Denver

For those of you keeping track of such things, Homer and I posted early last night.  Completing out time in Casper we drove on to Denver without a diversion or side trip, unusual but necessary to return the horse on time, he served us well but warranted a bath. The Denver airport is in the middle of nothing; it is about 15 years old and is famous for the fancy baggage system that did not work.  So to insure that no one complains of the noise, the law prevents anything from being built within 5 miles of the tented structure.

The car rental companies, hotels and restaurants are all located outside of the 5 mile circle; a two lane highway encompasses the entire area with shuttles, cars and other modes of transportation speeding around nonstop.  We toyed with venturing into Denver; I would have like to gone to the US Mint and maybe the Body Works exhibit but the travel had caught up with us, so I returned Cadillac, while Homer surveyed the eats.

Surprisingly, we had a nice meal at the hotel restaurant, settled up the tour cost; Homer owes me a hundred bucks, give or take, a chicken fried steak. We concluded that the adventure was a success, posted the blogs and were asleep before we had stumbled in the night before.  Now we travel.

Commemoration

As our journey progressed West from Syracuse to Denver, North to Cheyenne, East, to Custer, Crazy Horse, and Mt. Rushmore then further West to Deadwood, the Devils Table Little Bighorn to Billings then turning South to the Devils Canyon, the Hot Springs, the Dinosaurs and finally into Casper,  I have considered what I would take home to commemorate the adventure. Trying to find the Holy Grail of the trip is a quest of its own.

Sure, we have ventured into every gift store at each venue, as well as those attached to the various places we took on fuel.  Trinkets and “T” shirts are not my style; none of the art we saw struck me as authentic.  Seeking the Grail we continued to look.

Driving between photo opportunities for Homer, I considered those things that we could not capture, or at least try to capture, on film. The vast open country, the full blue sky reaching beyond our view, spoiled at various places with rusted out equipment, scrapple housing and industry so vital to the area.  And the people we meant long the way, I can not recall having a bad experience.

I also wanted something that would remind me of the sounds of the prairie. I was fascinated by what I heard and did not hear. At the Monuments the quite voices of the visitors and the strong voices of the rangers; the quite that came over the crowd, as the flag was being raised or the hushed voices at the cemeteries and markers at Little Bighorn.

Until this journey I had rarely heard a bird sing an entire song, let alone an entire meadow chirping happily away. I had never heard the noise a field of grasshoppers makes, they sound incredibly similar to the Tree Frogs, at Donna and Paul’s, my cousins, home in Virginia, but very biblical.   I was shaken by the howl of the wind, as the trail rounded into the windward side of the Devils Tower and comforted by the trickling of the hot water, making its way over the stones to the river in Thermopolis. I do not want to lose those sounds.

Pondering my dilemma, on the leg of the journey into Casper, Homer suggested that I buy some boots to match his. He had purchased a pair some time ago and wore them at various times during the trip, especially when we went to dinner. I joked that I was wearing my “city boots” when I slipped on my oxblood loafers with no socks.

Considering the idea of boots, I reflected back some 40 years ago, when one summer my Grandparents, John and Victoria took a trip to Omaha, Nebraska to visit my Grandfathers sisters. My Aunt Joan and Great Aunt and Uncle, Marie (John’s Sister) and George Fayette, went along as well. I stayed home to run my Grandparents store in Warners, New York. That is another story.

After they had returned home and things settled down, my grandfather told me that while in Omaha, he had tried on a white Stetson hat, something he had always wanted; but that he had not made the purchase and wished he did.  I did not want to make a similar mistake.

So in Casper we found ‘Lou Taubert’ Ranch Outfitter’s store and shopped.  A veteran salesman, let me walk around for a while, and then with practiced skill, asked how he could help me find the right boots.  We talked, a little bit about boots, then a little bit about each other.  I asked him how long he had been selling boots and to my surprise he answered 20 years. 

Before, I could reply he told me that he was an Optometrist, had practiced 30 years in Montanan, before returning to his home town to care for his elderly parents.  He said he had tired of the profession, was not licensed in Wyoming and did not want to take the test with a bunch of people right out of school.  So he returned to Lou Taubert’s, where he had worked in high school, was promptly hired on part time and has been working 50 hours a week ever since.

