Forever Stamp

July 23-24

One of the big things to see in Cleveland is the Free Stamp. So that was our first stop on Friday.

I came on it by chance during my last trip to town and learned that there can be an intriguing charm in an 85-ton metal replica of a piece of office equipment.

It’s in Willard Park on Lakeside Avenue East. That’s not where it was intended to go at first, and it got there by a roundabout way.

Sohio, Standard Oil of Ohio, had a new, bland headquarters in 1985, so the company commissioned the pop art team of Claes Oldenburg and Coosje van Bruggen to come up with something to give the place a touch of character.

The artists' solution was a rubber stamp of epic proportions not to print “paid” or “past due,” but to announce “free.” All caps.

The Sohio building sat across the street from Cleveland’s monument to the soldiers and sailors of the Union army, who had fought for the cause of freedom.

Sometime between the original commission with the sculptors and the completion of the work, Sohio was sold to British Petroleum.

When the new boss, head of BP’s U.S. operations, learned of the message on the stamp, “free” apparently took on a new meaning. For some reason, he feared that the message referred to the takeover, which meant Sohio was no longer free.

Yeah, I know. I can’t follow the logic either. Maybe in CEO-think it makes sense.

The monster stamp sat in a warehouse somewhere for years. Then somebody got the bright idea to put it in the park, which is next to Cleveland’s City Hall. There’s a plaque in front of it today saying it is a gift to the City of Cleveland from BP America.

It was probably an embarrassment and the company wanted to get rid of it.

Now it’s a popular prop for family photos.

Cleveland’s city fathers must be less touchy than oil company CEOs. They aren’t worried at all about the implications of having a giant rubber stamp next to their headquarters.

The park has a view of Lake Erie. We walked there and saw a few boats, some commercial, some recreational. 

Then we drove to the Cleveland Museum of Art. It’s a museum of some size, but we only had the energy to see a small bit of it.

We toured most of the Medieval section and then went upstairs to the West Wing, which houses the East Asian art.

Religious themes dominated all this art, There were Madonnas from the 15th century and bodhisattvas from the 7th. The experience was a goulash of cultures and myths. Our karma ran over our dogma. 

Oh lord, this is what Jung was talking about. We humans are all pondering this stuff we know nothing about, but people on opposite sides of the world come up with similar ideas.

Is that fun, or what?

We had to pay our respects to Rodin and stop to see The Thinker on the front steps of the original wing.

The artist oversaw the casting of the piece, one of many castings of the subject in various sizes. It was donated to the museum in 1917 by a local mogul and partly destroyed by a bomb in 1970.

Nobody was hurt. Nobody was caught. The Cleveland police believed it was the work of a local cell of the Weather Underground.

We looked for another piece called the C-Curve, which was another big thing to see in Cleveland. I saw a photo of it online—a large circular mirror reflecting its environment. It looked fascinating.

According to the website, it was on the grounds of the art museum, but no one working there knew about it. 

In looking for it, though, we did come across a different surprise. There is a building visible from the museum grounds that has a fanciful design. It looks like it is being crushed by an aluminum alien.

It’s the second photo of the day because I can’t think of a way to describe it properly.

When we were at Market Square on Thursday, Joanna noticed a sign for a restaurant on 25th Street. It was Phnom Penh—surprise, surprise—in Ohio.

Actually, the sign caught her attention because of an e-mail that Larry sent some years ago when he was considering a trip to Cambodia. In a rush of awe, he called the city “Phnom Fucking Penh.”

After all the bar food we’ve been packing in for the past couple of days, some healthier, closer to vegetarian Cambodian could be a good break. So we went from the museum to Ohio City.

We parked in the same lot we used Thursday and walked a block over to Phnom Penh.

We had a smorgasbord, or the Khmer equivalent of it: An array of rolls—spring, paper and a couple of others—a soup flavored with pork and shrimp, a plate of mixed vegetables, and seafood in a fried rice that was surprisingly sweet.

