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markers

Of bricks and cannons

It was just 26 miles. No big deal.

This morning’s bike ride was in no way remarkable. No big speeds, no new PRs, no new roads, but the weather was perfect and the colors of this mini season are dazzling.

It was only remarkable in its unremarkableness. The ability, and the opportunity, to set off for a mid-morning bike ride is not to be underappreciated. I mean, I was still working out some lecture material in my head as I rode — because that never turns off, not really, apparently — but it was a wonderful day for a bike ride, and I was happy we could take advantage of it.

After which I, of course, sat down and went over notes and prepped my slides and figured out how to pace some things out for classes tomorrow.

Then I took a break. I pulled in some tomatoes. I tied up a few tomato vines that have been running wild all summer. I enjoyed a few tomatoes. (They were delicious.) Somehow, this kept work out of my noggin for a bit.

Oh, and then there was the evening’s ironing session. Nothing was percolating in my brain during my de-wrinkling chores.

But now I am back to it. So while I spend doing some class work, please enjoy these videos from Tuesday night’s concert with Pink.

Her daughter, Willow, came out to sing. Pretty great in front of a big crowd.

And here’s the big finish. The stage was in center field of the park, and they had a rigging set in the infield and then some more mounted somewhere above and behind everyone, which allowed all of this fanciness to happen.

It was a good show, though it wouldn’t have been my first choice, but I’m glad I went. The wire act and the aerials and the trampolines were all fun enough; I would have liked to seen more of the act without the over-the-top performance, to see how good it could be. Though I don’t think anyone there minded what they saw from the summer carnival.

Time now for the eighth installment of We Learn Wednesdays, where I ride my bike to find all of the local historical markers. I’m seeking them out by bike because it’s a great way to go a little slower, see more things and learn some roads I wouldn’t otherwise try. Counting today’s discoveries I have now visited 17 of the 115 markers found in the Historical Marker Database.

To find our first location you had to go down a quiet country road, and then turn onto an even more quiet country road. Every little click and noise you could make sounded like an interruption of nature. And then, you round a little curve and you find yourself at the Dickinson House.

The Marker wasn’t up the day I visited, but the database tells us what it said.

Dickinson House – The most ornate of early glazed brick patterns decorate the west wall of this house, built in 1754 by John Dickinson

It’s a one-of-a-kind pre-Revolutionary War-era home, then, and it is still a home today. This is what makes the place singular. This county was the home of patterned brick houses, a style you didn’t find in great numbers or intricacy anywhere else in America. There are about 20 of them that survive (they numbered 43 at the end of the 18th century).

Those bricks get that distinctive color by a firing process akin to vitirification. Extreme heat turns them from red to shiny blue. Usually, you’ll apparently see them installed as dates or initials, but the intricate designs here are something special. The owner thinks that this wall was an advertisement for the builder, John Dickinson. The letters are the initials of the Dickinsons, the original owners.

The house has four fireplaces. One of the original hearths is apparently at the state museum.

About seven miles away on the modern roads, you can see the Pole Tavern Cannon. The marker has been removed, but it said …

The Cannon Il Lugano which was forged in Naples in 1763 weighs 800 Pounds. Il Lugano was used in battle against the Austrians. Napoleon who visited Italy once in 1796 and again in 1800 dragged the cannon over the Alps and Eventually back to France. Napoleon then sent the cannon to his brother Joseph who was the ruler of Spain. In 1808 the Duke of Wellington’s Troops captured the cannon from Joseph and returned it to England. It was then used in Canada during the war of 1812 when American colonists captured it in 1814 in Plattsburg, New York. After the war was over the cannon was declared surplus by the United States Government, and sold to Salem County to Supply the county militia. During the Civil War (1861-1865) the cannon was used by the Pole Tavern Militia in preparation for battle. Since 1913 the cannon has been in the Pole Tavern Area.

The Cannon was restored in 1986 by Jay Williams and David Harvey with tremendous pride in their accomplishment.

This building was constructed in 1994 by Nicholas Hutchinson and fellow Scouts, to house and protect this historic cannon. Nicolas chose this project as a requirement to achieve Eagle Scout which he proudly received in 1995.

The canon, which has city in this small town’s main intersection for ages, was bought by that local militia along with three others, and 287 muskets.