He sold me a pair of Ostrich boots made Lucchese Boot Company of San Antonio, Texas, the best he says.  They are dress boots, not work boots. Special boots, for a special trip, no better way to commemorate the 1,577 miles the horse named, Cadillac, carried us during the “Homer Goes West” tour. 

Not This Trip

Yellowstone, we have decided warrants a trip of it own.  This morning after eating breakfast in a dinner, like the one I worked in the summer of 1976 and 77 , we turned South,  instead of heading father West to Yellowstone. We just did not have enough time to do Yellowstone justice. Yes, Homer did have Chicken Fried Steak…again, he rated it number two of four, I think. I had the corn beef hash, in honor of the old man, deferring on the polish sausage for Homers benefit. 

So the mission of the day was to head south to the Bighorn River Canyon and work our way back to Cheyenne where we had a hotel reservation.  We never made it to Cheyenne, instead we were distracted by the austere beauty of the Bighorn River Canyon, the Hot Springs and Dinosaurs of Thermopolis, Wyoming, and Homers quest to photographic every vista and oddity along the way.

I must have pulled the reins of the Cadillac a billion times so Homer could take a picture of this or that.  Surely, he will have been deprived of his place in photographic history as I failed to halt out progress while crossing the bridge  leaving Billings, missing the shot of the river with the snow covered mountains in the back round! So make sure you check out his blog. But I did get a good shot.

But it was all worth it, as the Big Horn River Canyon is beyond description.  We headed the advice of the lady ranger and took the detour back in to the Canyon instead of driving across the base of the canyon.  The water is very high, which makes it an ugly muddy brown. We knew this as the ladies at the City Coffee shop, just outside of Billings, where I purchased six shots of decaf espresso for $2.35!!!, told me that the weather had been extremely wet. In addition, we had been warned of flood watches by the weather underground on Homers laptop.

We drove the few miles into the Canyon and marveled at it beauty.  I was able to get this close to a Big Horn Sheep and capture a picture of one of the raptures that lives in the cliffs above the river.  Neither of us could stop marveling over the landscape or the vistas that just seemed to never end.

Never the less we do have a flight out of Denver on Wednesday morning so we pushed south.  I had seen a story about the Dinosaur’s at Thermopolis, Wyoming and wanted to check it out.  What we learned is that Thermopolis is the home of the largest hot water spring in the world.  The treaty with the Indians provides for free use: which the municipality abides by, Thank you Thermopolis.  We did not accept the offer of the twenty minute soak in the mineral water, instead electing to check out the Dinosaur exhibit.

So Now, I have another minute from the Weekly Reader, Yes that thin paper did include articles about the Dinosaurs in Wyoming.  Candidly, my memory of the articles was better than the exhibit, but perhaps that is because in the interim I have visited the museums of Natural History in more than one country.  We did, however take a few minutes to stretch our legs and support the local endeavor. 

From Thermopolis, it was a two hour drive to Casper where we decided to spend the night. After finding lodgings we had enjoyed a steak dinner, a couple of drinks, a bottle of wine and a after dinner drink before writing this blog, as Homer would not give me the night off.  As he says, Journalism is a tough business!   

Peace Through Unity

Today Sunday the 13^th day of June “The Homer Goes West” tour explored the Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument in Montana. The monument commemorates the battle of Little Bighorn; known to many as Custer’s Last Stand.  The battle took place on the 25^th and 26^th of June 1876, between Lt. Col. George Custer’s detachment form the 7^th Calvary and an alliance of Indian Tribes lead by Sitting Bull. 

 

We expected a stop of an hour or two, but the visit turned into an all day event. When the site was first commemorated, shortly after the battle, the focus was on the Custer and his soldiers: today the site commemorates the Indians as well.  In 1991 the name of the site was changed and a monument to the Indians was included. The theme of the Indian monument is Peace Through Unity.

