134: I SURVIVED THE WEEPING WOMAN

From behind the closed bathroom door where my photographer sat at 6:30am, I heard him yell out to his wife: “I have an idea of a place we can go to this morning if you’d like, but it’s about 50 miles in the opposite direction of where we need to go. I’m also not sure if it’s open or not due to the virus.  We can’t call ahead of time to find out their status because the place doesn’t open until nine o’clock and we would be there by then.”  When Vicki found out that we were only 50 miles from Martinsville Speedway, the NASCAR track known as “The Paperclip”, she was all in.  As a matter of fact, I heard her say to Tom: “Let’s take a chance, Columbus did.”

We arrived at Martinsville Speedway at roughly 9:30am on Wednesday July 29, 2020; the track was located roughly five miles north of Ridgeway, Virginia. When Vicki finally parked our Edge down a small incline from the ticket office, we noticed the gate to the track was open; this was going to be easier than any of us thought it would be to get onto the track. As a matter of fact, had we moved a couple of sawhorses, we could’ve taken our Ford for a lap or two around the “Paperclip”. While my photographer’s wife wanted to walk onto the track without seeking consent, Tom and I (who always follow the rules and never go anywhere uninvited) went to the ticket booth and received permission to step foot onto the first paved oval track in NASCAR history.

The three of us entered the track at the exit of Turn 4 and we walked down the front stretch towards the finish line. Unbelievable as it may sound, my companions and I were completely alone at Martinsville – there was no one else at the track. I was excited when Tom placed me onto the blue stripe that was surrounded by black and white checkers which represented the start/finish line at Martinsville Speedway. As I stood there soaking in the atmosphere of where we were at, it dawned on me that Martinsville is the only track that’s been on the NASCAR circuit since its inception in 1948. Once Tom picked me up from the finish line, we began what turned out to be a full walking lap around the historic track. When we arrived at Turn 1, we could see the area where the asphalt turned to concrete. We discovered that Martinsville was the only oval track with an asphalt straightaway and concrete-covered turns. During our slow-speed hike around the half-mile track, I wondered if Kyle Busch was the driver with the most victories at The Paperclip. He wasn’t – Richard Petty captured 15 checkered flags during his career at Martinsville while The Candyman has managed only two victories – his first came in 2016 and the second occurred the following year.

Our stay at Martinsville Speedway lasted about an hour. Once Vicki had purchased a tee shirt at the ticket booth, we started our journey home; the distance from the track to St. Clair was roughly 630 miles. We had just started on that long drive, however, when we once again stopped; this time only 35 miles west of Martinsville. The unplanned stop happened when my photographer and his wife saw a scenic pull-off called “Lover’s Leap” on Jeb Stuart Highway roughly five miles north of Stuart, Virginia. When we got out of the car and Tom removed me from the camera case, I understood why we had stopped at the scenic overlook – the view was breathtaking. At one point, my photographer placed me on the stone barricade where I posed for a picture, but at no time did I contemplate leaping off the ledge.

During our ride through the Blue Ridge Mountains, Tom and Vicki made stops at several antique shops along the way. Although my companions didn’t make any purchases, the respites did offer them a chance to get out of the vehicle and stretch their legs.

At roughly 4:00pm, we arrived in Charleston, West Virginia where Tom wanted to capture an artistic image of the State Capitol Building from a vantage point across the Kanawha River. At one point, I heard my photographer say to his wife that his goal was to get a photo of the Capitol with its reflection in the river – he had hoped for a calm, mirror-like surface on the water. After Vicki pulled into the parking lot located on the campus of the University of Charleston School of Pharmacy, the three of us walked along a pathway to the southern shore of the Kanawha River. At the moment when the distant Capitol came into view, I heard my photographer shout out in disgust: “Oh no, the damn Capitol is under construction. The entire dome is covered; it looks like a large Dairy Queen ice cream cone. That idea backfired.”

We returned to the Edge where Tom continued to whine about the unsightly tarp that covered the West Virginia State Capitol Building. In the meantime, Vicki searched her apps to find a place for us to spend the night after my photographer mentioned that his targeted destination was Parkersburg, West Virginia. At that moment, Tom didn’t know of any Presidential connections in Parkersburg. However, he figured the city of 30,000 residents that was located on the Ohio River would be the perfect place to spend the night because it was only two hours east of Columbus, Ohio. There were two Presidential sites in Ohio’s Capital City that were on Tom’s agenda and we were slated to visit them early the next morning.