Napoleon, since he’s mentioned by the marker, had also been fighting the British, of course, but he’d abdicated earlier that same year. That allowed more experienced British fighters to be shipped to the new world, and some of the key officers, too. But the Battle of Plattsburg, in August and September of 1814, when the cannon finally fell into American hands in 1814, becomes an important moment in the War of 1812. A combined land and naval engagement, it brought to an end the invasion of the northern states by the British, when the New Yorkers and Vermont men held Lake Champlain. (Having sat out much of the conflict, Vermont came into the fight here was a key piece of the timing.) The British commander knew he would be cut off from re-supply without the lake, so he ordered a retreat to Canada. They were to destroy everything they couldn’t haul back with them, a standard tactic, but there was no follow through. The British left under cover of darkness and, somewhere in all of that, Il Lugano was captured once again.

Three months later the peace treaty was signed, though that battle probably didn’t influence the mood among the delegates at those meetings in United Netherlands.

In May of 1889, veterans from another small town came up and stole the cannon for their Independence Day celebrations. The cannon then somehow wound up in the state capital, where it stayed for almost a quarter of a century, before finding it’s way back to its current location. It was displayed in the town hall, but that building burned soon after, in 1914. So the cannon, apparently, was outside for several decades. That (really great) little building that houses it is almost 30 years old, and is showing its own age.

You might think that the good people of that little town are proud to watch their cannon grow older each year — 270 years old this time around the sun! — but they trot it out now and then. They did so in 2016, when they fired it as part of a festival and parade. I found two different clips, but neither have audio. So I found something better: the time Il Lugano was heard in 1991.

If they keep to that schedule the Pole Tavern Cannon will be about 288 when it roars again.

Miss some of the markers? You can see them all right here.

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13
Sep 23

Going fast, and also seeing things slowly

I have two classes tomorrow, so a substantial part of yesterday, and almost all of today, have been spent in making notes for myself, trying to think up ways to keep students’ attention and give them some useful information. This is always a learning process, both in terms of pedagogical techniques but, sometimes, in the actual material. I learned a few things yesterday. Now I get to share that information with others. That’s a lot of fun. Hopefully they’ll think so, too.

Just kidding. I’m working on a lecture a few weeks from now. But I did learn some things. One of the things I learned is that some of the reading materials have disappeared, and so I had to scramble for suitable replacements. Another thing I learned involved something arcane and technical. The journalist in me would have benefited from the existence of this technology, but not understood why or how it worked. Sorta like me and, say, an important converter in a hydroelectricity plant, or the part between solar panels and light switches.

What was really fun, and quite gratifying, is when I get to a new section of notes and text for this lecture that will take place in a few weeks and realize, “Hey, I know how to do this. I’ve been doing this for a long time, as it turns out.”

Can’t buy the sort of confidence that comes with steady realization, I’ve always said, since at least the beginning of this sentence.

The one big break from all of that today was a bike ride this morning. Here we’d just been chatting, when I looked down and we were soft pedaling through the low 20s.

On this particular route we follow that road for some miles until it ends. Then we turn left onto a road that parallels the river. The road is mostly flat, but there is the slightest little gradient. And my lovely bride will crush a false flat. I could still see her when she got to the next turn, but I didn’t see her turn. Despite having a clear view down that next road, I didn’t see her there. She wouldn’t have continued on straight ahead, owing to the logistics of the ride, but no can see.

So I spent the next four miles putting in some of the ride’s best splits, just to catch back up to her, which I finally did. We talked again for a moment, which was mostly me just trying to get out “You’re fast!” Then I went past her. I held her off for four miles, after which she dropped me with a “Why’d you do that?” look.

Because being chased is every bit as fun as chasing. Moreso when your legs are beginning to feel pretty decent again. (That only took two months.)

Also, I set three Strava PRs on that ride. All of which is why there’s only one shot in the video. I was too busy, and then too tired, to get more shots.

The seventh installment of my efforts in tracking down the local historical markers did not come from today’s ride, but rather a weekend expedition. Doing this by bike is one good way to go a little slower, see more things and learn some roads I wouldn’t otherwise try. Counting today’s installment, I’ll have visited 15 of the 115 markers found in the Historical Marker Database. What will we learn a bit about today? I’m so glad you asked!

Downtown is an old town here. Quaint houses. Signs on the walls displaying the original or locally famous previous residents. Hitching posts out by the modern curb. Lots of cars, but the whole vibe. It’s a charming little place, and houses like this are part of why.