The Monument is thought fully constructed to allow a combination of driving and walking allowing visitors’ access to the miles of battlefield and related camps. At one point I was certain that we were going to walk the forty or so miles we traveled from the Wyoming border to reach the National Monument. I know that Homer is diligently working on a blog that will tell the story so please visit his site for his report http://fredorourke.blogspot.com/ .

Today was the first time in my life that I had ever visited a battlefield.  Before today I did not understand the utility in visiting such sites.  While I enjoy learning about the past and the lessons we so often ignore, I never took the time to stop and explore a battlefield. My character is such that I usually focus on the “Big Picture” often ignoring the details that I do not consider relevant.  I am sure that I was trying Homers patience with my attitude towards viewing a recreation of a shooting pit.

What kept my mind exercised is why? Even today the space seems endless and while pretty to look at, the terrain is hostile and I am sure unforgiving.  So why did the 7^th Calvary have to pursue the Indians and force them back to reservations. Was it purely economic? Or one sided?  I think not.

Rather, I think it was a clash or cultures, of thinking, of resisting the inevitability of change. I resist the notion that either side was right or wrong. As I view the markers of the dead, Indian and Solider, laying amongst the flowers that have forever bloomed, I can only wonder if in the present we can find a way to resolve our differences with out resort to battle.

My belief in this was fortified by the words used in the Indian Memorial.  Reading the words I found such similarity to the Deceleration of Independence, Constitution, and Bill of Rights that I wondered why conflict existed.  I suspect that conflict arose not from the words, but rather from the deeds, the breach of the words, and the natural instinct to protect what one has.

I can only hope that others will draw similar observations from such visits and strive for Unity Through Peace.   

Leisure Transients

Saturday night represented the half way mark of our journey and the hotel was good enough to anoint us with a new title.  Hence forth the Homers are to be known as Leisure Transient(s).  Well, let me tell you what it is like to be a Leisure Transient. 

To begin our schedule is flexible; we have no start time and no end time.  Indeed, it seems that each evening we stay up later working on the blogs. A cheer goes out when we push the publish button.  Last night I was wondering if we were wasting our fine meal and drink by working so hard, it is evident however, that we enjoy the exercise.

Each morning we wake when we wake. No alarms, save the light of the day, once one of us opens the drapes.  Homer says, “I woke him at 5 am this morning, when I peek out”, what he did not hear was me opening the window to get some air into the room, nor did it interrupt his snoring for long. Once we have showered and Homer has broken radio silence by inserting his ears, we firm up the plan of the day, then we pack our clothing and equipment, I think we have enough cords to hang our selves, we set out.  This process is not rushed; I am with Homer after all.

The first decision of the day is where to eat.  We did sampled the free, or as I tell Homer, included in the price, breakfast at the hotel, but prefer to seek local eats. We have been lucky with donuts and Homers Chicken Fried Steak.  Never did I expect Homer to enjoy Chicken Friend Steak, but three times in two days was a shocker. He liked the one with rattlesnake gravy best!  Me, I passed, once was enough.  Maybe it taste better if you like the beer that goes with it, I do not know and do not intend to find out.

Then it is on to the mission of the day, however, we relish diversion and encourage random stops.  Neither of us can seem to find the words to describe the vistas we have seen. Often we stop just to take the view in.  As hard as we try, we lack the photographic skill to capture the vastness of the land and sky.  It is easy to see why this part of the country is referred, to as “Big Sky Country”.  It seems other things are big as well. Driving on route 90 to Billings Montana we came across a truck, with wide load displayed on the bumper carrying the largest tires I have ever seen. We suspect they were going to one of the coal mines that fill, the never ending, railroad cars we see running parallel to the highway.

Upon completion of the mission of the day, today it was the “Little Bighorn Battlefield”, more on that in the next post; we seek lodgings, drink and dinner.  As it has ended up we have stayed in three different Holiday Inn Express Hotels and one old fashion Holiday Inn, which was the least expensive. Perhaps, we should have sought sponsorship, like the other celebrities!  I think Homer, could be the next Charles Kuralt.

Drinking has surprisingly been a problem.  No bar exists in the Express places, except for the breakfast bar, and it does not have Spirits. And three nights out of the five we have found ourselves in eating establishments that lack Spirits as well! What has the west come to?  At tonight’s Barbeque place, Famous Dave’s, the waitress suggested that I should carry my own bottle like it was a common occurrence.  That explains the drive thru windows at the package stores.

