When our alarm clock rang at 6:00am on Sunday May 19, 2019, that irritating sound had kick-started the final day of our intense ten-day Presidential tour. So far, it had lived up to all of my expectations as the most extensive and in-depth trip centered on Presidents that I had ever taken. But I wasn’t surprised – when my photographer and Bob Moldenhauer travel together, they do it right.
After we loaded up the Acadia for the last time, we made the three-mile journey into Niles, Ohio and found our first Presidential site of the day; the birthplace of President William McKinley. My photographer and I had visited Niles in July 2013, but this was Mongo’s first time at McKinley’s birth site. The future 25th President William McKinley was born in Niles, Ohio on January 29, 1843 in a two-story house that once stood on the site in front of me. He lived in the house with his family until the age of nine when they packed their belongings and moved to Poland, Ohio. McKinley saw his birth home only once more during his lifetime when he visited the site with his mother while he served as Governor of Ohio. After the original house had been converted into businesses during the years following McKinley’s departure from Niles, city officials wanted it moved or razed as the historic house sat on prime real estate. The historic house was saved from demolition and moved twice before it was turned into a small McKinley museum; only to be destroyed by fire on April 3, 1937. In 2003, a replica of William McKinley’s birthplace was dedicated and now occupies the site where our 25th President was born.
After I had posed for several photos near the replica McKinley birth house, the three of us walked two blocks along Main Street to the National McKinley Birthplace Memorial. The huge memorial, which was constructed of Georgia marble, resembled an ancient temple that featured a statue of William McKinley in the center. The memorial also had another Presidential connection as former President William Howard Taft was in attendance to dedicate the site on October 5, 1917. The early morning sun angle made it difficult for my photographer to capture photos of me posing at the site, but since I had been there in 2013 it wasn’t a deal breaker. Tom and Bob strolled through the massive monument during their ten-minute visit; but once again, we couldn’t go into the small museum dedicated to McKinley because it was also closed.
Back at the Acadia, we left one Presidential birth site and headed for another; a site that was a little over 40 miles away in Moreland Hills, Ohio. James A. Garfield was born on November 19, 1831 in a small cabin in what was known then as Orange Township. He was the last President born in a log cabin. Tom parked our vehicle in the Moreland Hills police department parking lot, which was next to the historic site, and the three of us walked along a small brick pathway to the cabin. I had visited the site back in 2013 and knew that the cabin was potentially an identical replica of the actual birthplace cabin. But what my photographer and I didn’t know in ’13 was the replica cabin was not constructed on the original birth site footprint. My photographer learned from another blog site that he discovered, a good one that’s called Klo@NicksDad, that the actual birth site was marked by a large boulder located in the wooded area about a quarter-mile behind the cabin. Six years ago, I had posed for numerous photos on and near the cabin; which meant Tom’s focus on that day was to find and place me onto that boulder for our pictures. The three of us set out on foot on a dirt pathway; which at first seemed well marked. But the further we walked away from cabin, the harder is seemed for us to stay on the intended path. We searched blindly for the boulder for about ten minutes before my photographer finally stumbled upon it. At first the large rock reminded me of a smaller version of Plymouth Rock. Not only was this one smaller than the one in Plymouth, it also had a bronze plaque affixed to its face that confirmed its historical significance. The plaque read: ‘November 19, 1831. This boulder marks the site of the birthplace of James A. Garfield. The Twentieth President of the United States’. It also seemed as though the boulder was dedicated on the 100th anniversary of Garfield’s birth.
Our mission was accomplished when I stood atop the large boulder for several pictures. But to me, being there was more than just posing for the camera. James Garfield is one of my favorite Presidents because of his humble beginnings and subsequent hard work to reach the highest office in our land. From my position on top of that boulder, I looked around at the trees and weed-covered landscape and envisioned young James as he played, as well as worked hard, on that ground all around me. I thought I would see the barefoot lad walk out from behind a tree at any moment; and I looked for him during our entire walk back to the vehicle. For some strange reason, I could feel the presence of James Garfield in those quiet woods.
The birthplace of our 20th President was only the first of three James Garfield sites that was on our docket for that Sunday. The second one was located in Mentor, Ohio and was situated a little over 20 miles to the North. At around 10:00am we arrived at the James A. Garfield National Historic Site that featured his beloved home Lawnfield; as well as a nice museum that was dedicated to his life and death. Like with the other sites we had visited earlier in the day, I had been to Lawnfield in 2013. Even though I posed for photos inside the museum and alongside the mansion six year earlier, we never ventured inside the house because photography was prohibited. But when my photographer discovered those rules were now changed, he and Mongo purchased tickets for the 10:30am tour of James Garfield’s ‘Lawnfield’.