Built in 1724 by a second generation immigrant, Samuel Shivers had one of the first houses in this town, and it is still today a fine example of several different generations of architecture. Historians would point out that there’s four centuries of work here, included the remnants of Samuel’s father’s 1692 cabin. The house we see today, then, shows us work that spans four centuries. The door, the hinges and the rest of the hardware there are period original, but I don’t know which … again, several centuries of work are in here.

The mantel is original. Some of the window glass is original. It wasn’t long before the Shivers family needed more space, so Samuel bought a nearby tavern and had it moved onto his property. Samuel’s daughter and her husband took over the house in 1758. That man, Joseph Shinn, helped write the state constitution in 1776. Their son, Isiah Shinn, took over the house. He was a state lawmaker and militia general. Isiah presided over more additions in 1813, adding a dining room and two more bedrooms, and this was the look on Main Street until 1946. The woman that owned it then made a lot of changes and whoever produced this sign did not like it. But for the past few years a preservationist has owned The Red House and is restoring it to its original style.

Apparently, the first film produced by Samuel Goldwyn in his studio Goldwyn Pictures in 1917 was shot in this town, and all of the interior scenes take places in this house, or on sets modeled after it.

The whole movie is online.

The Red House, also, has this fancy plaque on the front wall.

I touched it. It’s some sort of vulcanized rubber. But the rest of the house, though, it’s something else. Some day I’m going to have to work my way into an invite.

What already seems like six or seven years ago, somehow, but was merely last Wednesday, I showed you the marker that stood by itself, with nothing to memorialize. It was a fire ring. There’s one other in town, and it is within just a few feet of The Red House.

And even though, last week, I shared a screen cap of the Google Street View car’s photo of that now-missing fire ring, it’s important to see it for yourself. So now here is a fire ring.

This all seems pretty obvious now. It sounds like this.

I’m just tapping the ring with the metal head of my bike pump but the sound really jumps. Imagine, years ago, hearing this in the middle of a quiet night, when someone full of adrenalin is striking this ring. “FIRE! COME QUICK!” I bet it was an effective system for it’s time. The Red House’s sign says it has survived, among other things, fires, so that ring must have been an effective call to the community.

Also, ‘Old Discipline’? What a great name. What a great name for anything.

If you’ve missed some of the early markers, look under the blog category We Learn Wednesdays. What will we learn next week? Something quite unique indeed. Come back and see!

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6
Sep 23

Ready to just do it already

First classes are tomorrow. Last minute dashes to be prepared are today. I got a decent haircut, learned things about cowlicks, and ironed some clothes. When it’s open-the-ironing-board official you know it is getting real.

I’ve also semi-prepared the things I’m going to discuss in class so much that they now seem less interesting to me. And some of these things are interesting! Some of them are about the syllabus. And everyone loves syllabus day. So tomorrow is the first first day for two classes. My last first day is Monday night. I’ll start finishing that class prep on Saturday.

Tomorrow, it is two afternoon classes, and I know most of their pros and cons, schedule-wise. But Monday, it is a night class, that’s new to me. And it’s the last schedule block of the day. Because of Memorial Day, that means the 6 p.m. Monday night class will be the last first day of the semester. I’m sure all of the students in there will be over ice breakers. No pressure whatsoever.

But before that, there’s tomorrow. (It’ll be fine.)

This is the sixth installment of my tracking down the local historical markers. I’m doing this by bike, by the way, which is one good way to go a little slower, sometimes, and learn some roads I wouldn’t otherwise try. Counting today’s installment, I’ll have seen 13 of the 115 markers found in the Historical Marker Database. What will we learn a bit about today? Something that doesn’t exist anymore!

Here’s the first marker.

The fire ring isn’t there anymore. And I had this wrong. I thought this footprint would have been where it went. And I figured it was some sort of bell. Ring! Ring! Fire! Fire! Come out and fight the fire! Ring! Ring!

But this is what it looked like, and it was installed right next to that marker. This is a Google Maps image from the summer of 2016.

By the next time the Google car through, in 2019, the fire ring was gone. And you can see that the other spot, where I thought the fire ring would have been, had some other sort of monument or marker. It was also removed before September of 2019.

There’s another marker, elsewhere, for another fire ring. It’s next on the list to visit. Maybe, if it still there, we can figure out more about the mysteries of the fire ring.

But, for right now, if you look just past the marker above, you’ll see another one. And this wordy little document has been sitting here for generations.

And here’s the bridge the old timers were celebrating.