At the conclusion of the day we return to the room and write our blogs.  We are probably the only ones in the hotel who do not have the television tuned to Fox News. The only noise filling the room is the tapping of the keys and occasional curse when our equipment acts on it own, until the ”Publish” button is pushed. A few minutes later it is back to radio silence and lights out for the Leisure Transients. 

Leaving Keystone

We spent the last two nights in Keystone, South Dakota.  Keystone is a family orientated, tourist town about two miles from Mt. Rushmore.  According to the counter girl at the Iron Horse Coffee Company, where shots of espresso are Fifty Cents! Keystone takes pains to remain family friendly.  So no hard liquor, which is surprising as we passed numerous drive up liquor stores before arriving in Keystone!  Homer was pacified with the beer they did offer, the wine was worse than the cheap stuff at fraternity parties, and  the ice tea was below average, but we did not come to drink now, did we? 

No, we came to see Mt. Rushmore and the work on Crazy Horse.  We learned that the sculptor, Gutzon Borglum, created no less than nine working models, that each was with out exact detail, as he had to wait and see what the rock offered once the blasting was complete.  That he worked with what nature gave him to create his ultimate master piece; that, without his “Men of the Mountain” and his son Lincoln that the monument would never have been completed.  The lesson is easy to understand but hard to achieve.

With this in mind, it hardly seems worthy to stop at the reptile house, the various caves or have out picture taken wearing old fashion garments.  Rather, it was best to leave with the thought of what is being accomplished at Crazy Horse.  That one man, working to fulfill the wishes of old Indian chiefs, without any financial support, other than what he and his family can earn or produce, has started a monument, that will transform a mountain, dwarfing Rushmore in size and forever reminding us of the spirit of the American Indian.

With those thoughts we left Keystone, with three dollars worth of espresso, and headed for Devils Tower, Wyoming.  Taking the scenic route we traveled threw many small towns and villages as well as Deadwood.  Deadwood looks as awful as it did in the HBO series.  Situated in a valley, the town proper is squeezed tight along two streets all lined with casinos.  As Homer says,”Vegas without the lights”, and Vegas without trees.  The local trees have fallen victim to the blight, which has left the hills surrounding the valley looking like a grave yards in a horror film.  It had absolutely no appeal to us.

The Devils Tower was exactly the opposite, located just inside the Wyoming border with South Dakota, the butte rises five thousand one hundred and twelve feet above the prairie.  Many Indian nations of the Great Plains consider it a sacred place with legends as to its creation and the creation of the earth and sky.  Early settlers also recognized it special significance and despite some opposition, caused it to become one of our country’s earliest protected sites. 

The journey to Devils Tower exposed us again to the vast spaces and varied topography of the region.  At times the landscape was dominated by sandstone so red it also most felt hot.  Other times the land was vivid green, reaching beyond our sight, only then to turn to scrub and brush.  The contrast between the beauty of the land and the harshness of the existence is often hard to comprehend. I look out and see that some have fashioned a way of life from this land, a way of life I would not have any idea of how to describe, but a life filled with the same dichotomy that Homer and I face.

Along, on our journey we pulled into a country store that is supposed to have been in existence for over a hundred years.  Selling every thing a family living on the plains would need, as well as serving as the local post office and meeting the needs of the passing tourist, especially the bikers on the way to Sturgis.  Homer decided to shop for a western belt, after making his purchase, despite the fat mouse than ran in front of my feet, he learned that the belt did not have the pedigree that was clearly implied, but the purchased allowed a way of life to continue.

As we seek lodgings we look for the familiar, so as to insure wifi and comfortable quarters while at the same time searching for food authentic to the region. We have learned that we can not escape the Sysco truck. And not sure we want to. While looking for authentic food, we expect that each place we stop will have the sweetener Homer likes in his coffee and good tea for me. Every where we look we are faced with sameness that we both require and perhaps resent.

