Nice thing about little towns is that almost every one with a population greater than 43 will have–maybe just for one Brigadoonian day a year–a reason to stop there. A craft fair, a festival, a charity softball game.
Sometimes it’s worth it just to pull in and see what makes a town different.
It turned out Litchfield, Ill., has some history. Georges Clemenceau, then running France, and about 50 pals stopped there for a breather in 1923 after rumors his St. Louis-bound train was to be dynamited.
Fortunately for Clem, his fellow Gallics and especially for the train, the rumors were false–but it gave Litchfield one of its two brushes with history.
The other, a longer brush, began in 1929, when the Adams family opened the Ariston Cafe. Six years later, the restaurant moved from its first location to one on Route 66. The Route is now mainly the stuff of T-shirts and nostalgia, but the cafe is still there, still operated by the founding family–Nick Adams is the boss now–still looking great and still serving fried chicken gizzards and real mashed potatoes.
Olney, Ill., on the other hand, has white squirrels.
“There are a couple of other towns that have them,” says Sue Michels of the Olney Chamber of Commerce, “but we have the best ones.”
They roam the city park. You can see them there. And they’re protected: If your car squishes one, the fine is $25.
You won’t see white squirrels in Wyoming.
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Chester, set on an Illinois bluff above the Mississippi, was the birthplace in 1894 of Elzie Segar. If that name doesn’t sound familiar, this one will: Popeye. Segar created him, inspired (the signs don’t exactly say how) by a local and long-forgotten scrapper named Frank “Rocky” Fiegel. Wimpy evidently was an actual person too: William “Windy Bill” Schuchert, who owned and operated the Chester Opera House.
Right by the bridge to Missouri, in its own little park, is a statue of the Sailor Man.
Up the road from Chester, still on the Illinois side, is the site of what was Ft. Kaskaskia, once French, later British, now just a state park good for picnics, camping, hiking and looking at the river. Toward the bank is an actual remnant: the well-preserved Pierre Menard House (1800), the French-style home of the former territorial governor. Menard later became the new state’s first lieutenant governor, a county and a prison
Take that Popeye Memorial Bridge (not its real name, but it should be) into Missouri, hang a right and, without recrossing the river, you will be back in Illinois. Kaskaskia, the town that was Illinois’ first capital (1818-19), wound up west of the Mississippi (the only Illinois town west of the river) when the stream changed course in the last century. It was already crumbling by then; subsequent floods washed the rest of it away, and visiting the site today is a slightly spooky experience. There are a few houses of recent vintage, a church (home of a chalice once belonging to Pere Marquette) and a little red-brick building holding the Kaskaskia Bell.
As almost nobody knows, this French-made bell was sounded on July 4, 1778, to celebrate George Rogers Clark et al.’s liberating the town from the British–a token liberation since all but a few British had already deserted the place.
More interesting is Ste. Genevieve, upriver from Kaskaskia (and back in Missouri). Scattered around the town are houses and commercial buildings dating to the late 1700s (the town was founded in 1735, making it Missouri’s oldest); many are open for tours, including the 1770 Bolduc House, remarkably preserved and containing many artifacts.
As remarkable as St. Gen’s antiquity is its very survival. Forever prone to floods (the Bolduc House was moved by oxcart to its present, relatively dry site in 1785), the town was a levee away from being washed out of existence during the record 1993 flood.
“Everybody was sandbagging,” said Anne, 19, a waitress at Sirros, a modest restaurant off the courthouse square. “Everybody in town. I hated sandbagging–that was hard work.” She smiled. “But those National Guard dudes …”
Sandbags, but no dudes, are on display in the visitor center.
Returning to Illinois, Shelbyville has one of the state’s great Victorian courthouses, a fine war memorial and some splendid homes. Lincoln, during his lawyer period, lawyered here, orated here and slept here.
Most of all, Shelbyville has Lake Shelbyville, a man-made body with 172 miles of shoreline providing access to bass, walleye, muskie, crappie, bluegill and catfish. How good is the fishing? From June through August the lake hosts 38 fishing tournaments, primarily bass. But there’s more.