Now, I don’t know if that’s fertilizer runoff or some sort of punk rock algae bloom, but I’m not swimming in that lake, or fishing it, anytime soon. There were some people fishing in the lake the day I took this photo.

The marker says in some places the flood was 20 feet above normal and, in this location, it reached the top of the current bridge. That’s difficult to imagine, given the flatness of the surrounding flat terrain. (That’s how flat it is. Flat flat flat.) That sounds like a lot of water spreading out, and so it was. A tropical storm dumped 24 inches of rain in half a day at a gauge just 13 miles away. Dams failed, and a railway bridge that ran over this lake … well, here’s a thousand words on that from The Times.

But that date, the dedication date of the new bridge? That was 15 months after the flood. That’s not what stands out. Sure, it is 981 months, to the day, from me writing this, but that’s not it either.

December 6th, 1941, a Saturday. Imagine, the next day the members of the Board of Freeholders (a term no longer in use, having rebranded as county commissioners just a few years ago) woke up, all proud of their efforts, saw their neighbors, went to church, or whatever else their normal habits might have been. And, by dinnertime that night war was no longer a looming shadow. What everyone had feared had come at last. That bridge may have been the last thing built around here for a while.

If you’ve missed some of the early markers, look under the blog category We Learn Wednesdays. What will we learn next week? Come back and see.

We also return to the Re-Listening project, which is aptly named. I’m listening to all of my old CDs in the car, in the order in which I acquired them. I’m writing a bit about them all here, to play some music, to see if I can scour up a memory and, sometimes, like today, pad the place with some extra content. These aren’t reviews — because who cares? — but they’re sometimes fun.

And this time, we’re in the early summer of 2003. Train’s “My Private Nation” was released, their third studio album, and I liked Train. I liked Train three albums worth, and this was the third one I purchased. (They’ve released seven more records since then, the most recent being in May of last year.) This record went platinum, their fifth platinum certification, and ended 2003 at number six on the Billboard 200. A lot of people liked this record. (And five of their subsequent records have ended a year in the top 20. A lot of people like Train. Go give them some grief.)

They released four singles in support of the record. “Calling All Angels,” you’ll remember, was a big hit. “When I Look to the Sky” was moderately successful and, I think, the place where I’d almost had enough. “Get to Me” made it to number six on the Billboard Hot Adult Top 40 Tracks, and is still catchy two decades later. Though I’m not sure if I ever listened to that in the company of another human being.

That could have been a function of 2003. Early morning shifts — my first hit was at 4:30 a.m., which meant I was going into the studio before 4 a.m. most days, which meant my first alarm went off at 2:30 a.m., — shape your social life.

This was not an early morning listen, though. I was singing along in the car to people with a deeper register than Pat Monahan has. Also, right about here on the CD, I think I was starting to discover the Train formula.

Despite that, though, there’s still charming little imagery sprinkled throughout.

For my money, the last track on the album is the best one. And one of the best in their catalog.

Five years later a guy named David Nail covered it and had a moderate success on the country charts. What does that sound like?

It’s a cover.

Anyway. The first time I saw Train was on a small festival stage about 45 seconds before they became a supernova. And then I saw them in the now demolished Five Points Music Hall. I think I caught them once or twice more in bigger places. Then one morning I finished an early morning shift and bumped into them at a breakfast place. They didn’t look prepared for breakfast. This would have been 2001 or 2002. I didn’t see them, I don’t think, when they toured this record. And soon after this members of the band started changing and it would feel like an entirely different show if you went these days I bet. Monahan is the only original member left.

If you want to find out, Train is on tour right now. Let me know if they’re still doing the Zeppelin covers.

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16
Aug 23

An office-kind-of-day

I have been working, today, on 23 pages of syllabi. That will cover two classes. Most of it makes sense, but I’ll revisit it on Friday and look for any errors or obvious landmines. That was the biggest part of the day, trying to make sense of schedules that will drive things through mid-December.

No big deal.

Also, I brought in some peaches. Just one basket worth today. We have about three baskets to do something with, plus an abundance of fruit still on the tree. It’s an incredibly bountiful crop.

Speaking of, I had to upgrade the bowl I’ve been using to harvest tomatoes, because the smaller bowl was obviously not up to the task today.

The only thing better than a peach still-warm from the sun might be a tomato you just twisted from the vine. Just sitting here, writing about it, I am counting the steps from my desk to the kitchen counter. Should I go back for more, at this late hour?