Today, I did not take many pictures, drove a lot and thought maybe too much. I take with me to bed the memory of the prairie dog who looked up at us and seemed to ask,” Ya, what do you want, the delightful young woman in the coffee shop who made our espresso, and the young waiter and line cook at “Olivers” restaurant in downtown Sheridan, Wyoming, who provided us with a meal sans the Sysco truck’s help.  As well as this blog that has become such an important part of this wonderful journey. 

The Eyes

This morning we returned to the Mt. Rushmore National Monument. We arrived just before Ten and parked on the roof of the adjacent parking garage.  I have read that some have criticized the addition of the parking garage and the walk way leading to the viewing area, I think it is misplaced.  The site is conveniently set up and well thought out making it easy for young, old and disabled to view the Presidents.

This second visit was not accompanied by the excitement of finally making it to the Black Hills, but no less impressive.  As we passed thru the granite gate the flags of each state frame the mountain and the four heads in a patriotic manner.  I think that patriotism is a potent draw to the monument. Prominent among the visitors are the Veterans, mostly from the Vietnam era, many arriving on Harleys.  Why I can only conjecture, but it was clear that they proudly displayed their service.

We intended to start the day with a Ranger tour, being early we took in the introductory movie. The movies was nicely done and set the mood for the day.  The movie, however, made us late for the tour. We caught up, and listened to the Ranger who did a nice job telling the story of why each President deserved to be on the mountain, but not much about the process of the carving, so we headed off on our own. 

The National Park Service has built a trail that allows visitors to walk along the base of the mountain.  The trail is a relatively easy assent until just under President Washington; the trail then goes up and down taking us up to the discarded chucks of stone and then down many stairs to the sculptors workshop.  The stones are all sizes. The facing of the mountain, while granite, was unsuitable for carving as it has suffered the effects of erosion over the millions, of years the mountain was exposed. So the Men of the Mountain, as the workers called themselves, had to remove tons and tons of rock to find granite suitable for carving. Primarily this was done with dynamite set in holes made with air powered jack hammers. Only the last few inches were done with hammer, chisel and then buffed with other air tools.

Mt. Rushmore, is clearly based on the,” build it and they will come” philosophy.  At the turn of the twentieth century sculptures were in vogue. Some in South Dakota, especially Doane Robinson, the state historian, thought that a series of sculptures would advance the interest of the state by bring visitors.  He reached out to Gutzon Borglum a sculptor of some reputation who created the seated Lincoln for New Jersey, and was constructing Stone Mountain in the south.

Gutzon Borglum was one of those charters that was larger than life.  His exact biography is of some question and perhaps that is what made him so driven to complete the work.  The project was enormous: money and technology were short, but Borglum was undaunted, he used his connections, it is said that he directly corresponded with a number of presidents, gave speeches and developed methods to allow the project to move forward. Of course he did not do it alone; he had a crew of locals who became talented in their own right. A list of the men is proudly displayed across from a bust of Borglum created by his son, Lincoln as you enter the walkway of the states.

The detail of the sculptures is amazing.  Borglum and his crew used shadow and light to bring the stone to life.  The faces each gaze in a different direction, the expression carved to tell the story of the man. Washington the father and character of the country, Jefferson the great thinker and author of the Declaration of Independence, Roosevelt the man of action and first world leader from the West, and Lincoln, Borglum’s favorite, the savior of the Union.

The story is particularly reflected in the eyes. The eyes, the smallest part of the sculptor, are craved such that they come to life. The eyes look out at us and remind us of why these men are on this mountain, why what the stand for is so important and why they cannot be forgotten. Our eyes too tell a story. The story of what we see or do not see in ourselves as we contemplate, not just the men on the mountain but, also the men and women who created this monument and work there each day.  And most importantly,  the story of what brought us to this place, why we singing our anthem in the rain, in unison with the veterans on the stage, as the faces are illuminated with light and what exactly it is that we take away as we leave.

