Thirty-three days had passed since my trip with my photographer and Mongo to Canton and Kent, Ohio. While the COVID-19 pandemic had seemed to slow a bit in the past month, it was definitely not over. Luckily for us, hotels and some sites began to open up on a scaled-back basis as we headed out on a personal record 23-day trip that was scheduled to take us along the eastern seaboard from New York to South Carolina. My photographer had planned on visiting or travelling through 12 states; unfortunately, some of those states were still considered COVID hotspots. To lessen their exposure, however, Tom and Vicki put together a COVID kit that consisted of hand sanitizer, alcohol spray, rubber gloves, wipes, a thermometer, and a variety of face masks – I had a couple of masks as well. My photographer and his wife also vowed to avoid eating inside restaurants and they’d do their best to avoid large crowds of people.
Not only did we have a lot of Presidential sites penciled into the agenda, Tom also arranged a week-long stay at a beach house in North Carolina’s Outer Banks; his entire family planned on meeting us there. In my mind, I knew that my photographer and his wife would enjoy that week at the ocean with their four grandkids, but it would be a wasted week for me. There were no Presidential sites on Hatteras Island that I knew of.
We left St. Clair, Michigan at 4:30am on Wednesday July 8, 2020 in a rented black Ford Edge. As we headed for Poland, I was in my usual spot inside the camera case situated on the back seat. That’s right, I said Poland. It turned out that it was Poland, Ohio and Tom wanted to take me to the home site where William McKinley lived growing up. After our 283-mile drive, Tom parked the Edge at the Poland Town Hall and he carried me the short distance along South Main Street to the Presidential site.
The McKinley’s left Niles, Ohio and moved to Poland when William was nine years old because of the better schools. The future President left home in 1859 for college in Pennsylvania but returned home a year later because of illness. In 1861, William left again to fight in the Civil War; he returned a second time after the war was over. In 1867, he left Poland for good when he moved to Canton to begin his law practice and kick-start a political career. When we arrived at the site, there was a historical marker situated between the street and the Home Savings Bank parking lot. At some point, McKinley’s boyhood home had been razed; as a matter of fact, locals have called the site “The William McKinley Memorial Parking Lot.” As I posed for a handful of images near the historical marker and the parking lot, I thought about William growing up there; perhaps he walked along Main Street on his way to school or played with friends in their front yard.
We left Poland without trying any pierogis, kielbasas, or sour cucumber soup and headed southeast into Pennsylvania. Around 12 noon, after a 163-mile ride, we arrived in Bedford – which was located roughly halfway between Pittsburgh and Harrisburg. From an opening in the camera case, I saw that we were at the Bedford Springs Hotel – which once served as the Summer White House to President James Buchanan. Located on the outskirts of town, the hotel was known for its nearby freshwater mineral springs that were reputed to have healing powers.
The three of us made the long hike from our parking place behind the hotel to the front of the enormous complex where I posed for some photos. The noon-time temperature was in the mid-90s and my companions fought the uphill route to the building. The hotel was established in 1806 and is one of the last and best-preserved 19th century resorts that’s based on mineral springs. Ten years after it was built, young attorney James Buchanan made his first visit to the hotel and spent most summers there until he became President in 1857. During his Presidency, the Bedford Springs Hotel served as his Summer White House. As a matter of fact, the first transatlantic cable sent from England to the United States was received by President Buchanan at that hotel on August 12, 1858. We went inside where I posed in the lobby; one of the suites; and on a desk that was used by the Buchanan during his many visits to the hotel. As we walked around, we discovered that William Henry Harrison, James K. Polk, and Zachary Taylor also used the Bedford Springs Hotel for getaways and meetings.
When I was carried inside the elaborate hotel, it felt as though I took a step back in time and there were moments when I knew Buchanan’s presence was there; especially when I stood on his desk. We walked inside the air-conditioned hotel and around the grounds for roughly 90 minutes before we made the long hike back to the Edge. Vicki hurried to get the vehicle cooled down before my companions headed north into downtown Bedford. Once there, they enjoyed Subway subs along the shore of the Raystown Branch Juniata River. During lunch, I was surprised to hear my photographer say to his wife: “We’ve been awake since 3am, let’s hit some antique shops in town and spend the night in Bedford. We don’t have to be in a hurry to go anywhere.” I was stunned – it was only two o’clock in the afternoon and he decided to call it quits for the day. Every trip that I’ve been on with that guy was well-orchestrated and we were on the go from sunup to sundown. I started to wonder what the heck was wrong with my photographer. Was he slowing down in his old age?