There was no beer, though, so we crossed the street afterwards so I could have dessert.

We walked into a bar where I ordered an MGB Hyper Haze, an unfiltered IPA. 

What’s “MGB”?

“Market Garden Brewery. They’re across the street.”

I nursed my draft for a while and then walked Joanna across the street to buy six to go.

I love hazy ale. As a sign in Seattle once said, “If God wanted us to filter our beer, he wouldn’t have given us a liver.”

Saturday morning we set out for Jamestown, N.Y. It’s Lucille Ball’s hometown and hosts the National Comedy Center.

Actually, I booked the stay in La Quinta first and discovered the rest later. As it fell out, the hotel is one block away from the Comedy Center. We checked in and walked over.

As the guy who sold us our tickets explained, it’s a high-tech place. We got wristbands and then went to a terminal where we created a “profile.” We chose our favorite comedians, movies, and TV shows.

My sense of humor runs to irreverence and foul language like George Carlin, Margaret Cho, and Richard Pryor, but also to the weird like Will Ferrell. I have no idea why I find him funny, but I do.

I also had to snap a picture of myself and tell the machine my name.

When you come up to an exhibit there is often a place that you are supposed to tap to activate. “Tap” means to push your wristband against it.

Then that goofy photo (they’re always goofy) comes up with a “Hello, Harry.” And it suggests which selection you might like. Sort of like Netflix.

It was fun to see some of the comedians of the past doing their thing.

My favorite part, I must admit, was the Blue Room. This is a lower-level area accessible only by elevator where all the uncensored clips and material are.

The first thing you see (and hear) out of the elevator is an exhibit based on George Carlin’s “The Seven Words You Can’t Say on Television.”

I’ve heard conflicting stories about how “blue” came to mean “obscene.” The Blue Room has one I hadn’t heard before.

Vaudeville, it says, began as a family-friendly alternative to burlesque. Any vaudeville performer who crossed the line, through suggestive or questionable references, would receive a blue envelope with a letter reminding him to behave.

This is funny, too. Here we are on the border of nowhere and we don’t have to drive anyplace.

Between our hotel and the Comedy Center there is a conveniently situated bar called Shawbucks, where you can “dine and unwind with friends.” 

Now, if I can walk from the bar to where I sleep, I don’t have to behave. I love that. Joanna had no objections, and so that’s where we went for dinner after our visit to the Blue Room,

Shawbucks serves family restaurant food, not the usual bar food. Joanna had grilled salmon; I had a pork chop. There was asparagus, salad, potatoes.

Oddly enough, there were no taps at the bar. But they offered a selection of bottles from Southern Tier Brewing, which is only a few miles away. I had the brewery’s hazy and clear IPAs.

On the way back to the hotel we detoured to find a delicatessen where I got some more of the clear IPA, which is now disappearing.

It’s after eleven. I’m going to unwind with another Southern Tier.

Be well, all, and God or Buddha bless,

Harry

Joanna got up on the open-mic stage in Jamestown and did a little dead pan.

Back to the Big Bang

July 22

Second day of our escape took us in search of bullet holes.

The shots were fired in Cleveland, so I booked us at the Comfort Inn Downtown. I thought I knew the area because it’s about a mile from the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. I was on a business trip to Cleveland once and remembered walking to the Hall of Fame from the hotel where I stayed then.

Turns out, the accommodations this time were nothing like those I enjoyed on that business trip. It’s not too bad, but a bit worn around the edges. There’s not much to visit within walking distance. The rail lines are all somewhere else. I see buses, but not a lot of them. Cabs can’t be had. After three phone calls, you’re still waiting.

So I have the congestion and parking fees of a city combined with the suburban requirement that I drive. I’ll probably be back, mind, because there’s more to see here, but next time will choose the hotel more carefully. 

It might have been about 10 years ago that I saw Cleveland. 

I had been here only once before, in the middle of the night, passing through on a non-stop road trip when I was 19. I don’t think that really counts.