“A lot of people plan their trips to Lake Shelbyville not only to fish but to enjoy one of the festivals,” said Judy Pfeiffer, of Shelby County’s tourism office. There’s always something–even at Christmastime, when the whole town gets lit, so to speak.
The center of Illinois’ Amish region is Arcola. As these things go, Arcola (like neighboring Arthur) is understated: a small main street with a couple of craft shops and places to eat, a little museum in the old train station–plus Rockome Gardens, kind of an Amish theme park where the packaged action, what there is of it, is.
The actual town is one of America’s broom-making capitals, which is an excuse for the rollicking Broomcorn Festival (Sept. 5-7). Raggedy Ann and Andy were born here, designed by Johnny Gruelle, who is honored by a little monument, dolls for sale and, of course, another festival.
At night, according to a local bartender: “Nothing. Dies. Deadville.” Doesn’t matter. The joy here is the back roads, where calm and horse-drawn carriages prevail. “All you got to do is head west out of town, and you’ll find ’em,” said the bartender. “The farther west you go, the more Amish you run into.”
If there are horse droppings on the road, you’re headed in the right direction.
No dad ever says to his children, “Hey, let’s go to Springfield and watch the General Assembly debate an amendment to the tax code.” But in the land of Lincoln, this–combined with Lincoln’s New Salem State Park near Petersburg, just up the road–truly is Lincolnland, and that’s fine. Bring the kids. There’s a surprising lack of hokum at either location (no “Two Flags Over the Union” waterslide). Tour Abe’s house, see (in the Old State Capitol) where he warned of the dangers of a “house divided,” walk into his law office, see the depot where he said farewell to his friends, pay respects at his tomb: Anyone with any sense of history will find tingle moments despite the inevitable hordes of urchins (not yours, of course) too eager to hit the gift shops for rubber snakes.
Macomb is home of Western Illinois University, but the mention on the “welcome” sign is the only real clue, unless you know the hangouts. For the rest of us, there’s another terrific courthouse (this one from 1872), nearby Argyle Lake State Park, a summer musical-theater series (“Damn Yankees” and “Hello Dolly” highlight this season) and a concentration of turn-of-the-century barns, many architecturally interesting and a few open for tours.
Then there’s Peoria.
This is not a miracle situation yet. The city is still Bradley and Caterpillar and a downtown that doesn’t exactly crackle with excitement–but something is happening here. Outbidding Champaign for the state boys’ basketball finals a couple of years ago was a sign of a new aggressiveness. Wait till you see what’s happening on the riverfront.
“This,” said Alex Grieves, son of Peoria mayor Bud, “is going to be, like, the next Cincinnati.”
Already here: riverboat rides, a microbrewery and a couple of casual spots on the water for ice cream, burgers, beer and bands (and across the river, a casino boat). By summer’s end, there will be parks, an amphitheater, a riverwalk and boat slips.
Cincinnati, by the way, has a very cool riverfront.
North of the city via the pleasant road along the Illinois River is Henry. Lincoln and Douglas spoke in its square–though not on the same day. A pretty gazebo is in that park now, along with a monument honoring John Cromwell, a Henry native awarded the Medal of Honor for gallantry as a World War II sub commander.
The fishing is good on the river near what was a dam and lock, for bass and particularly for catfish. “Up along that other bank there,” said one angler, “you can actually see them.” And any town with a restaurant called “Mother’s” and a bar called “Grandma’s” can’t be all bad.
Princeton can’t be all good, but that’s sure what it seems to be. Pretty Victorian houses, a wonderful Soldiers & Sailors Monument in a perfectly groomed park, nice Main Street (with a movie house), some noble history (the house of fiery abolitionist Owen Lovejoy–who introduced the Emancipation Proclamation in Congress–was a stop on the Underground Railroad) and one of the five surviving covered bridges in Illinois.
And on the day I was there, three healthy young lads were merrily swinging into Big Bureau Creek off a rope attached to the red bridge’s underside.
We’re talking Mountain Dew commercial here. Bygone days not bygone at all.
Then there was Pat Fry, who owns (and does the baking for) Princeton’s Homestead Restaurant, who admitted her place couldn’t provide the requested vodka martini on the rocks.
“You can always bring your own,” she said. And after a five-second delay: “You just can’t drink it.”