After killing about 20 minutes inside the museum, which featured some cool artifacts associated with Garfield’s Presidency, our tour guide led us up the pathway to the home that the press had dubbed ‘Lawnfield’ in 1880. James Garfield acquired his new farmhouse in 1876 while serving as a member of the House of Representatives. When he bought the farm, he said he wanted a place where “I can touch the earth and get some strength from it”. He also wanted a place to teach his boys about hard work and farming. As the three of us entered the historic Lawnfield, it was as though we stepped back in time – it was awe-inspiring to discover that over 80% of all the furnishings in the home were owned and used by the Garfield’s in the 1880s. We visited the parlor where we saw a painting of Garfield’s mother Eliza, whom he adored. We also ventured into the dining room, the upstairs Master Bedroom, a downstairs “summer bedroom”, and finally James’ “mancave” office where I saw his favorite chair. At one point, during our time inside the large library, I had the honor of standing on the desk that James Garfield used while he served in the House of Representatives. Once we returned outdoors, I posed on the mansion’s porch where Garfield ran the first successful “Front Porch Campaign” during the Presidential election of 1880. Behind the house, I was carried into a small building that Garfield had turned into his temporary campaign headquarters; one that featured a telegraph system. Altogether we spent over an hour in and around the mansion, we finished in the museum where we saw the artifacts that we had missed earlier. I had to laugh to myself when the NPS ranger inside the museum insisted that I pose for a photo alongside her James Garfield bobble head that was wearing a minor league baseball uniform. I try to stay on the good side of the NPS Rangers and this young woman seemed to enjoy our stories.
At roughly 12:30pm we had finished our tour of James Garfield’s beloved home; as well as the museum that was dedicated in his honor. As we drove through the gate and out onto Mentor Avenue, my painted eyes filled with resin tears when I thought about our slain 20th President. On February 28, 1881, President-elect James Garfield departed his beloved Lawnfield and headed for Washington D.C. Five months later, two bullets were fired into his back at a Washington train station and the hard-working gentleman farmer from Mentor, Ohio never returned to his home. After 79 days of agonizing in pain, James Garfield died in Elberon, New Jersey on September 19, 1881 at the age of 49.
On that Sunday morning I had visited the birthplace of James Garfield; as well as the President’s farmhouse known as Lawnfield. The final Presidential site of the day was where the slain President was laid to rest in Lake View Cemetery; which was only a short 20-mile drive West along the shore of Lake Erie. The last two-mile stretch of streets that led to the large cemetery took us through a sketchy area of East Cleveland, but once we were through the gates of Lake View, it was as though we had left the city behind. The 285-acre burial ground featured over 110,000 graves; but only one grave interested us – the James A. Garfield Memorial where our 20th President was entombed. My first visit to Garfield’s tomb was on July 17, 2013 and minutes after I left the cemetery, my head had been mysteriously removed. I returned to the cemetery on August 17, 2015 and did my best to goad Garfield into a repeat performance of head removal; but I had no success. During my taunting of the dead President, a nearby woman had an unexplained blob appear on her cell phone digital image that she captured inside the crypt. Although this was Bob’s first visit to the grave of James Garfield, it was my third – and my goal was to once again prove that Garfield’s ghost had attacked me six years earlier.
After I had once again posed for some photos outside of the 180-foot tall impressive monument, the three of us walked through the huge wooden doors and into the memorial. A 12-foot tall white marble statue of Garfield, one that was surrounded by stained-glass windows and granite columns, greeted us as we walked into the quiet memorial chamber. A winding, marble stairway led us into the crypt below the memorial chamber and it was there that we caught our first glimpse of the flag-draped casket of President Garfield. The President and First Lady’s coffins are the only Presidential caskets that are permanently in full view; and the urns that contained the cremated ashes of the Garfield’s daughter Mollie and her husband Joseph Stanley Brown were there as well. Immediately upon our arrival inside the crypt, my photographer went to work by once again verbally taunting Garfield. I was excited and nervous at the same time as I heard Tom say aloud: “When we were here six years ago, you removed the head of this bobble head. If you’re so big and bad, do it again. What’s the matter, James, was Jefferson a better President than you? A little bit jealous, are you? I know you’re down here; we felt your presence in 2015. Come on, make Jefferson’s head move. As a matter of fact, knock his head completely off and onto the floor.” The silence in the crypt was deafening, at least when my photographer quit talking. At one point, Tom slid me through the bars of the viewing window and along the crypt’s floor; then he left me alone for a few minutes. It was eerily quiet when out of nowhere, my photographer’s phone began to play a song – but for only about two seconds. Then I heard Tom say to Mongo: “I don’t know what the heck made that happen; it wasn’t an incoming call and I never hit any buttons. That music began to play all by itself and it stopped by itself. Alright, James, you got my attention – now do it again.” But for the remainder of our time in the crypt of James Garfield, nothing out of the ordinary happened. Tom captured dozens of images in hopes of catching an orb or a shadow; but that never occurred either. The three of us spent another 20 minutes inside the memorial; walking from the crypt all the way to the observation deck and then back down again. Without a doubt, the tomb of James A. Garfield is my favorite Presidential gravesite. It’s uniquely gaudy, and yet hauntingly impressive. And as a bonus, Garfield is there in spirit as well. Someday in the near future, I will be back!