Anyhow, the last time I was in Cleveland, SKF was holding a meeting at the site of a local company that it had bought. It was in Alan’s beat at the magazine, and they invited me to attend too.

People make fun of Cleveland. They make fun of New Jersey too. So I decided to head out a couple of days early to poke around a few spots in the city.

Wow, what a surprise. The highlight of the Hall of Fame is a wall with headphones. You put them on to hear recordings of blues and jazz forerunners of rock & roll. Billie Holiday, Louis Armstrong, sure. But it was the first time I heard the guitar legend Robert Johnson. 

They say he sold his soul to the Devil at the crossroads to play like that. He died at 27, poisoned by a jealous husband.

Alan had decided to come out early too. I was blogging by that time, and he told John F. and Jeff that he had been reading about Harry vacations, so he wanted to try one.

But anyhow, that’s how Alan and I wound up at the Great Lakes Brewing Co.’s saloon on West 26th Street in Ohio City. It was warm weather so we sat at a table outside. 

When I got back to the office the next week, I mentioned that we had been there and it was fun. That’s when yet another John at the magazine, John K., told me he was from Cleveland, and explained why Great Lakes has a lager named for Eliot Ness.

Ness at some point in his colorful career had been director of public safety in Cleveland. Maybe that was before he became a T-Man. 

The place has been a saloon for a long time—long before there was a Great Lakes Brewing Co. Ness was involved in a shootout in the barroom. The woodwork behind the bar still has the bullet holes.

So on this trip, Joanna and I checked in and headed first thing to Market Square, a couple of miles from the hotel, across the Cuyahoga River in Ohio City.

We walked around a bit before heading to the bar. On the way we passed the Batmobile.  Who knew it was a Toyota? I didn’t.

I wanted to take Joanna into the market because, if I remember right, it has the feel of markets that we have visited in Europe. But it's closed on Thursday, so we didn’t get to see it.

But that was OK. The barroom was the main attraction today. Even more so than the beer it sold. 

We told the hostess why we were there. She called a waitress, who led us to the bar and pointed out one of the holes, which is decorated with a small rod and a red “Bang!” flag, the sort that pops out of a clown’s pop gun. Some people believe that was the shot fired at Ness.

Needless to say, it’s the photo of the day.

There are other bullet holes unmarked. I may have seen one of those, too, but by the dim light can’t be sure.

Joanna ands I sat at a back corner table eating our pierogis and wings, and sharing a disappointingly watery IPA. You can judge the trajectory of the bullet by the position of the flag rod in the hole. The shot could have been fired from somewhere close to my chair.

Imagine being one of the usual suspects and you’re shooting from the hip to bring down the top cop. Perhaps from this very seat of judgment. Take it from one who knows: it’s delicious sometimes to live in B-movie world.

Later we were driving around just to look and maybe spot a place for something other than bar food.

We followed Euclid Avenue past University Circle and Case Western Reserve, a Ronald McDonald House, several research hospitals, and came into a once-grand neighborhood that has fallen onto hard times.

We headed back to the hotel to reconsider our options, but I missed the turn and had to go around the block to get back. We stopped for a light at East 17th Street and Chester Ave. when Joanna saw a blue awning with German words on it. One of them was “Hofbrauhaus.”

What luck. Sausages, mashed potatoes with gravy, sauerkraut. We’re talking the health food of my ancestors, here.

They even had a terrific beer on tap. It was Hopfen Spezial, a strong (7.5%) brew called a “pale ale lager.” Even the bartender couldn’t explain what that meant.

I tried one, and yes, it tasted like an ale, both dry and bitter, a real treat. Joanna sampled it and ordered one of her own. Before she did, though, she made me promise that I would finish whatever she couldn’t drink. She knew she wouldn’t be able to go through the entire glass of the stuff by herself.

I agreed to give her all the backup she needed.

OK, gang. That’s enough for now.

Stay well and happy, and remember to watch your back in Cleveland. As Eliot Ness once said, “You never know what’s going to zip by and hit the woodwork.”