After my companions had registered and unpacked their belongings at the Quality Inn a few miles north of downtown Bedford, the three of us spent some time at the nearby Bedford County Memorial Park – which was located across the highway from our motel. In that large cemetery, we walked uphill to a 60-foot tall illuminated cross that we saw from our room. With no one else there, except for the dead, it gave my photographer and his wife a chance to enjoy the peaceful and spectacular view of the area sans masks. Since it seemed as though there weren’t many choices for dinner that were nearby, Tom and Vicki saw that Champs Chicken had very good on-line reviews and it was located inside the Shell gas station that was located in front of the cemetery. When we got there, I thought about Clark W. Griswold: “I’m so hungry I could eat chicken from a gas station.” In our room, where my companions ate their ‘Champs’, I laughed when Tom said out loud: “This has to be the worst dried-out chicken and rancid mashed potatoes I’ve ever eaten. I can’t believe anyone would write a good review of that food.”
Day One of our long trip had come to an end. After the lights went out at 8:30pm, I stood alongside the television set throughout the night and thought about the Lincoln sites I would see in Gettysburg the following afternoon. And although I knew that Tom had looked forward to Gettysburg as well, it was our scheduled stop before Gettysburg that he had anticipated for quite some time. My photographer was about to “meet” his fifth great grandfather; it was a reunion that I figured would be revolutionary and was 189 years in the making.
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We got an early start to our day on Thursday July 9, 2019 as we were packed and on the road by 6:45am. The sun was shining, and the sky was cloudless as we made the 43-mile drive to the place where our 15th President James Buchanan was born. James Buchanan Birthplace State Park was located a half mile or so west of the small village of Cove Gap, Pennsylvania; and at first, the drive along the narrow roadway into the woods seemed eerie. When we arrived at the birthplace site, the three of us were alone; with the exception of a lone female camper whose tent was about a hundred yards away.
In the distance, I saw a 31-foot-tall pyramid that marked the spot where James Buchanan was born on April 23, 1791. That memorial, which was placed there by the efforts of Buchanan’s niece Harriet Lane Johnston, represented the Stony Batter complex that James Buchanan, Sr. owned. The Buchanan property once included cabins, barns, stables, storehouses, a general store, and an orchard. Young James lived at Stony Batter until the age of six before his father moved his business into nearby Mercersburg. That small town was where Tom had planned on taking me after our visit in the woods.
The peacefulness was deafening in the Buchanan Birthplace State Park; the silence was broken only by the occasional whistle of songbirds. While I thought the 31-foot-tall pyramid at the site was better than a typical historical marker, there was no doubt in my mind that the Stony Batter cabin in Mercersburg belonged in that woods. I figured the potential of vandalism to the cabin, however, was likely the main reason the birth home was moved from it’s original location.
After my photographer and his wife walked around the site and enjoyed the natural sounds of boredom, we made the four-mile jaunt into Mercersburg where Tom tried to find the Stony Batter cabin that was on the campus of Mercersburg Academy – a private prep-school that was established in 1836. Vicki drove around the school’s campus until my camera guy spotted the log cabin; it stood alone in historical solitude near the Academy’s football field. As Tom carried me towards Stony Batter, the small log cabin where James Buchanan was born on April 23, 1791, I questioned it’s authenticity. To me, the cabin almost looked too pristine. It turned out, however, that Penn State scientists performed a tree-ring analysis on the logs in 2011 and discovered that those logs pre-dated the birth of Buchanan. When Stony Batter was removed from the original birthplace site, it had been moved three or four times before it found a permanent home in Mercersburg in 1953.
From Stony Batter, we headed into the city center of Mercersburg that was only a few blocks away. The three of us set out on foot to find a few of the James Buchanan sites that were there; including the Buchanan Hotel – which was his boyhood home; the Colonel Murphy hotel where Buchanan gave his first campaign speech; and the birthplace home of his White House hostess Harriet Lane. Mercersburg was a quaint town with a population of roughly 1,500 residents. My companions ended their 25-minute stroll through historic downtown with a visit to the One North Coffee and Bake Shop where Vicki ordered a bagel and Tom enjoyed a frozen lemonade smoothie.
