state within the name of the city? The answer is at the end of this post, but obviously Indianapolis is one. The name was created by joining “Indiana” with “polis,” which is the Greek word for “city.” Yes, Indianapolis literally means Indiana City (like Oklahoma City, a trivia hint for you). So the next question is “what does Indiana mean?” I won’t go into all of the Indian wars and treaties that occurred as the United States expanded westward; I’ll start with July 4, 1800, when Indiana Territory was pulled out of the larger Northwest Territory. Vincennes, a former French trading post and one of the only white settlements in the vast territory, was named capital. At that time about five thousand white Europeans lived north of the Ohio River; Native Americans 
occupied most of the Territory, referred to as “Land of the Indians,” aka Indiana. Fast forward to December 1813: Corydon was named the second capital of Indiana Territory, and the wheels began to turn for statehood. President James Madison approved Indiana’s admission into the Union December 11, 1816 as the 19th state. The capital could not be located in the central part of the state at that time because the land was controlled by Native Americans; however in an 1818 treaty the area was opened for white settlement; an unprecedented migration followed. A central location for a capital city became imperative then; on January 11, 1820 Governor Jennings commissioned 10 men to select a site for the permanent capital. They chose a spot at the junction of Fall Creek and White River; the legislature ratified their selection January 6, 1821, and the building of a capital city began. Enter Alexander Ralston. » read more
» April 29th, 2013
Not To Brag
Linda Burton posting from Indianapolis, Indiana – Cherry trees? I’m not sure about the small grove of brilliant pink just below my hotel window in a tiny pocket park, but they are full-bloomed out and looking fine today. Across the street the trees need a few more days of sun, although the grass below is high; a city groundskeeper is circling each tree with his mowing machine. I’m looking straight into downtown Indianapolis, the second-largest of the 50 capital cities with a population of 829,718 (US Census 2010). And I’m reading the Indy Visitor Guide, trying to get my bearings and make a plan. I’m just five blocks from the State Capitol, straight down Washington Street; and I can see the top of the monument in Monument Circle tucked between tall buildings, just two blocks away. Very cool. The cover of the Spring/Summer 
2013 version of Visit Indy surprises me – a gondolier in a black and white striped shirt guiding a gondola on a canal? Am I in Venice, or the middle of the USA? But that’s what it promises: gondolas, art parks, ziplines, shopping, music, and more. Let’s Eat! it implores. 173 Great Restaurants! The Indy 500 is all I really know about Indianapolis; Visit Indy tells me that 400,000 people attend the various races at the Speedway every year. But get this – 22 million people visit the city every year (that averages out to 60,000 people a day). And no wonder so many people come to Indianapolis – 50% of the population of the United States lives within an 8-hour drive! This is serious tourism bragging going on, well, I guess I’d brag too over such impressive numbers. I keep reading. » read more
» April 23rd, 2013
Ghosts On The Hill
Linda Burton posting from Nashville, Tennessee – The couple behind was panting even more than me. There was a steep hillclimb to get to the capitol entry point and the closest parking was blocks away in an expensive high-rise garage. I passed THP scrutiny and received my entry pass but needed to catch my breath; I watched as the Tennessee Highway Patrol guard at the tunnel door went through his routine again. He opened the woman’s bag and searched it; he photocopied their photo ID and entered their names into his database. Finally issued passes, 
they were allowed to walk through Xray, and given directions to the elevator. “That’s not very welcoming,” I commented to the officer, noting his name on his badge and adding “Mike,” to my sentence, aiming for a friendly tone. “Why do you require photo ID before allowing people to visit their state capitol? I haven’t seen that anywhere before.” Mike shook his head in a kind of apology. “We’ve had so many threats,” he answered. “We check names against our database of people who are considered dangerous and not allowed in.” We chatted a while, discussing the fine line between “openness” and “safety” with regard to public buildings in this day and age. The Tennessee State Capitol is a treasure, to be sure, 
filled with historic moments and memories; it even serves as the final resting place of its architect William Strickland, who is buried in the northeast corner. Though sitting high atop a hill, the building is dwarfed today by the city that has grown up around it; skyscrapers and congested streets almost edge out the feel of history. But I’d come to see; I said goodbye to Mike and headed down the hall, my photo-pass stuck to my shirt. » read more
» April 21st, 2013
Leave As Friends
Linda Burton posting from Nashville, Tennessee – “Enter as strangers, leave as friends.” That’s what happens when you gather round the dining table and start passing the peas. And the mashed potatoes, and meatloaf, and all the other goodies that grace the table. I was sitting in Monell’s, a family style restaurant in a historic 1880’s house in Germantown, a north Nashville neighborhood. Baskets of corn muffins, pitchers of sweet tea; pass to the left, please; you can’t help it, you start to chat. “My husband died in February,” said Sandra, on my left. “My son brought me out for 
lunch today.” Terrance nodded, “We’re walking in the park after lunch,” he said, “I’ve lost almost a hundred pounds in the last year.” He pulled out his cellphone to show a picture of his former self; his mother and I lavished him with praise. On my right sat Allison and Matt; Matt directs a local TV show and gave me the scoop on the Nashville scene; in turn they wanted to know absolutely everything about the Journey. A month’s worth of friendliness, over chicken and dumplings; where can you find that, except when sharing a meal? No fast food hurry up, just take your time and talk. Family dining, the old-fashioned way. Monell’s was my Saturday treat; today I headed far out in the country to the 
famed Loveless Café for Sunday brunch. Willard Scott claimed the Loveless has the “world’s greatest scratch biscuits” and Martha Stewart said it was “the best breakfast I ever had.” But the reality of the Loveless popularity really hit when I wound up in the unpaved parking lot on the far end of the property. Hundreds of biscuit-hungry folks were already waiting to be fed. » read more