These are the questions of my day, and also “Is this too many reading assignments?”

This is the third installment in my tracking down the local historical markers. New county, new goals and all of that. I found a database with 115 markers in the county, so we’ll be at this for a good while.

You can find them all under the blog category, We Learn Wednesdays. What will we learn about today?

Here’s the local high school, which has a fine infographic-style marker out front. Their graduating class of 2012, who are all ancient now, sponsored the display, which was presented by the local historic commission. And there’s a lot of information because of it.

In May of 1922, President Warren Harding was passing through the area, on his way to Atlantic City. He stopped off briefly at the school and spoke briefly. The road that passes in front of the school had been named the Harding Highway, and part of the road was even paved. Big doings in 1922.

The school was still new at the time, having just opened in 1916. (The earliest local school house was nearby, and built in 1750.) A few years ago they opened a 1915 time capsule.

Inside the capsule included names of teachers and pupils in the school district; lead pencils; names of mayor and members of borough council; and a 1915 and 1905 Woodstown National Bank Almanac, to name a few.

No one told Harding about that in ’22. Seven years later it wasn’t forgotten, but it wasn’t top-of-mind.

Harding had a big May that year. There was a fire in the Treasury Building, he got the Soldier’s Bonus Bill — and vetoed it. He took that trip to Atlantic City, where he vacationed and spoke to the Women’s Club. He waded in on coal field prices, sat down with Big Steel over the matter of 12-hour workdays and haggled with the rail bosses. He also signed an important narcotics bill into law. At the end of the month he dedicated the Lincoln Memorial. May 1922.

His August 1923 wasn’t as good. He died, in office, 100 years ago this month.

I wonder how many schools there are in America that had that one visit by a president, and the story got passed down until it didn’t matter anymore. Harding probably barely shows up in the modern curriculum, right? Teapot Dome Scandal, his early death and, lately, his illegitimate daughter. Two of those might not even figure in to a high school class. It was a century ago and he was only in office for two-and-a-half years, after all. But, still.

Anyway, the school expanded in the 1930s, more floor space and a gymnasium. By the late-1950s the elementary school kids and the middle schoolers were in new, separate buildings. Another gym was built in the 1980s, the old one was turned into a library and additional classrooms. The last major renovations took place just a few years ago.

All of this modernity replaced eight one-room schoolhouses around the area. One of them still stands, as a period schoolhouse museum.

Here’s the next marker, which is also in front of the modern high school.

This bell, then, would have been in a school building that came to life in 1852, the second public school in the community. The first high school class graduated from there in 1885.

You wonder what other happy and sad news that belt might have rang about in its day. Maybe a few of the current students are interested in that bell. If their families have been here a long time, and they did the math, some student this year might realize that perhaps one of their a great-great-great-grandparents heard that bell.

You wonder what it sounded like.

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2
Aug 23

A new Wednesday feature? A new Wednesday feature

Out bright and early this morning running errands. I got stuck in traffic, but I did not get lost a single time. It’s still a little unsettling to not know where you’re going most of the time, but that will pass with time and driving around.

There are two creature-of-habit things I’m dealing with driving around here. Going into the city, requires a mental adjustment. Fortunately, high-speed highway driving is as second nature a feeling as I can have in a car. Growing up around amateur hour at Talladega will do that for you. But the ebbs and flows, the changing of lanes and the many distracted drivers, it reminds you to take a deep breath and re-grip. The other thing are the intersections around us. Owing, I am sure, to historical property lines and what not, there are a great many intersections that don’t meet at neat right angles. It just requires a weird craning of the neck, is all. And, like any new input, it is new.

But, errands safely run. All things achieved. The maps app was 100 percent successful. I didn’t even break a sweat, owing to the milder, seasonally appropriate temperatures.

I forgot to share these photos yesterday, just glimpses of the season. We have some tomato vines out back. And these are delicious.

In fact, I’m behind on eating tomatoes. Hang on one sec.

…

OK, five small, delicious, tomatoes eaten as a late night snack. I’ll have more to pull out of the miniature garden tomorrow, I’m sure. (And they are so, so, good.)

We have a wonderful array of black-eyed Susans.

And this hydrangea, I decided this afternoon, just looks more impressively beautiful by the day.

How hydrangeas didn’t get some mystic lore attached to them is an enduring mystery. This one is tall and fairly glows.

