Welcome to Forgotonia

Thanks to a tip from a fellow Flickr-er who landed on my photostream, I learned that the publication Newcity: Street Smart Chicago recently ran a feature about the Forgottonia region. Intrigued, I discovered that the Aug. 3 item features photos and an interview with a resident of Plymouth, Ill., the tiny village near my hometown of Carthage.

“Postcard from Forgottonia: The land that time chose not to remember“

Newcity's "postcard" from Forgottonia

The story is well-written. And I’m always fascinated to read any “outsider’s” take on this area. But I have to admit a bit of confusion and frustration with this piece. There’s a whole lotta “land that time forgot”-type generalizing:

“Forgottonia is a kind of negative image of urban America—which from the Forgottonian perspective presents itself as the indifferent republic of… well, let’s call it Oblivia for lack of a better term…Nobody sets out purposefully to explore the region of west central Illinois known colloquially as Forgottonia. The place creeps up on you as gently as a childhood memory, and it is only later that you realize you have set foot in this unmarked republic of corn, dust and melancholy. As its name suggests, it is less a place than a feeling—a sense of having slipped away from the present moment into some other time stream, which has been dammed up by indifference and neglect and now registers only as a trickle.”

And until I reached the Plymouth part of the story, I began to wonder if the writer had even visited the region he was describing. I was also intrigued by the fact that the only source the writer acknowledges (other than the interview with a resident) is the feature on the origin of the Forgottonia movement that appeared last spring in the publication produced by WIU students, Western Illinois Magazine.

I’m familiar with Newcity, but only familiar. [Readers: Does this Chicago-centric publication typically do "downstate" features? And in its "News" section?] What about you—when you see objective descriptions of the “forgotten” place you call home, do you feel fascinated, too? Excited? Annoyed? Insulted? Let me hear from you.

Plymouth, Ill.

Randolph House

Originally uploaded by Rural Rose

The downtown courthouse square in Macomb has fallen on some hard times.

In addition to a recent fire on the the south side that destroyed two businesses, several stores have closed and still sit empty. And, (while this is just my opinion and preference as a consumer), stuff that IS moving in seems less-than-friendly to college students, their parents and professors in a university town, such as a shop selling items related to …being Catholic (?). (Um, yeah.)

The Randolph House on the east side–which was once part of a grand hotel where Abraham Lincoln spent the night and gave a speech–appears to be somewhat neglected. Lately I’ve been wondering: who owns the building? Are there any plans for restoring it? Does it fall under the historic preservation protection?

I haven’t done much digging around for the answer, but thought I’d throw it out here and see if anyone might know the score.

former Carthage College/Robert Morris campus field house

Originally uploaded by Rural Rose

I’ve posted some photos of the current state of the former Carthage College/Robert Morris campus in Carthage, IL on my Flickr page.

Carthage College was the site of the first Circle K club in the U.S., had several prominent alumni, and was home of legendary biology professor Alice Kibbe. But the college eventually was moved to Kenosha, WI, and the former campus in Carthage (my home town)  fell on hard times, including being bought by a mysterious Korean absentee landlord who could not be found for most of the 90′s and 00′s.

• Read more about that weird legacy and see some photos of the destruction inside one of the buildings here.
• Find out more of Carthage College’s history here.

Please leave comments if you remember life at Carthage College or Robert Morris and have any details or memories to share.

I was intrigued to learn that one of the entries on the recently released list of the “10 Most Endangered” historical sites in Illinois is an old house in Moline.

I happened to be in the Quad Cities not long after I read about the home, so I got C-Nor, (a.k.a. my fiancee, Chris), to program the address into his GPS.

We navigated from Davenport (IA) to Moline, (with the British lady on the Garmin directing/annoying us the whole way), until we found the lonely structure that was once owned by John Deere (the man). Read about the history of the house here.

I’m not sure why the house and /or property are called “Red Cliff.” I definitely get the “cliff” part, and you will, too, if you check out the photos I took. But the house is, um, green. The house stands out literally and figuratively; it looks out over Moline from a dramatic little look-out point while the rest of the neighborhood is un-remarkable. Chris and I walked right up to the house and looked in the windows. There are some sawhorses and tools inside, not to mention a sign out front that says “Restoration in progress,” that hint at a promising future. But the “10 Most Endangered” list says the restoration effort has been abandoned and the property is now in foreclosure.

Play the slide show for more details, or view the pictures via Flickr to get all the cutline-y goodness.