Homer Meets Rushmore

Like Crazy Horse we found Mt, Rushmore as we came around another sharp bend in the road.  After spending time at Crazy Hourse including a Four Dollar bus trip to the base of the mountain. we decide to push on with a pass to return to see the light show at 9:00pm.  Out lodgings are in Keystone the closes town to Mt. Rushmore, so Homer replotted a course with the help of Gertie and we found ourselfs on a winding road assending  a moutain. Proceeding Homer hypoizied that we were on the backside of the mounaament.  The mountain side did not look like Dr Pages picture but I did not doubt Homer.  Sure enough Mt. Rushmore was ion front of us.  For a few fleeting moments we toyed with the idea of a quick look from the road.  But having come this far and waited this long we had to enter the premises.  Happyly we learned that out ten US dollars buys us a pass for the remainder of 2010.  We took enough picture to make our spouses nuts and tried to send immidaite emails to them and the childern.  But I guess ATT''S map does not include Mt. Rushmores bit Verizons did so Homer was able to announce my arrival to the world.  Tommorw we return for a close inspection and hopefully the light show.

The Road to Rushmore

The road to Rushmore began with a morning visit to Daylight Donuts.  As soon as Homer and I spotted it, our collective memories returned to Abe's Donuts, a favorite of SU students in our day.  Instead, of finding an old man standing five feet nothing with coke bottle glasses we were greeted by a friendly Asian woman. As Homer says ,"maybe Abe's granddaughter" as the donuts were delicious.  Before jumping back on the highway we stopped in down town Cheyenne to check out the big boot and the Wrangler store. We also stumbled across the Union Pacific Depot clearly the most important building in town in its day.  At the other end of the street from the State House, it is a majestic building.  It reminded me of the building we include in our snow village each Christmas.  We let Gertie the GPS lead us to the highway only to disappoint her a mile later when we exited to take this picture of the missiles at F.E. Warren US Air Force Base. Cheyenne  is at the center of the good old USA as such it was, and maybe still is, the home to many of the missiles that protected us from our cold war enemies. The missiles we saw, however shared the filed with with looked to me like deer but Homer said they were some other elk like animal. I am sure he is correct.

Finally making the Gerti happy I pointed the Cadillac north on Route 25 and we left Cheyenne behind.  Again, the enormity of the open space captured our thoughts.  Often as we looked out we saw neither homes, farms or animals let alone people! As we progresses the landscape slowly changed from scrub grass to scrub shrubs with unexpected out cropping rising high above the prairie. Something we though only occurred much father south.  After a quick stop for lunch at a want a be A&W and fuel we headed east towards South Dakota and the Back Hills.  The driving was easy despite a minor hold up with construction and we soon found ourselves in Custer.  The contrast to Cheyenne was amazing. In Cheyenne we did not see much action at all, in Custer action abounded. people were about visiting the Shops, Motels and Restaurants that lined the streets.  We thought that after we found our Motel that we would come back for diner as the prospects looked good.  Crazy Horse changed our plans.

As we rounded a big bend in the road Crazy Horse popped into our view.  The carving can be seen for miles.  We immediately pulled off the road and took the shot to the far left.  A few miles later the entrance to the site was the only logical choice.  We paid our money and entered the

Trouble with Internet Connection

It seems that our hotels Internet is having problems  ans failed to post the pictures of the Buffalo heard and the state capital of Wyoming so here they are:

On to Cheyenne Wyoming

Leaving Chicago on a full plane we flew west to Denver. While I knew that the prairie was flat I had never seen it from the air.  I attempted to capture it from my window seat but the picture does not do it justice.  It seems that it is endless. I was amused to see the layout of the farms and fields change from squares and rectangles to circles as we neared Denver. From the sky it looked like some aliens had had their way with the land. We were also surprised that the mile high city did not seem to be any higher than Chicago.  we surmised that the prairie gradually rises up till it meets the Rocky mountains but we have not confirmed this fact.  Once in Denver we made our way to the modern day corral.  The Denver airport is huge and every care rental car in America must be represented.  We were fortunate enough to be helped by a airport official who saved us countless steps and sent us to the correct shuttle.  Our horses were ready, Homer fired up Gertie, his GPS, and we headed north to Cheyenne.

