News photos that have grown whiskers and have become history
Here’s a panorama of the Isle Casino Cape Girardeau taken August 3, 2012. Click on the photos to make them larger.
Here’s what it looked like a year earlier. Here’s an account of how the photo was done.
One of the coolest things Friend Shari and I got to see – and hear – when we were given courthouse tours by IT director Eric McGowen and public works director Don McQuay was the clock that lives in the dome of the Jackson Courthouse.
The outside view is pretty neat (even though a Dec. 17, 1934, Missourian story said that the workmen had to remove the dial on the south side of the courthouse to repaint the numerals because they had faded to the point where they were unreadable).
The sound of the ancient mechanism ticking away is relaxing. Here’s a short video that shows what it looks and sounds like.
There have been two changes in modern times. The clock was originally wound by hand. Now it’s done by an electric motor. At one time, the clock struck the time on a huge bell in the tower. The huge tolling hammer is still there (you’ll see if when I do the next story on the courthouse), and there’s a cable running up to the clock, but it looked disconnected.
Click on any photo to make it larger, then click on the left or right side of the image to move through the gallery.
Ever since I ran across the Perkins Shoe Tree (OK, it’s really a pole, but the pole was once a tree, so I’m going to say it still qualifies as a tree), I’ve been wondering how many other ones there are out there. When I spotted a newspaper clipping about the Murray State University Shoe Tree, I decided to make a detour on my way back home.
I mentioned being a bit unnerved by the clown sign on the edge of town. I left my phone charger in Cape, so I had to stop at a Big Box store to get a new one. Neither did the young cashier nor an older woman at the door had ever heard of the Shoe Tree. Out in the parking lot, I did a little web research and found that the tree was supposed to be near Pogue Library. I put that in my GPS and headed out.
Unfortunately, when I got to the university, it seemed like every street I needed to turn down had temporary barricades on it. I went into a building that had all kinds of security monitors behind a desk, but there was nobody around to ask. The door that said I was supposed to show ID before entering was propped open. Trusting folks, those Kentuckians.
Out in the parking lot, I flagged down some teenage skateboarders who gave me vague directions. That got me close enough to ask some coeds in another parking lot who said they didn’t know the names of the streets, but I should take a right, another right before the McDonald’s, then curve around until I got to the library. They were right. Even found a parking spot in the shade.
The legend is that if two students who met at Murray State University, fall in love and then marry, they will have good luck if each partner nails a shoe to the tree. Some folks have returned to tack a baby shoe to the tree when they’ve started a family. Nobody seems to know when the practice started.
This isn’t the original tree. The first one, the story goes, was struck by lightning and burned. This one has had the branches lopped off and appears to be on its last legs (roots). Some accounts say that even this tree has been struck by lightning “due to a high zinc content from the nails.” I tend to discount that theory. There are lots of taller metal objects around that would provide more enticing targets for Thor.
Stefanie, the self-proclaimed List Queen, debated going to Las Vegas to celebrate her first wedding anniversary. Her hubby was pushing for an expensive Chicago restaurant.
“So what the heck are we doing? We’re going to nail our shoes to a shoe tree in Murray, KY (#185 on my list). What kind of redneck tradition is that, you may ask?”
Stefani continues, “I thought there would be a whole process of verifying that we were students and that we actually did indeed meet at Murray. I thought we’d have to be escorted to the tree and someone would take our picture. But when Blake called, they were like, “Yeah, just show up and nail your shoes to the tree.” Awesome.”
Southeast Missouri State University has its Gum Tree at the top of Cardiac Hill, so I guess it’s only right that Murray State would have a shoe tree.
I got back into West Palm Beach around 7:30 p.m. I didn’t get much sleep last night. The huge mass of fish camp oysters and shrimp were rolling around in my stomach communing with each other or something. You’d think frying would kill ’em, but they were doing loop de loops and pole vaulting until about six in the morning.
Traffic moved along pretty steadily. There was a jackknifed overturned travel trailer in the median somewhere in S. Carolina, but it didn’t cause much of a delay.
A hundred or so of my fellow road warriors decided to pull into the I-95 Florida Welcome Center at the same time I did. Geez, what are those folks doing here? This is SUMMER. I chugged my obligatory paper cup of orange juice, jettisoned a corresponding amount of liquid, then dodged the chaos in the parking lot to head south.
Wife Lila was at a meeting, so I decided to stop in Ft. Pierce for a sandwich. Just as soon as I got on the Big Road, the clouds decided to open up. Visibility was down to about 100 feet a few times, then it cleared up enough for a spectacular rainbow to pop out. When I backed into the driveway, it was raining so hard I could barely see across the street. This was a shock since I had only seen rain about twice in the six weeks I was in Missouri.