P.S. On a related note: Time.com recently published a list of the 11 most endangered national places, on which some of the causes of “danger” are proposed Wal-Marts and condo developments. (I will try to think of something non-depressing for my next post!)

I have posted a couple of entries in the past about the Spoon River Bridge (located in an area made famous by the Spoon River Anthology) being listed as one of the “most endangered” historic sites in Illinois.

Two weekends ago, I set out to take in the sights of the bridge and anything else interesting along the way.

Taking in the turns (and the little towns) along Highway 136

As we left Macomb and headed into Fulton County, the charmingly self-contained, yet ghost-town-y feel of one of the first little towns on the way, Table Grove, IL, was heightened by the cold wind and gray sky.

The “Antiques” shop had (for some reason) a sheet of plywood nailed above the door with the hand-stenciled words BOYCOTT SPEED LUBE. But it and most of the other stores around the small square seem to be abandoned and /or filled with loose junk, the kind of which that might be left over after a garage sale. The little store advertising “The future of TV” on its sign appears to have ceased operations decades ago, at least judging by its storefront contents. Only the bar, Rick’s Place (with its marquee outside stating “It’s mushroom time,” which the locals understand), appeared to be open and drawing customers.

See some highlights below from this mini-venture into our “forgotten” land.

(Or check out this and other Forgottonia-region shots on Flickr.)

Awhile ago I told you about a new book that just happens to include the Forgotonia region as the topic of one of its chapters.

As you might guess from its subtitle, True Stories of Texlahoma, Transylvania, and Other States That Never Made It, it’s filled with fun bits of trivia. Like the fact that we might have made Cuba a state if it weren’t for oh, you know, pure racism. Or the fact that Chicagoans once thought that downstate farmers held all the political power—a direct opposite of the feelings behind the Forgotonia movement—and wanted their own state.

Each proposed state is featured in a short, dryly humorous write-up and a corresponding map created by the author, whose career has focused on documentary filmmaking and teaching before publishing this book. Trinklein was a writer and producer for the Emmy-nominated PBS documentary Pioneers of Television, as well as The Gold Rush (1998) and The Oregon Trail (1993).

Lost States gets you thinking about how we define ourselves as a nation and as state citizens. And about how arbitrary some of the decisions behind our concrete-seeming realities really are. (Case in point? The recent news that legislative districts in Illinois are still determined by whichever political party pulls the winning slip of paper out of a hat.)

The book and its author, Michael Trinklein, have recently been featured on NPR’s All Things Considered, C-SPAN, and many other media outlets. As I read the book and began following the author on his blog, I really wanted to know more about him. How he got the idea for the book? How had he heard about the Forgotonia movement? Did he visit this region? And if so, what did he think of it?

So I dialed him up. (Well, the e-mail way.) And Trinklein, whose book was featured in The New Yorker, was gracious enough to grant a phone interview to this blogger.

(So it was a tad embarrassing when I didn’t know the answer to the one thing he really wanted to know from me: should “Forgotonia” have one “T” or two?)

Learn more about how the idea for the book took shape, what he thinks about life in the Midwest, and more—and leave me your thoughts, proposed statehood suggestions, or questions—below.

A Q&A with Lost States author Michael J. Trinklein

So, what state are you from? You’re talking to me now from Wisconsin. Is that where you’re from originally? Tell me about your life leading up to this book.

Well, I was born in Illinois; we lived in Evanston until I was five. But I grew up in Wisconsin. I went to college at the University of Wisconsin, and after that I went to the University of Iowa for graduate school. I majored in filmmaking in both, and I then took job teaching filmmaking at Idaho State University, and I was there for 20 years. That spurred me on to do the book, partly, because the geography of Idaho is really screwy.

So in looking at the list of documentaries you’ve worked on, and then at this book, it seems like the common theme of your research or general interest is history. In the films you made, how did you get inspired to pursue those subjects?

For The Oregon Trail, I think it was something about…well, growing up in Wisconsin and Illinois, history can seem a little bit further away than it is in Idaho; I mean, I knew people in Idaho who were older than the state! [laughs]. I remember very distinctly being on family vacation out west and seeing the [still visible] ruts [from wagon wheels], and hearing about how “those are actually from the Oregon trail.” It was so fascinating to me that we could walk in the same steps as people from history. That kind of got me started.

You thank your parents in the book for dragging you through practically every state in the country. So do you really credit those childhood car trips with sparking your interest in geography?