Even though it was only 9:10am, the morning temperature had already topped 90 degrees, which made Tom’s frozen lemonade taste that much better. But while that cold drink and the Edge’s air conditioning helped chill his body, the goose bumps that my photographer had developed all over his body came from something else. After an eleven-mile ride into the town of Greencastle, Pennsylvania, Vicki parked our vehicle just outside the main gate of the Moss Spring Cemetery.
A year or two earlier, Tom discovered from his ‘Ancestry.com’ family tree that his fifth great grandfather, James Watson, had lived in Greencastle and was buried in that small cemetery. With a little research from that point on, my photographer also found out that his ancestor had fought in the Revolutionary War and was commissioned as captain of the “Flying Camp” battalion on July 8, 1776 – just four days after the Declaration of Independence was signed. Ironically, at least for my photographer, was the fact that his ancestor’s commission was signed by John Morton – one of the 56 Signer’s of the Declaration of Independence. Then another pleasant surprise was revealed: James Watson’s mother, Ann (Stephenson) Watson, had a sister named Hannah Stephenson who was the great great grandmother of President William McKinley. When I heard that, I thought to myself: “For Tom, the ultimate Presidential enthusiast, it doesn’t get much better than that!” But I was wrong – it got a lot better. It turned out that after he served in the Revolutionary War, James Watson moved to Greencastle in 1795 and was appointed as the town’s first Postmaster, as well as Justice of the Peace, by none other than President George Washington. While he was the Justice of the Peace for only 19 years, James remained Postmaster of Greencastle for more than 30 years. As a matter of fact, his son John Watson followed in his father’s footsteps and served as Greencastle’s Postmaster for several decades as well. When Tom saw the Postmaster information in a book that Vicki had came across at the cemetery, a huge smile filled his face. My photographer’s own father, Charles Watson, was a mailman in Marine City, Michigan for over 30 years before his retirement in the late 1980s. “That’s amazing – my family was first involved with the United States Post Office in 1795; and nearly 200 years later, my dad was still delivering the mail, too!” Tom said with pride. “I guess I missed my true calling!”
The three of us were lucky that the Moss Spring Cemetery wasn’t very large as some of the ancient headstones were difficult to read. As we carefully walked among the markers, Tom saw an enclosed plot near the back of the graveyard. When the two of us approached the front of that family burial plot, my photographer yelled out to his wife: “Here he is; I found him! It’s James Watson – my fifth great grandfather!” By the look on Tom’s face, it was easy to see how excited he was as he stood alongside the ancient tombstone of his grandfather-times-five. I was happy for him; and when my photographer set me onto his ancestor’s grave, I was truly honored.
In the past seven years, I had been to some of the most historic places in the United States. But on that Thursday morning in the small town of Greencastle, Pennsylvania, that experience with my photographer may have been the best of all. After Tom said goodbye to his fifth great grandfather and grandmother, we slowly made our way back to the Edge that was parked just outside of the graveyard. There was no doubt in my mind that our visit to Moss Spring Cemetery had moved him; so much so, in fact, that my camera guy wanted to find out more information about his family before we left town. First, we stopped at the Greencastle Chamber of Commerce, which didn’t reveal anything new. However, the friendly woman inside told him about the museum that was located about five blocks away. When we arrived there, that second stop proved futile as well – the pandemic had kept the museum’s doors closed. When the three of us left Greencastle, I knew that my photographer had grown closer to his fifth great grandfather; but I also sensed that Tom needed more. Were there artifacts, uniforms, postal records, portraits of his ancestor in that museum? Was his house still in town? Were there any living descendants in Greencastle – a remote relative that Tom could’ve met? As Vicki drove the vehicle out of town, I knew in my resin-filled heart that we would someday return.
