Welcome to Forgotonia

Midnight Assassin: A Murder in America’s Heartland by Patricia L. Bryan and Thomas Wolf

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

My holiday/vacation/part-time-employment-status reading blitz continues!

I was intrigued by this book from the moment I heard about it, not only because it takes place in Iowa (where I just moved) and on a farm (which is the way I grew up), but also because I discovered that I have a few small things in common with one of the authors, (namely that we both once lived and worked in the same small-ish town, and we graduated from liberal arts colleges located a stone’s throw from one another).

Anyway, in addition to having the true-crime hook, the story ends up being quite moving and creates a human picture of the alleged assassin, who, you begin to realize, was in many ways a victim. I appreciate the huge amount of work on the part of the authors’ having worked-in the social and historical research from the time, creating a rich picture of what life must have been like for people (especially farm women) involved in the story.

After the initial draw of the true-crime element, I did start to feel that, in the section of the alleged assassin’s trial, there was less of a hook-y mystery than maybe I had been hoping for. But it was still a compelling read.

And on top of the personal/local connections I mentioned above, it turned out that part of what inspired the research on this story was that it had been reported on (for a Des Moines newspaper) by a young woman who went on to become an award-winning author who was a contemporary of Eugene O’Neill–and she was from Davenport.
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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.

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.

Q. What do all those things in the subject heading have to do with one another?

A: Answer: we’re all linked by a new tune about a train.

Here’s the story:

As some of you already know, I have a new obsession: the Chicago Public Radio show “Sound Opinions,” which is broadcast locally on Tri States Public Radio, but which I tend to save as a podcast so I can listen to it while making the drive up to the Quad Cities to visit C-Nor.

Listening to this show—on which two respected rock critics review new albums, analyze old ones, and interview artists they think are worth your attention—is like my version of following sports. It’s hard to explain, but … I need rock/pop/music industry chatter and following-of-facts-and-analysis in my life the way Cubs and Cards fans seem to need theirs. (I couldn’t tell you who is playing in the World Series if my life depended on it, but ask me who is producing the next Regina Spektor album and well, I will either know or at least want to know.

Yes, this show is rock-nerd heaven.)

Anyway, driving back from Davenport on Sunday and catching up on a podcast, I have to admit I wasn’t overly excited when DiRogatis and Kott started their review of the Jay-Farrar/Benjamin Gibbard collaboration. This album, released in 2009, features music set to lyrics inspired by a Jack Kerouac novel. It’s called One Fast Move or I’m Gone: Music from Kerouac’s Big Sur.

Normally this kind of project would be up my alley; I mean, hello, English major-y enough? Like a lot of Farrar/Gibbard fans probably do, I’ve got both Uncle Tupelo and Death Cab albums in my stack and several Kerouac books on my shelves.

But,

1. I’m kind of so-so on the Jay Farrar front: he’s obviously got an incredibly unique voice, but I’m not sure I like the sound of it enough to listen to whole albums of it.
2. Even though I was obsessed with Kerouac during my late high school/early college days…well, the sincere awe I used to feel over Kerouac and the life he lived and the way he wrote has been tempered by the voice inside me that says, “Ok, how many women are you going to brag about screwing in this section?”
3. And on top of that, do we need another Picking-Up-Where-Dead-Hero-Left-Off Project? (“Hey Jay, ever heard of Mermaid Avenue? The name Jeff Tweedy ring a bell…?”)

However—and even though the critics on Sound Opinions seemed to agree with my issues about Farrar’s voice—they deemed it a “Buy It” record (out of “Burn It, Buy It, or Trash It”), and you can read more about that on the Sound Opinions web site. (You have to scroll down to footnote #7).

And then they played a song from it, and my ears perked up—and now the album is on my Amazon wishlist.

The song, “California Zephyr,” describes, and is named after, a certain country-crossing vessel which has an important local tie and also plays a big role in my life. (It also pays homage to a song by the same name written by Hank Williams, I think.)

The train in the tune:

The real-life California Zephyr route stops in nearby Galesburg and Burlington, Iowa, and of course at Union Station in Chicago, before heading westward to cross the plains and then head for the Rocky Mountains.

I have taken the California Zephyr out west a small handful of times. And while it may be a bit schmaltzy and sentimental, I consider my trips on this train to be some of the most awesome and important moments in my life.

When I was a kid, the summer after sixth grade, my mom planned a trip for us to visit her brother and his family on the west coast. My dad decided that we were going to do things the old-fashioned (i.e. cheaper, and non-up-in-the-air) way.

Please let me stress what this means: my family and I rode a train, sitting next to each other for several days in a row, all the way from Burlington, Iowa to Seattle, Wash.

(And yes, we are still speaking to each other.)

I’ll save the tales of that trip for another day. But allow me to say I remember it vividly and always will. I got to see the world through those train windows, and through watching the actions of so many other train-travelers from all over the map.

Later, when I was in college, I got on the Zephyr in Burlington and rode out to Winter Park, Colo. (And yes, both my mom and my sister thought I was crazy for choosing to take the train again. Apparently I have a higher tolerance for not bathing, and for sleeping upright in a coach seat, then most.)

In 2004 or so, I also took the train from Galesburg to White Fish, Mont., to meet my family at Glacier National Park, only to discover that it was on fire (but yes, that too is another story.)

All of this is to say, I was delighted to find that one of the songs on the Kerouac-inspired album captures the feeling of sitting in a lounge car, watching the fields and lonely towns and cows and streams and pickup trucks go by, taking in something about American life that feels like it might not always be there. (And yeah, really wishing for a shower.)

What about you? Farrar fan? Death Cab lover? Fan of taking the train despite lavatory facilities being a bit lacking? Know any more about the Hank Williams original? Leave me a comment below.

The song features Gibbard alone (without Farrar), and here’s what I found when I Googled the lyrics:

Up the Hudson Valley across New York State to Chicago then the Plains
All so easy and dreamlike crashing the salt flat daybreak
I hear “I’ll Take You Home again Kathleen” sad fog winds out there to blow
Across the rooftops of eerie old hangover San Francisco

Now I’m transcontinental 3000 miles from my home
I’m on the California Zephyr watching America roll by
Now I’m transcontinental 3000 miles from my home
I’m on the California Zephyr watching America roll by

I’ve hit the end of my trail can’t even drag my own body
I’ve been driven mad for three years
Too much fame keeps a body busy and the mind full of tears
Terrified by that sad song across rooftops
mingled with the lachrymose cries of the salvation army meeting
on the corner saying, “Satan is the cause of it all”

Now I’m transcontinental 3000 miles from my home
I’m on the California Zephyr watching America roll by
Now I’m transcontinental 3000 miles from my home
I’m on the California Zephyr watching America roll by

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?)