You know, when I was growing up, interstates were still young. We went to California on a four-day trip, we went to Mexico, to Texas. And in the era before iPods, you had to look out the window, you had to see the land. It was always kind of fascinating how… Living where I live now, and where you live now, when you’re driving west toward Denver, it’s fairly flat. And then all of a sudden the interstate starts to double back on itself, twisting back on itself [as you approach the mountains]. And  I remember saying to my grandfather, ‘They can do that?’ So yeah, we went everywhere, and it was fascinating to see the land change a bit.

What initially got you thinking about doing this book project?

Growing up, I was always kind of interested in maps. As a kid, when I was young, they’d give away free ones at the gas station; I kind of collected them, and as I would study them over, I wondered, “Why are they running a road through there and not there?” I remember, in about 1975 or so, as a teenager, there was an article in Newsweek about the potential State of Superior [the secession of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan from the rest of the state], and I remember just being blown away by that; I couldn’t even believe you can do that. I mean, in my generation, we haven’t seen any new states added, so I remember thinking, “Can you really do that?”

Over the years, I kind of collected stories of states and borders. Some people collect baseball cards…[laughs] I collected those kinds of stories. It was kind of a fascination. I had a file of these stories for decades, but I guess I didn’t really start working on it in earnest until about 2005. It wasn’t something I did full-time.

But you really had mentally or physically collected the stories that make up the content of this book since you were a kid?

Absolutely. I’ve had this huge filing cabinet labeled “maps.”

Can you describe how you went about most of the research for the maps and the book?

I tried, wherever possible, to go to primary sources, and for me that generally meant newspapers from the era. Some of these states—Boston’s a good example—basically it was just [one source], the Boston Globe from 1919 [that was available], and nothing else. That’s one problem with a topic like this; the problem with talking with people from over a hundred years ago is that the people are not still around.

But [like the book states in the introduction], the point with these was not to do an exhaustive review, but to be light, to get people interested in maps, history, and geography.

For a few of them, it was really hard to find good information on. Others I didn’t want to do because there was already so much on them, like Puerto Rico, or splitting California—there are whole books on splitting up Texas. But I don’t think anyone’s really gathered these stories up before.

I was glad to see that you had included Forgotonia in the book, because I think mostly it was tongue-in-cheek, more of trying to make a point than anything.

What I’ve found is, in any of these proposals, there is a certain number of people who are dead serious, there are others who think it’s funny, and it’s hard to sort out which one’s the greatest number. Some of them started out as kind of a joke, but . . . I think all great ideas start out in life in somebody’s head, and they might sound crazy, but then they become reality.

Lost States was published by Quirk Books—and your book is quirky. Because of the sort of unusual subject matter, did you ever have a hard time getting people to understand why you were interested in this? Did you have a hard time pitching it to publishers?

Yeah, you know, I think I worked on it for awhile without even telling my family, [laughs], because they’d be wondering what I was doing …But a lot of these things had never been mapped, so it was kind of fun to do. I worked on it on the weekends, that’s kind of what I do for fun, as odd as that sounds. I did a sort of self-published version at first, but it sold, like, five copies [laughs]. But honestly that was okay, because the point was not to make a lot of money or anything. I did it because I thought it was fun. But yeah, it’s not easily compartmentalized. Some publishers would say they thought it would be a good childrens’ book. But then Quirk Books said they liked it, but that I’d have to expand the content. So I added more states.

You hear those classic stories a lot of times, about how they try to get something published and it’s “No one likes your book, then all of a sudden one publisher likes it, and it ends up doing really well.” Well, not to try to compare myself [to those writers], but that’s kind of how it works in real life.

So how did you first hear about the Forgotonia story?

I think I found it on the web. Only three or four of the stories in the book came that way; the others were through clippings or books actually. I think it was one of the stories I found when I was looking for “51^st state” proposals, when I had to expand the book.

What did you find about Forgotonia that surprised you?

Well, just that…growing up with the freeways and seeing them built, I was fascinated that … [the proposed interstate] still isn’t done, and that everyone wants that road [laughs]. I looked into the highway legislation, and you know, it’s in there, and then they’re taking it out, and it’s like you can just kind of see everybody go [imitates frustrated cry] “oh, no!” … I think sometimes we forget how important those freeways are to commerce.

Since you did most of the research for the Forgotonia section by reading about it, have you ever had reason to actually visit the region?

I have driven back and forth to St. Louis a lot, so I have been on the fringes of that area many times.

So are there any observations about the area that stand out in your mind?