Even Princeton’s comedic timing is perfect.
Ronald Reagan’s boyhood home is the draw in Dixon, which welcomes you with a big white arch, then sends you careening down toward the Rock River. Well, “careening” is a little strong, but the town is built on a slope, which makes it interesting in a way.
There’s a statue of the president alongside the modest frame house in which he grew up. From the front, it looks like the grinning Reagan is pointing to his open right palm and saying “Grease this.” The inscription on the base explains he is, in fact, “admiring the kernels of corn in his hand.” What could he be saying? “Well, I know I’m the leader of the Free World, but Homer, these are awesome kernels”?
Not far from Dixon is Grand Detour, where you can visit the home of John Deere, who forged the first successful steel plow, and buy a toy tractor to take home.
It’s easy to rip Galena. Too cutesy, too crowded, too many shops selling junk. All true–and yet, and yet … it’s really pretty. Plus the area has golf courses in summer, skiing in winter, interesting restaurants, a couple of nearby casino boats and enough historical goodies (Grant’s house, mine tours) to rationalize the available fun.
And on a slightly drizzly early morning, when the shops and the tourists are still in slumber, a walk through the town’s streets is as special as it was a couple of decades ago, when the place was a deteriorating, relatively undiscovered ghost town.
Less cutesy is Dubuque, just across the Mississippi on the Iowa side, which has nostalgic pockets in the town (try Cable Car Square), active theater (“Annie” at the 1889 Grand Opera House) and a worthwhile river museum alongside its casino boat. And a half-hour west of Dubuque is Dyersville.
Dyersville has a basilica, woodcarving museum, doll museum, farm toy museum and–most famously, even now–the Field of Dreams. Universal built it in 1988 for the movie, and still they come. Not even baseball’s systematic destruction of its historical context (the lost World Series, wild cards and extended playoffs, interleague play) can stop fathers and sons from trekking here to have a catch in front of that old white farmhouse.
“It’s probably helped us,” said Keith Rahe, who runs the souvenir shack beyond third base. “It reminds people of what baseball was like, growing up.”
Back on the Mississippi, there’s Guttenberg, a charmer whose modest aquarium (containing all local fish–perch, walleye, bass, catfish, crappie) is listed on the National Register. The joys are quiet here: benches on the riverfront from which you can watch barge traffic negotiate the dam and locks, a few old buildings, a walk along the 1.9-mile parkway built atop a levee, fishing off the banks.
McGregor, a few miles north, is a scruffy old river town that–despite a casino in neighboring Marquette–clearly hasn’t cashed in on its location or its architectural legacy. But the 1899 Alexander Hotel has never been closed in all those years, so maybe the folks here are doing it right after all.
The town tourist office has posted hours, and a caveat: “These hours are close, but not set in stone.”
Liked McGregor. Liked Boscobel a lot.
This Wisconsin town is just south of a landing on the Wisconsin River. Found a fisherman there, about to set his boat in the water. What’s in the water?
“Catfish, bass, walleye–everything known to man,” said the angler.
In the town are handsome stone buildings linked to the German immigrants who arrived just before the Civil War. One of them, the former Central House Hotel, was birthplace of the Gideon Society (which provides Bibles to hotels) in 1898. Jack and Jackie Kennedy stayed there during the 1960 campaign; local legend insists that’s where John F. Kennedy Jr. got his start–and if it ain’t true, it oughta be.
Rail buffs might take a moment or two to check out the small museum in Fennimore dedicated to narrow gauge trains. You’ll want to spend more time in Lancaster, whose courthouse dome (1902) looks like something lifted from Chicago’s 1893 World’s Fair. Also on the courthouse square: America’s first Civil War monument (1867). In fact, this is a marvelous square in every way–and must really be something on some summer Monday nights, when local musicians get together and put on open-air concerts.
Mineral Point goes back to Wisconsin’s earliest days (1827 is the accepted settlement date), when Cornish immigrants–the original “badgers”–worked underground in local lead mines. Today, it’s an art colony (“What Galena used to be,” said a local), antique center and a place where visitors can savor pasties–kind of a Cornish variation of beef pie (bits of steak, onions, potatoes and rutabagas surrounded by pie crust)–and figgyhobbin, a very, very sweet dessert. Pendarvis, on the edge of town, is a remnant of the early Cornish village, complete with costumed guides.
