Thanks Matt

As a history teacher, I have to address topics that can sometimes make me a little depressed, especially after teaching it to four different classes.  Man, it can sometimes take a toll on the mood.  Although I didn't really want to, I felt it was my duty to as a teacher to have a discussion about what happened at Sandy Hook and get the kids thoughts about not only the horrific tragedy, but also about the debate our country is now embroiled in regarding guns.

We discussed it and I honestly felt that my kids had more reasoned responses than some of what the media has been throwing at us for the last few weeks.  Regardless, it was not exactly a bright and happy talk that we were having.

During the last ten minutes of class I wanted to end with a little something more upbeat to clear some of the gloom and doom so I showed them Matt Harding's latest "Dancing" video.  For the last several years Matt has been traveling the globe and filming himself and others dancing.  What I really like about his videos is the intentional or not so intentional feeling of connectivity across the earth.  So often we turn on the news and it is about the latest shooting or unrest in a foreign country.  You would think based upon the media that this planet has few redeeming qualities, but what this video does, at least for me, is reminds me that there is beauty everywhere.  The looks on the peoples faces as they are dancing is that of pure joy.

I could not help but smile each of the four times I showed this today and the reaction the kids had to it afterwards.  Although we discussed some serious matters today, it was nice that the kids left with some feeling of hope and safety.  Sometimes in this crazy world, you just have to be reminded that despite all the negative, there are some pretty great things to be thankful for.

The Lincoln Turd

It is no secret that I have had a little obsession with Abe Lincoln since I was a kid.  Throughout the years I have collected all sorts of odd little things inspired by Lincoln and visited the sites related to his life.  A couple of years ago I drove up to Springfield, Illinois to visit the presidential museum(amazing) and last year I visited the location of his birth in Kentucky.

Well, I have now made it my mission to find the holy grail of all things Lincoln; his last bowel movement.  Supposedly in Fords Theatre, Lincoln passed a little nugget and has now been handed down through the ages.  Lincoln must have been going commando that night because it is claimed to be have been found in the presidential box at Fords.  I guess it just must have slipped out and rolled out onto the floor.  The finder of it kept it and even wrote his own certificate of authenticity that read; "I Sam Frick, do swear that A. Lincoln passed this turd at Ford's"

For years a little roadside attraction in Baltimore known as The Dime Museum harbored this little treasure, but sadly the place closed up a few years back and everything was auctioned off.  The whereabouts of Lincoln's crap is unknown.  I must find it and give it the home it deserves.

I love to freak out people with this mask

History Makes Me Vomit

I have always loved a good road trip.  Even as a young guy, I loved our family vacations where we would get up early in the morning and begin the long journey to Florida.  I would prepare weeks ahead of time preparing my trip kit filled with games, candy, and drawing supplies.

Even now I cant help but still enjoy those endless hours on the road stopping off at various locales like the worlds largest rocking chair or the BIG statue of Superman in Metropolis, Illinois.   While many might use the interstates to get from point A to point B, I use them as a way of seeing all of the great Americana and history that this nation offers.

A few years ago I was accepted into an NEH institute in Pittsburg and decided to use the experience as an excuse for a history nerds road trip dream come true.  I meticulously planned out my itinerary and even decided to stay in hostels so that I could commune with other travelers.  I planned on visiting Charleston, South Carolina, Colonial Williamsburg, Philadelphia, and even planned on having a Civil Wargasm where I would visit every Civil War related site I could find.

With my Paul doll(historical action figure) by my side I set off one early June morning with the plan of getting to Charleston and visiting Fort Sumter in the late afternoon.  With my Ipod blasting my favorite Dolly Parton tunes and my car getting great mileage, I was filled with a great sense of excitement and gratitude.  Needing some gas and a little snack I pulled over in Georgia.

I stretched my legs a bit and consumed some sketchy yogurt from the local gas station before setting off again.  Within the hour my stomach began to groan and I started to feel the early warning signs of food poisoning.  I quietly cursed Yoplait but continued on towards Charleston.  Each passing mile confirmed the fact that I was descending into a hellish state of sickness.

By the time I reached Charleston I was sweating profusely and my stomach had turned itself into painful knots.  I was still determined to make it to Fort Sumter to see where the Civil War got started and boarded the ferry.  Surely the Civil War soldiers had experienced far worse than a tummy ache so I simply soldiered on.  Despite the fact that I felt like the war had declared itself in my abdomen, I still enjoyed the experience and tried to make the best of it.

Now I am not one to really throw up when sick, but I still know the telling signs that it was going to happen.  I stood among other tourists looking at a plaque when all of a sudden my mouth began to water like the alien from the Alien movies and my stomach began that lurching movement.  Before I could warn anyone, I exploded in a deluge of 12 hour old food.  I sort of felt like Moses parting the Red Sea, because as I heaved, the dozen or so tourists jumped back to escape getting splashed.  I continued my heaving and screaming for another minute before a nice guide from the National Parks Service took me to the bathroom to get cleaned up.  As I walked back past the scene of my stomach crime and saw that it had been roped off, I thought to myself that Fort Sumter had experienced war and huricanes, but I had managed to close it down with one bad yogurt.

Back on dry land, I continued to grow more and more sick and decided to not subject the hostel to my illness so I found a hotel.  Actually, it would have been better to have just rented out a bathroom for the evening since I spent a majority of the night clinging to the toilet bowl. 