Well, [laughs], as you know, there’s corn. And I think that…I like that part of the country. I basically live in it. And Wisconsin and Iowa are not that different [from Illinois], of course. I like rural places… it’s kind of appealing to me. And part of the larger point of the book, I think, is that there’s a lot more to America than the just the coasts. [This region is] rural, but that’s a good thing.

It’s interesting to me that, when we were doing the Pioneers of TV series, and we were doing interviews with people in LA and New York, people in those places are not as happy, a lot of times, as people in the “flyover” states. We have this inferiority complex because we’re not on TV every night. But I think we’re a lot better off. When people are pushed together, they’re more stressed out. Here, there’s plenty of free parking [laughs]. So… it’s a pretty good lifestyle.

Behold the Adair Cafe and the Adair Pool Hall/Barbershop. I wish I had the money (and a justifiable reason to) buy these little old buildings.

I took this picture on a Saturday last June when Chris and I were out scouting around for some scenic photography shots.

We were on 136 going East out of Macomb, and I actually had my sights set on going to Fulton County, IL, but this little spot in the road caught my eye and I had to stop.

These tiny, empty buildings in the almost-ghost-town of Adair, IL,  stand out on the prairie–such concrete evidence of an earlier, forgotten time.

And now the former pool hall/barber shop (on the right) and a former mechanic’s  garage next door (not shown in this pic) are for sale, according to an item that  ran recently in the McDonough County “Choice” a.k.a. the shopper).

According to that piece, both buildings date to the 1860′s, and the architecture on the old garage is actually somewhat unique; it’s a “Mesker” building, which means it’s a specimen of a now-extinct pre-fab style that you can read more about here.

Also, according to the un-sourced item in the Choice, the old barber-shop-slash-snooker-hall looks like time stopped on the inside; it still houses snooker games-in-progress, the old barber shop chair, and even a can of Brill cream.

Who will buy these buildings?

I fear that they, like so many other little relics that dot the Illinois prairie–including countless one-room school houses, family-owned stores, and farm houses, for example–will either become someone’s junk-filled “out buildings,” or eventually get burned or torn down before they become a liability.

I hope I’m wrong.

(But if I suddenly do come in to some money. . . you think I could get people to come out to an art gallery and coffee shop in the middle’a nowhere? The Forgotonia Cafe? Anyone?)

I finally got to see The Informant last weekend, after more than two years of waiting.

Why had I been waiting two years, you ask?

(Well, wouldn’t your interest have been piqued if your friend’s dad had plied his way onto the movie set with a box of donuts?

I think so.)

I worried that my viewing experience might suffer from all the hype, and from knowing too many details about the real-life story.

After all, I had been following the movie’s development for so long. I brought you news of Matt Damon hobnobbing with the local yokels on set in Decatur, IL. I wondered about local connections to the story via the Archer Daniels Midland (ADM) plant in nearby Bushnell, IL.) I listened, rapt, to the episode of This American Life that detailed the true story of Damon’s character, Mark Whitaker (the whistle-blower-on-corruption-who-oh-by-the-way-was-also-corrupt). I got regular updates from my friend about her dad’s attempts to somehow work his way into the movie.

So by the time I finally got to sit down and watch it on DVD, I was worried it might not live up to my expectations.

But it turned out I had no reason to worry. Not because of its portrayal of central Illinois life, or anything else I might have expected, but because Matt Damon was so great, and so believable, as the shifty yet somehow sympathetic guy. I even lost sight of the fact that it was Matt Damon after awhile, (which is really saying something for an indie-movie snob). The film also does a great job of giving you the bigger picture of the flabbergasting ease with which the ADM businessmen price-fixed on an international scale.

But the truly critical question about the movie, of course, is how did my friend’s dad fare?

Let me refresh you about why he plied his way onto the movie set with a box of donuts when he first heard that the film would be shooting on location in central Illinois.

Here’s a snippet from his interview with the Rushville (IL) Times:

“Farrar and his Camaro recently responded to calls for extras and travelled to Decatur where he was hired to appear as an extra in a scene. Farrar said he and one other man are in the background of the scene shot at a Decatur motel swimming pool with Damon and co-star Scott Bakula. Farrar’s Camaro also may make an appearance since the producers also needed vehicles from the early 1990s for the movie. “I really like doing this and getting into these movies,” said Farrar, who is retired from the City of Rushville. “It’s the best work I’ve ever done – a lot better than mowing yards.”
When first visiting with the casting agency for the job, Farrar said he took a box of doughnuts from Rogers Bakery in Rushville as a gift.
“They loved them,” he said. “They called me the doughnut guy.”