After we finished our visit at the James A. Garfield Memorial, we took a side-trip in the cemetery and found the temporary tomb of our 20th President. Since I had posed for numerous photos at the Schofield Mausoleum in 2015, which was where Garfield’s body was kept during the first nine years after his assassination, Tom didn’t feel the need to shoot additional images of me at the site. That was okay with me; it’s been a whirlwind of a trip, and I was ready to head home.
It was mid-afternoon and my companions had not eaten yet that day. Tom knew of a diner that he had visited in the past and it was located in Sheffield, Ohio. When we pulled into the parking lot of Quaker Steak and Lube, I thought my photographer had finally flipped his lid – he was going to eat at a service station. But it turned out to be a burger joint that was fashioned out of an old service station; or at least that was the theme. After the late lunch, we began the 200-mile, three-hour journey home. My cheap photographer had the brilliant brainstorm idea to save money by avoiding the Ohio Turnpike; instead, he drove Ohio State Route 2 towards Toledo. From my spot inside the camera case on the backseat, I could hear Tom and Bob’s enthusiasm as they rehashed the many highlights of the trip; at the same time, I could hear the hum of the Acadia’s tires as we sped down the wet highway.
Then it happened – I heard those infamous words that blurted from the mouth of my cameraman: “Oh no, I just passed a cop car that was hiding off the side of the road and I was going over seventy. I sure the heck hope he doesn’t… Oh no, he’s on the road and coming up behind me. I’ve had it for sure. Dammit, I hate Ohio!” Sure enough, I could see the reflection of the police car’s flashing emergency lights from an opening in the camera case. Then when the passenger side window went down, I heard the voice of the female officer: “I pulled you over because you were going 71 miles per hour in a 55 zone. Can I please see your license and registration?” My quick-witted photographer responded with: “I was just trying to keep up with traffic so I didn’t get run over. Normally I use cruise control so I don’t go over the speed limit, but when it’s raining, I don’t like to use it – it’s not safe.” Bob tried to smooth things out as well when he told the cop that we had a rental vehicle and that he had distracted me by talking. But the overweight, homely, pork-like enforcer of the law didn’t buy any of our alibies and she issued my photographer a speeding ticket without compassion or hesitation. I was very proud of Tom when the officer said: “Please slow down and have a nice rest of your day.” He didn’t respond; he didn’t explode; and most importantly, he didn’t give her a one-finger salute.
Although the incident was a buzz-kill to an incredible adventure; it wasn’t the first speeding ticket Tom had received in Ohio and it likely won’t be the last. It’s a known fact that Michigan drivers will never catch a break from Ohio cops and those troopers seem to go out of their way to pull vehicles over with a Michigan license plate. But in our case on Route 2 just West of Port Clinton, our rental car had a South Carolina license plate. So much for that theory! I secretly laughed to myself when I thought about Tom taking Route 2 instead of the Turnpike to save a few bucks. That speeding ticket left my photographer $105 lighter in the wallet and it gave him a deeper hatred for the “fuzz” – even though he was as guilty as OJ!
We made it home safely around 6:45pm – first we stopped at Mongo’s house in Marysville before we finished the trip in St. Clair. I made it home in one piece, mostly thanks to Gorilla Glue and gauze tape. After a few weeks of standing alongside my bobble head friends on my Presidential shelf, I knew that cosmetic surgery was in my future. That was definitely okay because I had to look my best for the upcoming trip in July. I heard a rumor that Tom and Vicki had a scheme to meet former President Jimmy Carter and I needed to look my best. Get ready, Mister Peanut Farmer; cuz here I come!