Love to all.

Harry

 

Vax Populi

July 21, 2021

Joanna and I took our second helpings of the Moderna vaccine two weeks ago.  That means it has now kicked in at full force.

Look out, Earth: we’re celebrating.

It has been almost a year and a half since we did any real traveling. 

We were in Bangkok in late January of last year and getting ready to visit Vietnam when the Red Chinese finally had to admit that they had the flu. 

It was going to be a six-week jaunt in Vietnam and Thailand, but we cut the trip short to come home. 

Since then we’ve had to stay close to North Jersey. We made short car trips to ease cabin fever. We even got as far as the Delaware Water Gap; Milford, Pa.; and Orange County, New York. All of them day trips and all deja vu.

But now, at last, we’re on the road again.

The start has plenty of deja vu in it, too, but with a little extra.

We’re on a circuit that will take us to Clearfield, Cleveland, Niagara Falls, Ossining and points in between. I’m so rammy after all this time that I’m actually excited about a trip to Cleveland.

On the way west, the first stop was a brief stretch of the knees at the Delaware Water Gap. We stopped at one of the trail heads, but didn’t try that. There were steps up the hillside that looked like the climb to a cathedral belfry.

We stopped at Dunnfield Creek, the protected trout stream. I have never seen trout there, but then, that could be because they are good at blending in.

The visitor center was closed. Had been for a long time, it seems, judging by the cobwebs. There was a strange insect that looked like a spider minus two legs. It was marked like a lady-bug, red and black, but was way too big and shaped wrong for that. We had no idea what it was.

We did find a working restroom not far from there, and I was grateful for that.

We got to Clearfield, Pa., around four, checked into the Comfort Inn. Paul, the man at the desk, had recently had his second vax shot. He and Joanna compared notes on side-effects.

Then we headed to one of the star attractions in the area—Bilger’s Rocks, a bizarre geological formation that looks like the ruins of a megalithic temple.

I came across the place about three years ago, but I was on a solo run, so Joanna had never seen it.

The rocks—“over 300 million years old,” according to the sign—were naturally formed, but they are rectilinear and look like dressed stone laid in courses. As if that’s not eerie enough, the whole place is shaded by a dense canopy and dressed in moss.

When I was here before, I was struck by the roots-and-ruins feel of it. The trees were growing over the stones, just like Angkor Wat.

I only went to the top of the rocks on that trip.

This time Joanna suggested we take the walking tour. We parked the car in a pulloff at the roadside next to a stone wall that wasn’t built by people.

We stepped across a puddle and entered a long rectangular space that looked like a stone gallery whose roof had fallen in. There were carvings in the stone, including one that reminded us that Jesus saves.

We met a young couple. Not only was the man from Clearfield, but it seems so was his family from way back. He said his ancestors were among the founders of the town. Some had fought in the Civil War.

The young lady with him was originally from Rahway, N.J. She was seeing the rocks for the first time, too, just like Joanna. 

They were coming out of a narrow passage that continued straight out of the room we were in. It was covered with rocks turned every which way. 

When I was nimbler, maybe I would scrambled over that crooked path just because I could. I have become lately more judicious about when and where I risk life and limb. Besides, there was still plenty to see by less energetic methods. I just had to watch my step.

Where is Erich von Daniken when you need him? The illusion that the place isn’t natural but maybe built by ancient aliens is reinforced because you go through narrow passages to more and more rooms.

Joanna even noticed an outcropping that looked like a face with a Cambodian nose. You’re not likely to remember that but it is one of our favorite travel stories. We were at a temple in Angkor Wat that was decorated with faces believed to be the king who had the temple built.

The guide was talking about the profiles, how they had Cambodian noses. “The barang nose—” he began. “The European nose,” he amended, “sticks out farther.” Joanna wanted to offer me as an example.

Anyhow, the ancient alien carving with the Cambodian nose is the photo of the day. 