The next morning I continued on to Virginia and found a cheap place to stay in Williamsburg.  Despite the fact that I was so sick, I still held on to the hope that I could still experience my itinerary.  I kept thinking that I just needed a good  nights rest.  By about 4 in the morning I knew that my plans were shot and that I would have to get medical attention, but I wanted to at least make it to Pittsburgh before I did so.

Somewhere in Pennsylvania I stopped for gas and was in so much pain that it took me five minutes to get out of my car and another five to get back in.   I vowed that it was either run out of gas and call 911 or make it to Pittsburgh.  Luckily I made it to Pittsburgh and found the first hospital that would accept my insurance.  I hobbled in the emergency room and simply uttered the words "help" before just sitting down at the nurses booth.

After a quick examination, the doctors looked at me grimly and asked how long I had been driving.  After telling them that I had been on the road for two days in that condition, the doctors informed me that I had a ruptured appendix and not food poisoning.  Within minutes I was in the operating room having the sad bits of my appendix removed.  The doctors told me later that it was a miracle that I had survived.

Throughout the entire experience I tried to convince myself that it would just pass.  I guess the one good thing that did come out of it was I got to experience the 4th of July from a hospital bed with a morphine drip.  Not quite the fireworks I was hoping for, but man the wicked dreams about them more than made up for it.  

Medgar Evers

It is really hard to travel through the south in search of historic places without having to confront some of the worst chapters in our American past.  During my last road trip, I focused specifically on visiting sites related to the civil rights movement.

VERY early one morning, I visited the former home of Medgar Evers.  I say VERY early because if you watch the video it looks as if I had just woken up and I am very soft spoken.  Obviously the morning coffee had not quite kicked in in.

Medgar Evers was the field office secretary for the NAACP in Jackson, Mississippi.  He spent a good deal of time advocating for voting rights and also the end of segregation.  He had also been heavily involved in trying to secure justice in the Emmett Till case, which sadly still has not been realized over 50 years later.

Evers and his family knew of the dangers involved with his work, but despite that he continued to fight.  Shortly after he got home right after midnight on June 12, 1963, Evers was gunned down and killed by an assassin. Byron DeLaBeckwith was accused of the murder and went to trial for it two times in the 1960's.  Each trial came back with a hung jury and Beckwith was set loose.  Finally after almost 30 years Beckwith was brought back to trial and finally found guilty of murdering Evers.  He died in prison in 2001.

I first remember hearing about Evers in my 10th grade history class and I followed the new trial closely.  Upon setting out on my latest road trip, I knew that the Evers home would have to be a stop on the itinerary.  The home is now a museum and you can schedule tour ahead of time if you would like to see the inside.  Because it was so early when I got there, I could only see the outside.  I tried to look through the windows but an old lady next door kept giving me dirty looks so I just filmed what I could and moved on.

Although his life was cut dramatically short, Ever's impact upon Mississippi was great.  Sadly, it was his death that probably provoked the most change.  For those of you interested, there was a movie made about bringing Beckwith to justice called "Ghosts of Mississippi".  Also, if you saw "The Help" you might recall that Evers death plays a prominent role in that film and book.

The Devil and Robert Johnson

While driving through Mississippi this past week I had to take a little time out to explore the myth and the legend of Robert Johnson who is widely considered a true pioneer of the Blues.  Admittedly, the Blues is not something I would typically have playing from my Ipod(Dolly Parton would be disappointed) I did enjoy something a little new and grew to appreciate it.

Robert Johnson(1911-1938) probably would have been shocked by his success because during his life he was never considered famous.  He roamed from town to town playing gigs and even spent a fair amount of time playing on street corners.  Despite his relative lack of success while he was still above ground, he did manage to cut some records which were "rediscovered" years after his demise.  It was then that people realized his talent and he finally became a legend.

Since he was relatively unknown during his lifetime, people have tried to reconstruct his story based on the scarce information that is really known about him.  Much is based on legend, most notably the story in which he reportedly sold his soul to the devil in exchange for some mad guitar skills.  Legend has it that he was told that if he took his guitar to a crossroads in Clarksdale, Mississippi, the devil in the shape of a black man would strike up a deal with him.  It is said that Johnson took the advice, went to the crossroads and the devil came and tuned his guitar.  From then on he was a master at his craft. 

His death at the age of 27 is also shrouded in mystery and some say the devil came to collect his prize.  Johnson was known to love three things; wine, women and song.  Sadly for him, all of these ended up leading to his death.  Apparently he was messing around with another mans wife and the husband ended up poisoning some booze that Johnson was guzzling down and he died shortly thereafter. 

I am always a little obsessed about finding the gravesites of people so I made it my mission to find the final resting place of Johnson.  It turned into quite an ordeal and I am sad to admit I utterly failed at it.  Thing is that no one can seem to agree where he is actually buried.  There are actually 3 gravestones for him in three different locations.  Since he was an itinerant musician no one really seemed to care to throw him a lavish funeral and his body was just buried with no real marker.  Through the years people have claimed to know the "real" location of his remains, but short of digging him up, I think the mystery will continue.  I wanted to find all three gravesites, but my enormous lack of direction and the fact it took me way too long to find the crossroads where the deal with the devil was made(yeah, look up Mike at the big sign), I had to abandon my search for his body.

Robert Johnson, although he died far too young is now remembered as being a huge influence not only on the blues, but also for his influence on the birth of rock and roll.  Many musicians, such as Eric Clapton, have cited Johnson as being instrumental in their growth as artists.