Once we arrived at the historic Blennerhassett, the three of us were stunned by its majestic beauty. As Tom carried me from the car to the front of the hotel, I thought to myself: “What a way to finish the trip – this is a ‘Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous’ type hotel. I wonder how many famous people have stayed here?” It turned out that one very famous person in particular had stayed there in 1960 after he delivered a campaign speech in the nearby city park. That candidate turned out to be Senator John F. Kennedy and he spent the night in a second-floor suite at the Blennerhassett. And wouldn’t you know it – our room was on the second floor as well. It wasn’t a suite, but it was free – thanks to the points that Vicki had saved up on her phone.

For the final time on that trip, Tom and Vicki lugged their gear up to our second-floor room of the Blennerhassett. My photographer placed me alongside the television set while he and his wife headed for the Texas Roadhouse that was roughly two miles away. I laughed to myself when they returned with more than just a salad. My cheap camera guy figured they could eat steak that night since our lodging was free. After dinner, Tom scoured the internet for information about JFK’s stay in Parkersburg and it turned out that the band shell at City Park, where the Senator delivered his speech, was still there. But, there was more. My photographer discovered that three other Presidents had campaigned at the nearby Wood County Courthouse – McKinley in 1896, Theodore Roosevelt in 1912, and Nixon in 1960. Since that historic building was within walking distance of the Blennerhassett, my photographer planned on rising early to capture images of the hotel and the courthouse before we headed to City Park. There was one other site in Parkersburg that Tom decided he wanted to visit before we left town in the morning; and it was the one site that I focused on throughout the night. My camera man found out that Riverview Cemetery in Parkersburg was home to a monument called “The Weeping Woman” and it watched over the Jackson family plot there. Legend has it that visitors to the gravesite are expected to leave a token and the spirit will grant a wish. However, if visitors don’t leave a gift and their intentions are less than respectful, her spirit has been known to trip people, or pull their hair, and maybe remove a button or two. Somehow, I figured Tom would find a way to test the spirit’s powers; and that worried me just a bit.

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The alarm clock woke Tom up at precisely 6:00am on Thursday July 30, 2020; he sprung out of bed and got ready to roll in 30 minutes. While Vicki took her time getting prepared to take on the day, my photographer popped me into the camera case, and we set out on foot to capture images of the Blennerhassett Hotel and the Wood County Courthouse. The morning sky over Parkersburg was overcast, but there didn’t seem to be any threat of rain. After I posed for a few images inside the hotel, some on the second floor and a few more in the lobby, we went outside where Tom captured some additional photos of the exterior. When he was finished, Tom carried me down Market Street to the courthouse where I posed for a few more images. That area of Parkersburg seemed very quiet at first, but during our photoshoot, it seemed as though the town slowly came to life.

My photographer and I returned to our room at the Blennerhassett where Vicki had already finished packing. After my companions had loaded up the Edge one last time on the trip, we headed east for about two miles until we arrived at Parkersburg’s City Park. Once parked, my photographer’s wife stayed in the vehicle while Tom carried me the short distance to the small brick and block band shell that was located just off of City Park Drive. There seemed to be a lot of people walking around the park and none of them were wearing face coverings, which concerned the two of us – even though we were outdoors. Luckily no one seemed interested in the band shell, however, and we had the historic site to ourselves. It was likely that not one person in that park realized that John F. Kennedy delivered a campaign speech from that band shell on May 1, 1960. Well, JFK attempted to give his speech, but a throat infection caused him to stop and get help from his brother Edward Kennedy who finished the address. When Tom set me down inside that structure, I couldn’t believe where I was standing. A little over 60 years ago, John F. Kennedy stood on the same spot and began to address an ox roast crowd of over 4,000 people during his path to the White House.

When we finished our short photo-shoot at the band shell, Tom and I returned to the car where my photographer had his wife drive us to the nearby Lily Pond located on the northern edge of City Park, which was on the opposite side of the park compared to the small JFK-related amphitheater. While that pond had no Presidential attachment, it did have a historical connection. My camera guy discovered that pilot Morris Priest had accidentally crashed an early Wright Brothers airplane into that pond on August 19, 1913 while practicing maneuvers before he offered rides to area residents. While Priest was not injured in the incident, the plane was completely destroyed.

Our final stop in Parkersburg was one that I had worried about throughout the night – a visit to the “Weeping Woman” in Riverview Cemetery. I’ve had spirits or ghosts do bad things to me in the past and I knew that my photographer was going to entice that spirit to mess with me during our visit. When we arrived outside of the entrance to Riverview Cemetery, I thought I was in luck – the main gate was closed. But as karma would have it, there was a pedestrian entrance that the three of us walked through. Before we left the Edge, my photographer saw his wife rummaging through a bag that contained some of the grandkids seashells that they had found in the Outer Banks. When Tom inquired about the search, Vicki replied: “I need a nice looking shell to leave on the gravestone as a gift. I’m not going to take a chance and get slapped with some bad luck from that weeping woman.” While my photographer scoffed at her, I just shook my head; but then again, I do that most of the time anyways.