After a 35-mile drive through the sprawling hills of southern Pennsylvania, we arrived in historic Gettysburg just before 12 noon. Although it was my first visit to Gettysburg, I knew it wouldn’t be my last; mainly because the biggest Presidential site in town, the Eisenhower Farm, was closed due to COVID-19. But the virus wasn’t about to dampen Tom’s spirits; while Ike was out, we still had Abe – and that wasn’t too shabby. Our first stop was one that my photographer had been excited to see for a few years – it was the exact location where President Abraham Lincoln delivered his Gettysburg Address on November 19, 1863. Over the years, historians had tried to pinpoint the spot where Lincoln’s dedicatory platform had been erected. After a comprehensive photographic analysis was completed in 1995, it was determined without much doubt that the site of the dedication platform was inside the private Evergreen Cemetery rather than in the public Gettysburg National Cemetery as was originally thought. As a matter of fact, the analysis pinpointed three existing headstones in Evergreen that marked the platform site. Once Vicki had our vehicle inside Evergreen Cemetery, it took nearly 15 minutes of searching before we found the graves of George Kitzmiller, Israel Yount, and John Koch. When Tom placed me on the ground in the center of those three headstones, I couldn’t help but say to myself: “Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth upon this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal”.
Our time inside Evergreen Cemetery turned out to be an emotional stop for me. It’s hard to describe the feeling I had when I stood on the spot where Abraham Lincoln delivered his Gettysburg Address. Lincoln had arrived in Gettysburg while the Civil War still raged on; and it was only four months after the bloody three-day Battle of Gettysburg had taken place. His purpose was to help dedicate the new Gettysburg National Cemetery where Union soldiers who had died in the battle were being buried. While Lincoln’s short ten-sentence, 272-word address was not the primary speech of the day, it became one of the most well-known speeches in American history. As we prepared to leave the site and head next door to the National Cemetery, I envisioned President Lincoln as he finished his speech: “That we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.” I imagine that every one of the 10,000 people who were in attendance that November had goosebumps when the President recited that line; I know I had little bumps on my resin body just thinking about it.
The three of us walked through a section of the Gettysburg National Cemetery where I posed at the Lincoln Address Memorial for a few photos. Even though the early afternoon temperature became uncomfortable for my photographer and his wife, we made the 300-yard hike to the Soldiers’ National Monument that was dedicated on July 1, 1869 and marked the central point of the cemetery. During Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, the President faced the large flag pole that stood where the Soldiers’ National Monument was later erected. At one time, most people believed that the large monument marked the site of the Gettysburg Address; but photographic evidence proved that to be erroneous.
After my companions had dined on their McDonald’s lunch in their SUV on the Gettysburg Battlefield, Vicki navigated our Ford Edge into the center of the city where she parked near Lincoln Square. From there, Tom carried me to a large red brick home that stood on the southeast corner of the square. At roughly 6:00pm on November 18, 1863, Lincoln was escorted two blocks from the train station to the home of David Wills where he spent the night. Wills owned the largest home on the square and was also the principal backer for the national cemetery that was to be dedicated the following day. Abraham Lincoln stayed in a large upstairs bedroom where he polished-off the final details of what became his Gettysburg Address. Lincoln also returned to the house after the dedication ceremony where he had an early dinner and greeted visitors in the home’s main hallway before he departed for Washington. Although I was photographed near the exterior of the house, the COVID-19 pandemic had forced the historic home to be closed – which meant I couldn’t visit the room where Lincoln had slept. I found it very ironic, however, that when President Lincoln stayed overnight in the Wills House, it’s believed he suffered from a mild case of smallpox and was a bit ‘under the weather’ when he delivered his historic address.
Due to the extreme heat, we drove to the Gettysburg Lincoln Railroad Station that was only two blocks north of the Wills House. The historic train station was in operation from 1858 to 1942. The station’s biggest ‘claim to fame’ was when Abraham Lincoln arrived there at 6:00pm on November 18, 1863 and departed for Washington 24 hours later from the same depot. Tom snapped a handful of images of me near the train station, but due to the virus we couldn’t venture inside.
When our visit to the Gettysburg Station had ended, both Tom and I figured that we were finished with the Presidential sites in Gettysburg – but we were wrong. As Vicki drove around the block to get out of town, my photographer noticed a historical marker that had the words ‘Dwight D. Eisenhower’ on it. It turned out to be a very nice house on Washington Street where Dwight, Mamie, and their son Icky lived from May to September 1918. When the Eisenhower’s lived there, it was the Alpha Tau Omega fraternity house at Gettysburg College and students were away during the summer months. During their time in that two-story brick house, Mamie called it “our first family home”.