There are broken walls that let you see into other rooms. It is all so beautiful and hilarious that it hurts.

When we went back to the car, a man in a pickup stopped on the road and asked if we enjoyed the sights. He was a worker on a construction job in the area and was going to pick up a friend to check the place out. He hadn’t seen it before either.

We drove up the hill to the park, where we found more information about the rocks. There is also a continuing experiment to study a blight-resistant chestnut tree to be reintroduced into the American wild.

The original species has been wiped out by a blight. I believe it still grows, but doesn’t live long. The experiment is testing the resistance of a new hybrid strain.

The specimens are still saplings, but are taller than they were three years ago. So far, so good.

While we were there, the young man we met down the hill came up and said his fiancee would like to have a picture of Joanna and me. Would we mind? I’m not a fugitive from the law right now, so I had no objection.

Then we began to chat. His mother is the family historian, so she had told him various stories. 

There may be a leg pull in here, but I don’t know all the facts.

According to the young man, his mother said her family name was Copenhaver, and back in the day, they were members of the Danish royal family. They had a castle in a part of present-day Germany that was at the time ruled by Denmark.

The family lost control or moved out or whatever, and the castle was eventually sold to a rich man who had it exported brick by brick and rebuilt in Arizona.

He pulled up a website on his phone for Copenhaver Castle on Camelback Mountain, which is in or next to Phoenix.

I looked it up myself later and all I could find was that an orthodontist named Copenhaver had an elaborate home built on a mountainside in the style of a Moorish castle.

I’m not bitching, mind you. You can’t let the facts get in the way of a good story. If this was invention, it was brilliant. And more important than that, it was fun.

We went from the park to Denny’s Beer Barrel Pub for burgers. Joanna was conservative. She ordered a burger of ground prime rib. I had elk, as usual at Denny’s.

Much to my delight, the bar had Otto’s red ale on tap again. I had that with elk the first time I stumbled onto Denny’s years ago. It is almost a local beer, brewed in Pittsburgh, but the bar hasn’t had it any time I was there between then and now. The first sip brought tugs of nostalgia to my heart.

I followed that with something I had not heard of, Hop Lot American ale, which was on nitrogen, like a Guinness stout. It was OK, but it probably would have tasted better with CO2, which has more bite.

Right now, I’m enjoying a tasty number called Vellerouge, a hazy IPA from Axemann Brewery, about 45 miles from Clearfield in Bellefonte, Pa. I bought a six-pack at Denny’s bottle shop, and have had enough that I’m ready to sign off.

Love to all. Love the road.

Harry

July 22

Harry,

Glad to hear you are back in your zone, On The Road Again!

That ladybug/spider-looking insect you saw at Dunnfield Creek was most likely the late nymph stage of the Spotted Lantern Fly. You will see them from July to September and then they morph into adults.  While beautiful and unharmful to humans, they are destructive and invasive pests, devouring agriculture, timber and most importantly to me, vineyards.  They jump, rather than fly, and I step on every one I see.  

Happy Trails, hello to Joanna.

Jamy

You’re an inspiration! Linda and I are planning excursions to the Berkshires in August and Williamsburg, Va., in September. We’ll leave the overseas traveling until next year, I think. Then we plan to do Italy for a month or so.

 

Alan

Dear Harry,

So glad to hear you're "On the Road Again."

Please send best wishes to Joanna.

Hope to see you soon, my friend.

John 

What a joy to hear from  you! And “vax populi”? Would ‘twere so!

Much love to you and Joanna.

Beatrice

Hi Dad,

It is SO AWESOME to hear you're safely on the road again! Seriously, this is the best news I've had in a while (and I've actually had some pretty good news lately, so there was in fact a competition). I bet Denny's was glad to see you again, too. It's so nice to revisit places and find they're still there.

Speaking of which: Brian and I spent a couple of days at Wildwood last week and it's basically identical to last time we went down as a family trip. It was a nice bit of nostalgia.

Looking forward to more updates from the road as they come through.

Love you,

--Kate