The Jackson family plot, which featured the Weeping Woman monument, was located near the rear of the small cemetery. A cement walkway led us from the main gate and deposited us directly in front of the Jackson’s burial site. Located near the rear of that plot was where I got my first glimpse of “her” – the infamous Weeping Woman. The granite monument was roughly five-foot tall and featured a sculpture of a kneeling woman dressed in a gown whose upper body and arms were draped in mourning over the tombstone. The woman’s face featured lifeless eyes and solemn, closed lips; at certain angles, it appeared that tear drops had stained her cheeks. As I was carried closer to the tombstone, it became obvious that others had been there before us and had deposited gifts on the monument. Those trinkets of affection included bracelets, stones, coins, flowers, a container of chap stick, and a full bottle of Jose Cuervo margarita drink. Before I could say to Tom: “Scoop up all of that money and buy me a new bottle of Gorilla Glue”, Vicki made her way up to the granite marker and placed her hand-picked decorative seashell against the Weeping Woman’s right elbow. My photographer’s wife was happy, and relieved at the same time – Vicki had left her gift and felt confident that her deed had warded-off any evil spirits.

Tom waited for his wife to walk away to another area of the burial ground before he placed me onto the monument directly in front of the Weeping Woman. As I stood next to the woman’s left arm, I heard my overconfident photographer as he verbally threw caution to the wind: “That shell wasn’t ours, it was Vicki’s. We don’t plan on leaving anything because we think you’re powerless to do anything about it. If you’re so big and bad, do something to the bobble head. Come on, knock him off the monument or take his head off like Garfield once did.” I was scared to death because of my photographer’s taunts. After all, it wasn’t him that was about to fall to his death and shatter into a million pieces on the concrete slab below. Tom continued his crafty verbal assault for over five minutes – and nothing happened. I didn’t feel any bad vibes; nothing touched me; and I didn’t see any hand movement, nor did I see any tears stream down her cheeks. Perhaps it was due to the fact that our visit took place in the broad daylight. Local legend states that during a full moon, the Weeping Woman gets up and walks around the cemetery – she paces in mourning over the lives lost in the Battle Between the States. And why wouldn’t she? After all, the Jackson’s who were buried in that plot were related to the Confederate Civil War General Stonewall Jackson. Even though I was skeptical of the Weeping Woman’s legend, I was extremely happy when Tom plucked me off the monument and returned me to the safe confines of my camera case. Considering all of my injuries and surgeries I’ve endured over the past seven years, the last thing I needed was bad karma – even if it was from a granite lady.

During our short hike out of the cemetery and back to our vehicle that awaited us in the street, I had hoped my photographer would trip or have a button pop off.  That would’ve been evidence that the Weeping Woman’s powers were real.  But nothing happened; it appeared Tom was right – for once.

It was roughly 9:40am when we left Parkersburg behind and crossed over the Ohio River into the Buckeye State.  For my photographer and I, Parkersburg was one of those hidden gems that we stumble across from time to time.  What was intended to be just a place to hang our hats for the night turned out to be a real cool town with some Presidential history sprinkled in.

I’m a bobble head from Michigan and it was difficult for me to fathom our next stop.  With that said, two hours after we left West Virginia, we arrived at the Ohio Statehouse in Columbus, Ohio.  During our drive into the center of Columbus, we noticed evidence of recent protests and civil unrest as some windows of local businesses were boarded up and there was noticeable graffiti spray painted onto walls.  Our angst grew once we had parked on the east side of the Statehouse and walked around to the building’s west front where Tom wanted to capture an image of the William McKinley statue.  When we arrived at that area, there was a rally in progress; roughly a hundred people were marching, singing, and speaking over an amplified system.  Not wanting to get in the middle of the demonstrators, my photographer sought guidance from a nearby police officer who assured the three of us that they were a religious group who gathered at the same spot and peacefully “did their thing” for two hours on a daily basis.  It took some patience and good timing, but Tom managed to capture an image of the McKinley statue before we moved closer to the Statehouse where I posed for several photos.