Sadly, it turns out my friend’s dad didn’t get his time in the spotlight. (Er, background.) His scene at that Decatur motel (described in the snippet above) was unfortunately cut from the film.

But his purple 1995 Camaro, which looks like this if you’re interested, fared much better.

It appears in the latter half of the film, just before the scene in which Damon’s character (starting to really crack) meets with a new lawyer or a reporter at a hotel (divulging a bunch more stuff he’s not supposed to). The camera shows the parking lot of the motel, and not only is the car clearly visible, but the camera hangs there for a good couple of seconds.

It was really quite a star turn. I got so excited I made C-Nor pause the DVD so we could go back and look at it again.

As far as Mr. Farrar goes, I’m sure he’s faring well. Here’s his final quote from the Rushville Times:

“I think that since there are just the two extras in the scene I could get mentioned in the credits, but it could end up on the cutting room floor with the other broken dreams.”

Have you seen the movie? What did you think? Do you know anything about local ties to the story via the Bushnell plant? Leave me a comment below.

So I finally got around to watching Public Enemies, the Michael Mann film based on John Dillinger, who robbed banks and became a kind of folk hero during the Great Depression.

I have to say, I don’t like watching violent movies, but I gave in to this one since

1. it’s historical,
2. it took place in the Midwest and Illinois in particular, and
3. …. okay, because it stars Johnny Depp.

And as my esteemed readers may remember, I’ve been interested in this film since I read/posted that story about a guy from nearby Galesburg, IL who is connected to the movie via a 1930s car.

So: I liked it. Three stars out of four, maybe. But the reason I’m blogging about it is this:

I couldn’t believe it, when it was over and the credits rolled, that there were three rather young, rather notable, rather…comely actors in the film who I hadn’t recognized at all. In other words,

1. Billy Crudup played J. Edgar Hoover. I mean, this is the same guy who played the rock star in Almost Famous! That guy played this guy! I was truly shocked when I saw his name listed as the actor playing Hoover. (All this is to say, that guy can act. And the make-up/costume people who made him look like ….well, not a rock star, they were good too, obviously.)
2. One of the main Dillinger cronies was played by Stephen Dorff. I have actually never seen anything with Stephen Dorff in it. But, here’s the deal: I kind of pride myself on recognizing actors in movies, especially the littler-known character actors. In other words, I am really annoying to watch TV and movies with. Because every time a new character comes on the screen, I’ll say to whoever I’m watching it with, “Well, hey, there’s Jane Adams from Happiness. I’m so happy to see her again.” Or, “Say, there’s the guy who used to play Chip on Kate & Ali.”
3. But the real kicker was the fact that one of the gangsters’ names that came up on the credits was Rory Cochran. I was like, “Wha? Where was he?” (The answer is that he had played one of the FBI guys under Melvin Purvis, played by Christian Bale.) For the uninitiated, Rory Cochran would be the guy that my friends and I, in high school, went around imitating for months and months after seeing him play a squinty-eyed, small-town stoner dude in Dazed and Confused. (He of “Are you cool, man?” fame.)

After I finished the movie, instead of thinking about gangsters and violence and history, I was more thinking about my own history and pop culture (and obsessions with the combination). Like, how could it be that this skinny, long-haired kid from Dazed could be this adult, round-faced guy with …wrinkles???

This triple shock of non-recognition makes me think one of two things.

I didn’t recognize any of these actors onscreen because

A) I have a tiny, crappy little TV and the screen was very dark throughout many of the scenes,

or,

B) I and the actors from my generation are getting round-faced and wrinkled and old.
(I like the former rather than the latter. How ’bout you?)

The old school house in McCall, IL

Originally uploaded by Rural Rose

When I was a kid, there was a sign just near here that read “McCall, IL — Population: 8.”

This little old school house is just a mile or two west of my parents’ house (where I grew up).

My dad went to school in a one-room country school house just like it, and just down the road from here. He says he remembers playing in a baseball game against kids from this school.

I wanted to capture it because, even though it’s always been a landmark down the country road I grew up on, I know it won’t be there forever. One of those things you look at a million times and don’t pay much attention to, but then feel surprised and a little saddened when it’s gone.

(There was another one less than a mile from home to the east, and it got torn down a couple of years ago, just a few months after I went to take pictures of it.)

This schoolhouse is located along what is now being called the Mormon Martyrdom Trail. More on that later.