Fans of architect Frank Lloyd Wright know about Taliesen–his home and perhaps the ultimate in Wrighteousness–and Spring Green. The town is small, with a couple of good restaurants and galleries (notably the Jura Silverman Studio and Gallery on Washington Street), but the true glory is the surrounding countryside and Wright’s legacy.
“You get a feel for him and see how he extracted from nature,” said Carole, a guide there. “It isn’t like seeing one of his buildings in the city.”
There’s nothing anywhere like the House on the Rock, in the hills (rocks?) south of Spring Green.
“It’s hard to explain,” said Carrie from the ticket window, “because it’s just one man’s imagination.”
The one man was named Alex Jordan. His “imagination” gave us things like this: a mechanical orchestra of seafood playing the Beatles’ “Octopus’s Garden” alongside a remarkable collection of antique spittoons.
It’s wonderful. Very silly. Bring the kids. Bring your grandmother. Bring walking shoes. Take your time.
And speaking of wonderful, there’s Baraboo.
The Ringling Brothers got their start here, renting horses for their first show in 1884. Until 1918, the town remained their circus’ winter quarters, and that legacy is the Circus World Museum, a marvelous place that, like the enterprise it honors, mixes fun and history and hokum and, in total, puts on quite a show.
Another Ringling legacy is in the town’s charming center: the Al. Ringling Theatre. Built in 1915, financed by Albert Ringling and designed by the firm that gave us the Chicago Theatre, the 800-seater is regarded as America’s first movie palace, and it is every bit the palace–a Versailles wedding cake with Florentine frosting. Catch a movie or a concert there (608-356-8864). This is an American treasure.
On the other hand, there’s the Wisconsin Dells. What Baraboo is–preserved, but still fun–the Dells lost.
“They learned,” said Anita Nelson, who with her family owns a nice farmhouse restaurant and B&B (the Thunder Valley Inn) outside town, where it’s still green and relatively quiet. “We’re a little bit slow. Our little downtown should have held on. Maybe we’ll get it back. “
Maybe. And maybe I’ll like the Dells more after I ride a Duck. Which I am about to do …
WEEK 2: ILLINOIS AND SOME NEIGHBORS
Towns visited: Litchfield, Olney, Chester, Kaskaskia, Shelbyville, Arcola, Springfield, Petersburg, Macomb, Peoria, Henry, Princeton, Dixon, Grand Detour, Galena in Illinois; Dubuque, Dyersville, Guttenberg and McGregor in Iowa; Boscobel, Fennimore, Lancaster, Mineral Point, Dodgeville, Spring Green, Baraboo and Wisconsin Dells, in Wisconsin; and Ste. Genevieve in Missouri.
Best Main Street: Galena, Ill.
Worst Main Street: Wisconsin Dells.
Best meal: Hickory smoked ribs, Wally’s House of Embers, Lake Delton (near the Dells), Wis.
Best-looking diner: Ariston Cafe, Litchfield, Ill.
Best sound: Trotting horses and rattling buggies on the road, Arcola, Ill.
Best drive: Wisconsin Highway 23, Dodgeville to Reedsburg (also near the Dells), Wis.
Most inexplicable phenomenon: The continued lure of the Field of Dreams, Dyersville, Iowa.
Funnest attraction: House on the Rock, Spring Green, Wis.
Next funnest: Circus World Museum, Baraboo, Wis.
Best courthouse: Grant County, Lancaster, Wis.
Best movie house: Al. Ringling Theatre, Baraboo.
Best statue: Popeye, Chester, Ill.
Worst statue: Ronald Reagan (truly geeky), Dixon, Ill.
Town to watch: Peoria.
Best town symbol: White squirrels, Olney, Ill.
Best town name: Festus, Mo. (not visited).
Best name for a strip joint: Big Al’s, Peoria.
Best pie crust: The one surrounding the cherry filling at the Homestead Restaurant, Princeton, Ill.
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Next Sunday: On to Wisconsin and Michigan.