Tom’s goal was to get inside the Statehouse and find the rotunda where the body of Abraham Lincoln laid in state on April 29, 1865.  The three of us entered the Statehouse through an eastside doorway and we were immediately surprised, and disappointed, by the lack of mask usage inside the building.  None of the security people wore face coverings and the few people we encountered during our search for the rotunda wore nothing as well.  As a matter of fact, the three of us were the only ones wearing face masks in the entire building.  With hardly anyone to ask for directions and with very little signage anywhere, it took us roughly fifteen minutes of blindly walking the corridors before we accidentally stumbled upon the rotunda.  It seemed weird; it was as though we were the only ones inside the Statehouse – which was a blessing.  There weren’t any kids running around or throngs of tourists in the area when Tom placed me on the floor where Lincoln’s coffin rested on the catafalque in 1865.  It was as though we had the entire Statehouse to ourselves, and my photographer easily captured his images without others in the picture or without a snot-nosed kid accidentally kicking me over. 

During our visit to the rotunda, we discovered a very cool Presidential artifact that was on display beneath the huge American flag that flew over the Statehouse while Lincoln’s body was there.  It was a lock of hair that was snipped from the head of Abraham Lincoln by Ninian W. Edwards on April 19, 1865 as the slain President laid in state in the White House.  Edwards was Lincoln’s brother-in-law, and he had access to the President during those trying times after the assassination.  As I stood above the priceless lock of hair, I could see in my mind’s eye the President lying in the East Room of the White House as people close to Lincoln clamored for souvenirs.  At the end of the day, I was happy that Edwards obtained the lock, and I had the privilege to get very close to it.  It was likely the closest I will ever get to Abraham Lincoln – the man, the legend, and the greatest President our country has ever had (present company excluded, of course).

Back in our vehicle after our hour-long visit at the Ohio Statehouse, we headed west for one mile to our second Presidential site in Columbus – the headquarters of General William Henry Harrison.  Once Vicki had the Edge parked along a side street near the site, Tom carried me to the front of the “Harrison House” that was in the East Franklinton neighborhood of Columbus.  The two-story brick house was built in 1807 and was owned by Colonel Robert Culbertson.  Six years later, Harrison used the house as his headquarters while serving as General of the Army of the Northwest.  While I posed for several photos near the exterior of the historic home, I never felt very comfortable, and I was glad we were there during the daylight hours.  It may have been a great neighborhood, but for some reason it gave me a bad vibe; I was happy when we were on the road to our next site that was about 50 miles to the north.

It was roughly 2:00pm when we drove into the small town of Caledonia, Ohio in search of Warren G. Harding’s boyhood home that my photographer knew was near the intersection of Main and South Streets.  When Vicki parked our vehicle down the street from the historic home, Tom carried me to the front of the two-story house where he saw several people congregated near a pickup truck in the driveway.  It turned out that one of the guys was the owner of the Presidential boyhood home and my photographer didn’t waste any time explaining to him the reason for our visit.  While the gentleman was “all ears” and seemed interested in our Presidential quest, he was also very apologetic about the clutter on the large porch.  He mentioned that he and his wife were in the process of cleaning and downsizing some of their stuff and the porch had become a catch-all.  I laughed to myself because I thought perhaps the owners were conducting a yard or porch sale and most of the stuff on the porch had been placed there to attract customers.  I was wrong! 

It was obvious the owner was embarrassed by the clutter, but I didn’t care.  After all, Warren G. Harding lived in that house from age four until he was 14 years old and that’s all that mattered to me.  When Warren’s family had left Blooming Grove (where the future President was born) and came to Caledonia, Tryon Harding (Warren’s father) purchased the local weekly newspaper called ‘The Argus’.  While they lived in the house that stood before me, young Warren Harding learned the basics of the newspaper business from his father.

Tom thanked the owner for his time and for the discussion about the history of his home.  My photographer and I returned to the Edge where Vicki’s face was buried in her cell phone.  Our next stop was at a place we had visited in 2013, mainly because my photographer has a hard time passing up a Presidential site when we’re nearby.  Fifteen minutes after we left the Harding boyhood home in Caledonia, we arrived at Harding’s adult home in Marion, Ohio.  Tom knew that a major renovation to the house, as well as the construction of a new Presidential Library and Museum behind the house, had been ongoing for a few years and the opening date was scheduled for September 4^th.  Even though he knew the house and museum were closed, Tom still insisted on stopping anyway; mainly because he wanted to see the progress of both.  Vicki parked at the museum and stayed in the vehicle while my photographer carried me “cross country” to an area in front of the Harding home.  As soon as we got to the front yard, both of us knew that artistic photos of me with the house were out of the question – unsightly yellow caution tape blocked access to the front porch.  Luckily for us, the images that Tom captured at the Harding’s home in 2013 were great and the yellow tape wasn’t a deal-breaker for us.  At one point, I did stand on the porch railing for a few photos as I knew that Harding used that expansive porch for his 1920 “Front Porch Campaign”.  Besides the White House, this home on Mt. Vernon Avenue in Marion had been Harding’s only residence for the final 30 years of his life.  While the President didn’t die in that house, he and his wife Florence were married in the home’s large front hallway on July 8, 1891.  As I stood on the porch, I wondered if my photographer would return with me in September where we could tour the home’s interior and visit the museum. 

