Cape Girardeau History and Photos

November 16, 2014

Smelterville Fire

Fires have been on my mind today. I woke up to news that Athens’ uptown area had been hit by an early-morning fire that did serious damage to four or five businesses in buildings dating back to the late 1800s. The Union, a bar that had been a popular university watering hole since the 1950s, appears to have been the most serious casualty.

The city’s “uptown” is very similar to Cape’s “downtown.” They are both constructed of buildings that adjoin each other and that are over 100 years old. Once a fire gets started, it’s easy to lose a whole block.

This fire was a lot smaller. It was in Smelterville, but I don’t recall any details.

It might have been January 1966

I found a Missourian invoice where I billed the paper $5 for a fire on January 29, 1966, but Google doesn’t have the microfilm for that day on file, so I couldn’t look up the story.

Based on the way the water sprayed on the fire has already frozen, it sure LOOKS like a cold January day.

Going back in

It appears the only thing saved up to this point was a dresser. I don’t know if that was all that was salvageable in the house or if they hadn’t started their overhaul work yet. There’s another shot that shows a fireman with a pike pole getting ready to enter. That’s what they use to tear into walls and ceilings to see if there are any fire extensions.

I’ll never forget another fire I worked not far from there.

November 15, 2014

Charleston’s McCutchen Theater

There was a flurry of excitement in Charleston in 2007 when a couple of guys from California blew into town with big plans to open a restaurant, revitalize the old Russell Hotel, put in an ice cream shop and bring back the original night club in the basement of the hotel. They were also going to restore the McCutchen Theater to it original glory and show movies from the 1930s to the 1960s.

Just like the plans for the Esquire Theater in Cape, before long the talk and the action died down. The movie house was listed on the delinquent tax rolls in 2007 through 2011 in the Mississippi County Times. I don’t know what, if anything, is happening with the property now.

Theater busted for porn

The Missourian had a special report in the February 22, 1972, Charleston news column: Mississippi County authorities have confiscated an X-rated movie from the McCutchen Theater here after the prosecuting attorney had viewed it twice and received phone calls from residents concerning the film’s content. County Prosecutor W. Clifton Banta, Jr., and Deputy Sheriff Jack Ivy seized the film “Dandy.”

Mr. Banta had viewed a portion of the film Sunday night and returned to the theater Monday night with two ministers and two laymen to get their opinions of the show. [That’s certainly an unbiased cross-section to judge community standards.]

Theater manager Bill Howard said he had not been asked to cancel the showings and that he had a policeman on duty to check identifications so that no one under 18 could be admitted to the show. “He added that he expected no objections to the film since it had played the previous week in Sikeston without any trouble.”

The story said the film is in the custody of the prosecuting attorney’s office. No charges have been filed against the manager or the theater owner, Malco Theaters of Memphis, Tenn.

Film ruled “obscene”

A March 6, 1972, follow-up story reported “An X-rated film shown here recently, Dandy, is obscene and Mississippi County Prosecuting Attorney W. Clifton Banta, Jr., was justified in confiscating it from McCutchen Theater here, Circuit Judge Marshall Craig has ruled.

Judge Craig further ordered that the film be held by the Mississippi County sheriff’s office for possible use as evidence if criminal action is initiated at a later date. Malco Theater officials said they had decided not to take court action even though they felt they could prove the film was not obscene.

The margin of profit at the local theater was such that unless X-rated films, which drew more customers, could be shown occasionally the owners could not afford to keep the theater open, Bill Howard, local manager, said.” [Which also says something about community standards.]

What was “Dandy?”

It took some serious Googling to find out anything about “Dandy.” It was far from a mainstream flick. Here’s one synopsis of the plot, such as it was:

“Dandy… eighteen years old, unloved, lonely, and no place to go. Unhappy with her parents, bored with her life, Dandy decides to leave for the big town and make it in the world of modeling. She is abused, used and desired by the fast living men she meets in a wild orgy that moves from the luxuries of their bedrooms to the nude cavorting in their Olympic-sized pools.

“Innocent girl runs to Hollywood and is entangled by a ruthless “Talent Agent” but escapes to the arms of a photographer who falls in love with her.”

November 14, 2014

Louisville’s Museum Row

Curator Jessica and I were killing time before meeting up with Jon Webb, the Athens Messenger photographer who originated the Picture Page concept before I started working there. She enjoys sewing period costumes, so she was quivering with excitement when she saw the Frazier History Museum had an exhibit Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous: Art, Fashion and Luxury in the Gilded Age.

While we were walking down Museum Row on Main on a cold, windy, drizzly day, I thought it was going to be a long time before anybody swings the bat at the Louisville Slugger Museum.

Better choke up on it

Based on the the size of the man standing next to the 120-foot tall, 68,000-pound steel bat, I’m pretty sure you’d have to choke up on it when you got to the plate.

Looking for the secret password

I watched Jessica when we went to the ticket counter to see if she gave any secret curator handshakes or whispered any passwords to get us a discount, but I had to pay full price to get into the Frazier.

Why the Can-Can was scandalous

Spend enough time in a car with Road Warriorette Jessica and you’ll find out more about period underwear than you ever wanted to know. I’ve gotten pretty adept at the head-nod and “Uh huh, that’s really interesting.”

I DID learn why the Can-Can was so scandalous (but I’m not telling).