Cheyenne, is the capital of Wyoming and sits just a few miles past the border with Colorado.  The drive was easy.  The roads are all superhighways and the lowest speed limit was 55 in a construction zone! Despite being super highways were were able to see the country side.  Trees as we know them do not exist.  They have some pines that seem to grow in bunches and a few aspens that are not very tall. And even as we approach Cheyenne and start to see the mountains in the distance we could still see for miles in all directions.  We came across a heard of Buffalo and decided to explore further.   I asked Homer to run over and excite them a bit as most were laying down.  No but for a few drops it did not rain but a Wyoming state trooper staying in out hotel did tell me that tornado warnings had been issued. We explored Cheyenne and found the Capital to be very quaint and quiet. Just Like Albany!  The statute in front of the captial building is of the woman who obtained the right to vote for women in the Wyoming

Chicago

At the stroke of 5 am , Homer pulled in to my driveway.  The journey west had officially commenced.  After finding a parking space and making sure it's location could be described to the head homeret, Lil, we were on to the wrong security line at the the Syracuse Hancock International Airport!  What a name for an airport with two terminals. Locating  the correct terminal and  security line, where my bag was searched, to many cords and electronics, I was told, and we were off to Chicago.

The Chicago airport has certainly changed since August of 1978 when I moved to the windy city to attend law school at Depaul University.  I recall my father driving me to the airport. Although we treated it like an everyday occassion. I knew it was a big deal to him.  He always admired the lawyers he worked with and was proud that I was going to become one.  He bought me a pair of Nettlton shoes, and a Leayburys Suit because that is what attorneys wore.  I had all my belongings packed in two suitcases and had no idea where I was going to spend the night.  Arriving I rented a small station wagon, found the highway and drove into downtown Chicago.  I knew that a lot of students lived near the uptown neighbor hood called Lincon Park.  On the recommendation of a clerk at the Busar's office, where I stopped to pay my tutition,  I  found a old hotel waitng to be transfored into condos and rented a suite for a week for as I recall about $100.00!  It was a great week, learing about the city and finding my first apartment. A studio on the 4th floor , no elevator, but in my price range.  As it turned out I had moved into a neighborhood in transtion.  As luck would have it another law student, Charlie Booth lived a few blocks south near the Bealmont "L" train stop and we beacme friends. To let you know how naive the two of us were, or maybe just so engrossed in our leagl studies, I will let you decide.  We agreed to meet a bar half way between our places.  It took a couple of stops to understand why it was named the "closet".

T minus one day

At 2:32 this afternoon I walked out the back door of MCV Law, undid my tie and said goodbye to the legal world until Monday the 20th of June. Rosemarie, if you are reading I will not return in time for for the Crossett Golf Tournament. Susan has booked a last minute trip to visit Harry Potter's castle and her old friend Mickey! I decided to join her and the kids to round out my trip. With any luck I will be playing golf on one of the Disney courses while the cousins are hacking their way around your home course...Sorry

Homer, has convinced me that we should travel light. Perhaps he is looking out for the horses. I have manged to cram all my stuff into the two small bags you see in the picture. For those that have traveled with me before, you know this is an achievement. I like traveling with Page because as Homer says, "He has more gadgets than Batman" so I do not look out of place with my two or three bags. Hey, that diving gear takes up space.

Homer, promises to pick me up before dawn so as not to burn daylight.

Frederick H. O'Rourke Bolg

If you would like to follow along from the other "Homers" point of view check out www.fredorourke.blogspot.com

The Glasses

In is now T minus 2 days and I thought you all might like to see the "Homer Glasses".  Yes, twenty some years ago, I had the same glasses. The lens have changed but the frames have survived to this day.  Susan, was good enough to take this picture as her final act before leaving for New York City. As it turns out both of the "Homerets" left this morning for the City.  Homer and I being great husbands are planing on leaving a car at the airport so they will not have to walk home!  While my glasses survived I was unable to find a picture of me wearing them on our Nantucket trip.  Susan, however did find this gem.

Which goes to show that we were as good at cocktails then as we are now. The little face peaking up at us is my daughter Lauren. I suspect  she and Nick, Homer and Lil's son who is just a few months older than Lauren, were helping me take the picture.

P.S. My older and wiser cousin, Rosemarie, corrected me Mrs. Bragan was 3rd grade not 4th!