Tom and I spent about ten minutes in the front yard of the Harding’s home before we walked back to capture a few images of the newly built Presidential Library.  I heard my photographer ask one of the workers if he thought the museum would open on time and the contractor said he was doing the landscaping around the grounds and that’s usually the finishing touches on a place before it’s opened to the public.  We saw some signage around the site that advertised HARDING 2020, the grand opening of the Library that coincided with the 100^th anniversary of Warren G. Harding’s election in 1920.  The Harding House and Presidential Library looked great, and I was anxious to return in the fall; hopefully the pandemic would be diminished enough to keep the events on schedule.

There was one final Presidential site left on the trip, and it was less than two miles away.  At first, Vicki balked at going back to Harding’s tomb, but she relented when Tom once again used the famous Bob Moldenhauer pizza analogy on her. He also assured her the visit would last less than 15 minutes. When we arrived at the parking area near the Harding Memorial, Vicki stayed in the car while my photographer carried me to the tomb that reminded me of a circular Greek temple. It had been seven years since I last saw it, but something seemed different with the memorial on this trip. The tomb seemed dirtier; the white marble seemed to have more dark stains on it and the entire monument seemed as though it was in need of some TLC.

Warren G. Harding died on August 2, 1923 at the Palace Hotel in San Francisco, California. After his funeral, President Harding’s remains were placed in the Marion Cemetery Receiving Vault where it stayed until the permanent memorial was completed. The President, who was 57 years old when he died, wasn’t alone in that temporary tomb for long. First Lady Florence Harding died at the age of 64 of renal failure on November 21, 1924 and her body was placed alongside her husband’s. Construction on the permanent tomb began in 1926 and was finished in early winter of 1927. Once completed, Warren and Florence were reinterred in the memorial’s sarcophagus. But due to personal controversies and political scandals, the Harding Memorial wasn’t officially dedicated until President Hoover did the honors in 1931 – nearly eight years after Harding died.

Tom and I spent about 20 minutes in and around the Harding Memorial before we returned to the Edge where Vicki waited for us. We began the final leg of our trip, which would take us back home to Michigan, at roughly 3:10pm. The three of us had been on the road for 23 days amidst the worst pandemic the nation has seen in 100 years. Not only was I forced to wear a face mask at most of the sites, I also suffered two significant injuries in those three weeks as well. My right arm broke off at Grant’s Cottage in Upstate New York and my left knee was broken at the Wright Brother’s Memorial in North Carolina.

It took a little over three hours to complete the 208-mile journey back to St. Clair, Michigan where I rejoined my fellow Presidential bobble heads on Tom’s elaborate display. I knew more surgeries were in my future, but I also knew that my photographer wanted me to be vaccinated before I went back under the “knife”. No one knew for sure, however, when the vaccine would be available and whether or not it would be effective against the virus.

We had travelled just short of 4,000 miles on that trip (3,997 miles to be exact) and even though there were five months left in the year, that trip was my final adventure in 2020. And that was okay; by late fall, the pandemic began to surge again, and it didn’t seem safe to travel very far from home. And to be honest, I was sick and tired of wearing that damned mask.

As I stood next to my Royal Bobble buddies on the shelf throughout the winter, I reflected on some of the things I’d accomplished during my Presidential quest. In my seven years of travel, I had logged 43,104 miles on the road and through the air. I’ve been to 37 different states, two different Canadian provinces, and I’ve paid my respects at all 39 Presidential gravesites. During that time, I met Jimmy Carter, I saw Donald Trump in person twice, and I saw Bill Clinton from a distance. And of course, I will never forget my visit to the White House where I had the honor of seeing the Oval Office with my own painted resin eyes. It’s been a great run so far and I can’t wait for the next adventure; I overheard my photographer and Mongo as they planned another trip that was scheduled to begin on May 14, 2021.

I want to thank everyone who has followed my exploits thus far; there will be more adventures to come in the future. Please leave a comment, let me know which episode you’ve enjoyed the most, and please follow my blog. See you in 2021 – hopefully mask-free!