Just south of Lawson, in the pastoral countryside, a huge factory, built more than 150 years ago, made pants and sweaters. The factory may have sold pants and sweaters to Harry Truman, who sold pants and sweaters when he was … Read More
The Church in the Wildwood where “Good Father Gus” Tolton Was Born
St. Peter’s Church casts its short shadow beside the cemetery, awaiting parishioners from Monroe City and Perry, Spalding and Rensselaer, as it has ever since the church was built back at the beginning of the Civil War. Nowadays, the faithful … Read More
Snakes? Shamrocks? Patrick’s Real Story Is Better
Researching for a novel about my Irish priest great grandfather, I’ve come face-to-face with the real St. Patrick. Two tales make him less caricature, more saintly. Every Irish child knows the first story: Patrick ascended Clough Patrick (the Irish Mount … Read More
Turquoise, Green Chiles and the U.S. Treasury
Gallup, New Mexico. Stopped at Jerry’s Cafe for the chiles, specifically New Mexico hatch chiles rellenos. We slid into a cozy two-top booth across the aisle from a spittin’ image for Treasury Secretary Stephen Mnuchin. No shit. Doppelganger. I didn’t … Read More
121 Years Ago Today
Sunday evening, February 5, 1911. Unusually warm. A thunderstorm approached the state capitol from the west and lightning struck the dome around suppertime. Among the dozens of eyewitness reports and photographs is this one, courtesy Cole County Historical Society. The … Read More
The Good Badass Samaritan
It was Friday, already scorching hot, and the sun’s heat shimmered on the highway ahead. My car, Erifnus Caitnop, pointed her nose toward Columbia, and we both looked forward to some rest after a grueling week on the road. By … Read More
When Harry Met Elvis, Sorta
“Give me the Elvis.” I hadn’t expected to encounter food fit for the king. Not here, within a wedge shot of so much history. But that’s what makes the journey so rewarding. I finished my Elvis, a peanut butter sandwich … Read More
Signs of global warming
Quaint. Nostalgic. These painted ladies sat like Loreleis beckoning heroic Pontiacs and Mustang stallions to gorge on their drug of choice, their deadly tailpipes weaving a sweater around Mother Earth.