Our Gettysburg experience finished at 2:30pm and we began our journey eastward towards the Lancaster area of southern Pennsylvania. Tom had promised his wife a day of visiting Amish antique stores while they were in Amish Country, which gave me a great reason to not venture out of my camera case for the entire time. Roughly an hour into the trip, my photographer decided he wanted us to stay in York; primarily because he had visited that historic city in 1991 on his Declaration of Independence Tour with Mongo and he wanted to go back. Vicki found a great rate at the Holiday Inn Express on the northeast outskirts of York. Once we registered and my companions had lugged their stuff to our room, the three of us headed into the historic area of downtown York, Pennsylvania.
Two Signers of the Declaration of Independence were buried in York. James Smith’s remains were interred in the First Presbyterian Churchyard and Philip Livingston was buried across town in Prospect Hill Cemetery. It was 5:00pm when Vicki parked our vehicle across the street from the First Presbyterian Church. While his wife stayed in the vehicle, Tom carried me towards the church where he attempted to find an open gate to the burial ground and ultimately to the gravesite of Colonel James Smith. Either because of the time of day or due to the virus, my photographer was unable to find any entryway into the churchyard. I was disappointed as I wanted to stand on the Signer’s grave and pay tribute to James Smith; but Tom decided he didn’t want to risk climbing the fence. It wasn’t because the iron barricade was difficult to scale, my photographer didn’t want to chance getting arrested for trespassing. Had Smith been a President, it may have been a different story with an entirely different ending.
The two of us returned to the Edge empty-handed and disappointed; but we had one more Signer to visit. Vicki drove our vehicle north for two miles where we entered Prospect Hill Cemetery. Once inside, we began the arduous task of finding the final resting place of Philip Livingston. Luckily for us, Tom had an image of Livingston’s ornate tombstone on his phone – it looked like a large trophy with a cup on top. After a fifteen-minute tour all around the hilly cemetery, we found the Signer’s tombstone in the last place we looked. Of course, who would find the grave and then keep looking for it? While my photographer’s wife stayed in the Edge and talked to her daughter on the phone, Tom carried me to the ten-foot tall granite “trophy” and placed me on the only flat surface he could find; which was just above the name plate. In 1776, Livingston was a member of the Second Continental Congress and represented New York when he signed the Declaration of Independence. When the Capitol was moved to York on September 30, 1777, Livingston went there to represent his colony. On June 12, 1778, Philip Livingston died suddenly at the age of 62 while attending a session of Congress; he was originally buried in the churchyard of the German Reformed Church in downtown York. Years later, he was re-interred at Prospect Hill Cemetery when a Sunday School was added to the churchyard and all of the graves were moved. As I stood on Livingston’s tombstone, I thought about his dedication to our nation – especially when the darned British Army captured two of his New York City homes; causing his family to flee for their safety. Unfortunately, Philip Livingston never lived long enough to see American independence won.
During the six-mile drive from Prospect Hill Cemetery back to the Holiday Inn, my photographer and his wife stopped at a nearby Texas Roadhouse for two dinner salads and some rolls. Back in the hotel room, Tom placed me in my usual spot alongside the television where I got to watch them eat their dinner. While I wasn’t thrilled about our Amish agenda scheduled for Friday, I did enjoy the sites we saw on Thursday. I knew the highlight for Tom was our visit to his fifth great grandfather’s gravesite; but my favorite moment was when I stood on the exact location of the dedicatory platform where Abraham Lincoln delivered his Gettysburg Address in 1863. As a matter of fact, when the lights went out in our room around 9:00pm, it was as though I could see Lincoln as he began his speech; except his address was directed to me as I stood near the platform in Evergreen Cemetery: “Seven score and seventeen years ago, your President brought forth to Gettysburg a new belief, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the ideals that all bobble heads are not created equal. Now we are engaged in a great COVID war, testing whether our nation, or any nation so infected, can long endure. The world will little note, nor long remember what was said there, but it can never forget what we did there. It is rather for us to be dedicated in avoiding the great risk that’s before us – and have an increased devotion that those who perished from the virus have not died in vain – that this nation, under God, shall have a new resolve to our freedom from masks and social distancing. And that government of the bobble heads, by the bobble heads, for the bobble heads, shall not perish from the earth.”