Less beautiful, in a traditional sense, but no less attractive for it, is this water tower I found today. The way this was situated, I think it might have been in service to a private business rather than a community. And, as water towers go, it is fairly small one. It is in the of a small, closed down ice cream facility.

I saw a store, just yesterday, advertising this ice cream brand. Having put these things together, I might stay away from that altogether. I would not want any water that comes from that tower today, but I hope it stands there blazed in deep rich tones of rust, for a long time.

Anyway, I saw that water tower after a left turn on today’s bike ride. I rode 36 miles this afternoon, because my mileage needs to make some big jumps. But the weather was good, the roads were generally in great condition and I saw only two regrettable drivers, despite finding myself on two different busy roads.

Mostly, it was just beautiful agricultural countryside.

I also found myself on a lot of empty roads. On quite a few, in fact, I didn’t encounter any cars at all. Like this one. There’s marsh to the left, a canal on the right, and the river a little farther off. And for the entire seven minutes I was on this road, I was entirely alone.

Later, I found myself on a sleepy road that was covered by a dense tree canopy. That particular bit of road was riddled with potholes. It was just warm enough, and the katydids were singing their late afternoon chorus and some boggy water somewhere nearby was giving off just a hint of a fragrance. It felt almost like being in some of my favorite places back home.

There was another point to today’s ride. I figure I may as well start tracking down the markers. New county, new goals and all of that. I found a site that lists 115 markers in this county, so we will likely be at this for a while. Easy content!

The last two times I did this, I used a separate microsite. It was extra work and never drew a lot of traffic, so I’ll just put them here. And we’ll use a slightly different premise. Previously, it was just the photos. But, as I find interesting information that compliments the markers, I’ll add them here.

So, let’s look at the first two, and perhaps we’ll learn something interesting as we do.

There’s nothing in this patch of grass, nestled in a fork in the road, except this marker and a flagpole that, today, was flying no flag.

I haven’t found a lot, on my first pass, about how many local boys joined the AEF for the Great War, but I did just learn that the home front was mightily changed during that era.

Industry boomed at the DuPont Powder Works once World War I broke out, and Salem County changed forever. DuPont opened the Powder Works at Carneys Point just south of Penns Grove in 1893 to create smokeless gunpowder for the Spanish-American War, but World War I dramatically increased the need for munitions. Workers from around the United States, as well as immigrants from Italy, Russia, Poland, Ireland, Germany, and other countries, flooded into Carneys Point, Penns Grove, and Pennsville to work at DuPont. Between 1910 and 1920, Salem County’s population increased by about ten thousand, compared to a typical increase of one thousand in prior decades. Carneys Point’s population jumped from 744 to 6,259, while neighboring Penns Grove’s population increased from 2,118 to 6,060. During World War I, the plant employed a high of over twenty thousand people. To accommodate the influx of workers, DuPont built temporary housing, barracks, and bungalows, and even put up tents to house the workers. With dramatic increases of students, Penns Grove and Carneys Point expanded and built new schools.

In 1917, DuPont started the Dye Works (renamed Chambers Works in 1945) at Deepwater in Pennsville Township, initially focusing on creating dyes, an industry previously dominated by war-torn Germany. The Chambers Works became a worldwide leader in organic chemicals by discovering and creating materials such as Teflon, nylon, and Freon. DuPont remained a major employer for the rest of the century, with high wages that continued to draw both locals and new residents to Salem County.

I found a museum site that listed 19 men who served in the Army Air Corps in World War II. Perhaps there were more. Surely the other services had local boys amidst their ranks, too. And, owing to the proximity of the coast, and the river, I’m sure I’ll eventually run across some home front defense force mentions, as well.

On the other end of the same road, there was this marker.

In the background, the local high school. This marker is on the high school’s front lawn. I imagine that’s both boring and horrifying to the kids going to school there, if they ever notice it at all. But, perhaps it is also an appropriate place for such a marker.

There’s at least one other Vietnam memorial nearby (at a middle school, which … ) and from that I gather that 11 local soldiers were killed in that country. There’s a Facebook group for that particular display, and someone has uploaded photos of some of those men. But they’re boys. Even in fatigues they look young.

As we go along, and as we discover markers devoted to more specific people and places, our details here will no doubt improve. Possibly as early as next Wednesday! I have already mapped a route for the next dozen or so markers. At this rate I can wrap them all up by sometime in 2025. Unless something else historic happens around here.