Here’s Miz Jessica is counting the whalebone stays that made up this corset. I observed that anything that compressed the waist that much surely must have made the woman’s toes swell. When you squeeze a balloon in one place, it HAS to bulge out somewhere else. (Click on the photos to make them larger.)

Do you think I’m crazy?

Along one was was a bunch of silhouettes that showed the shapes of womens fashion over the years. Miz Jessica backed up to the display and asked me which silhouette most closely resembled her profile.

I’ve been married 45 years. I knew better than to answer THAT question.

I found my gas mask

While she was hustling amidst the bustles, I wandered over to a display that showed a World War II gas mask just like the one I wore when I was teargassed covering student protests at Ohio University. At some point in my Boy Scout career, I carried a canteen that looked like that, too.

I hope it worked better than mine

I hope it worked better in combat than mine did in riots.

Friend and photographer Ed Pieratt shot me in my riot gear. I had to wear my glasses on the outside of the mask because I was blind without them. The old WWII mask kept the gas out, but the lenses fogged up so badly I couldn’t see WITH the mask or WITHOUT it. (By the next riot, I had a state of the art M16 mask courtesy of a policeman who “liberated” one for me. I had it fitted with prescription lenses and used it for another two decades.

I told Curator Jessica that I thought I could lay my hands on the mask, helmet, press card, camera and strobe for an exhibit she’s planning for May. The only thing missing is the jacket and the skinny guy wearing it.

November 14, 2014

Tis The Season …

Road Warriorette and former bike partner Anne, who abandoned me to move back home to Texas, arrived for a West Palm Beach visit Thursday afternoon. I got her settled in at her motel, then we went out for a great dinner, visited bike partner Osa, stopped by another of Anne’s friends, then headed up Flagler Drive where we spotted this house all set for Christmas.

The palm trees – and the balmy 70-degree temperature – gave an indication I wasn’t in the Midwest.

Pining for the ocean

Anne’s a Texan by birth and inclination, but she did admit to pining for the ocean. I turned right on Southern Blvd., and took her for a ride along Palm Beach. When we got to one of the few places you could park and get public access to the beach, I told her she could get and and frolic in the sand and surf if she liked, but I preferred the Mississippi River to the Atlantic Ocean.

When we left, I asked if she’d like to go to the north end of the island to the Palm Beach Inlet. That’s like asking if bears fertilize the forest.

“Don’t fence me in”

When we got to the inlet, there was a chain holding the gate to the small park closed. I put my car in park with the four-way flashers blinking and let her out. I assumed she was going to stand at the gate and look out toward Singer Island’s lights across the water.

I heard her humming “Don’t Fence Me In,” a rattle of the fence and she was gone from sight. She never did things like that when she was a Floridian.

“That’s not a happy sound”

On our way back to the motel, I told Friend Anne, “That’s not a happy sound. I think I’ve got a flat tire.”

Indeed, the left rear tire was flat.

Maybe I can give it a shot of Fix-a-Flat or pump it up with my portable air compressor, I considered. The only problem was that I had taken all those options out of the car last night when I unloaded it, but hadn’t replaced them. Plan C was to put the doughnut spare on, something I really hated to do since the Honda jack is the worst piece of equipment ever devised.

I had just started attacking the problem when a car pulled up behind us. It was Patrol Officer Larry Ferguson of the Palm Beach Police Department. I figured he’d run our tag, ask for ID, shine his flashlight around inside the car, then leave us in the dark when we came up clean. (Well, I knew I would come up clean. There’s no telling what Friend Anne has been up to in the Lone Star State.)

It turned out Larry was a nice guy who went way beyond the call of duty. I’m going to write a letter to the chief telling him that Larry is a great representative of his department.

How to have a fun evening in Palm Beach

Here are few of the things that happened:

I didn’t have the jack on the frame properly so it slipped off.
The doughnut spare was flat, so I called Wife Lila to bring my tools and compressor. Larry offered to take me someplace to get it aired up, but I said it was such a hassle to jack the car up that I’d rather leave it on the car and bring the compressor to the tire.
Lila arrived, we hooked up the compressor and it hummed away in the humid air for several minutes. I was beginning to regret having that second glass of tea with dinner.
Larry felt around the rim, felt air escaping and said the tire was so flat it had lost its bead and would NEVER fill up.
We jacked up the car again, removed my spare, and put put on Lila’s spare (we drive the same model van). At some point, my jack twisted and became inoperable, so we had to switch to Lila’s jack.
We offered Larry an opportunity to escape, but he pitched in fighting the jack. helping lift the tire onto the studs and making sure Anne had tightened the lug nuts properly. Wife Lila didn’t get a shot of me toiling away with sweat splashing off my forehead, but she did capture me in a supervisory role.

Things that put the jolly in the evening

With Thanksgiving coming up, I should give thanks for a few of the good things that happened.

Patrolman Ferguson, a native of West Palm Beach who moved back here after serving as an officer in Washington State, was not only a tremendous help in getting us through our tire difficulties, but he was also a genuinely nice guy who was fun to talk with and who gave us an interesting perspective about how the area had changed since he was a kid going to Twin Lakes High School.
Wife Lila showed up with everything needed to get me back on the road. I’m glad my flat happened in Palm Beach and not in Nowhere, Ga.
Anne provided help and moral support once I explained to her that we were in Florida not Texas: “No, Anne, it didn’t ‘throw a shoe.’ We don’t have to call for a blacksmith.”

Buying two REAL jacks to replace those Honda pieces of junk will go to the top of my to-do list tomorrow.