152: NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD BOBBLE HEAD

Tom’s alarm went off at 5:30am on Saturday September 4, 2021, which was a half-hour earlier than normal. That early wake-up call was only because my photographer had a hair-brained idea to surprise his friend Mark Mortimer who lived in Watkins Glen, New York. Throughout the night, I stood and worried about my legs; they felt weak, and I knew something was definitely wrong with them. When the lights in the room were finally turned on, both my photographer and I were stunned – there was had a huge, visible gash on my left shin and my right shin was fractured above the ankle. How could that have happened? Then it dawned on me – my injuries must’ve occurred at the baseball game when C. Wolf, the large burly mascot of the Erie baseball team, held me tightly in his furry mitts. There was no other logical explanation – it had to have been that wolf. My first reaction was to hire a lawyer and file a lawsuit against the ball club; but I knew I wouldn’t have a leg to stand on. I was concerned because my legs felt very weak and I knew that Tom had forgotten to bring his bobble head medical kit with us. I was also worried because we still had four days left on the trip and unless my legs were somehow stabilized, there was a chance they could become irreparable. At one point I heard my cheap photographer tell his wife that he didn’t want to spend money on more Gorilla Glue and tape. Instead, he planned to postpone surgery until we arrived at Tom McGrew’s house in Corning, New York for dinner. In my cameraman’s mind, McGrew would have the supplies and it would save my cheapskate photographer a few bucks.

It took us over three hours to make the scenic 200-mile journey from Erie to Watkins Glen. From an opening in the camera case, I saw the beautiful hills and fog-covered valley’s throughout the entire drive. At roughly 10:20am, Vicki parked the Jeep near the front of a Watkins Glen barber shop called ‘Morty’s Hot Spot’. When I first saw where we were at, I was confused. After all, it was my legs that were broken, not my ponytail – I didn’t need a barber. Then I realized the small shop was owned by Tom’s friend Mark Mortimer. My photographer’s covert plan was to don a face mask and walk into the shop unannounced to surprise the unsuspecting barber while I remained in the Jeep. When my travel companions returned to the Grand Cherokee after their 30-minute visit, I heard my photographer say that although Mortimer was surprised to see him in his shop, Mark had instantly recognized the masked man.

The three of us spent the remainder of the morning and early afternoon in Watkins Glen. My companions ate cannoli’s from Scutari’s while they relaxed along the shore of Seneca Lake. After lunch with Mortimer at a small village pub called Maria’s, the three of us headed for the hotel in Horseheads; which was located 17 miles to the south. After Tom and Vicki lugged their belongings up to their room at the Hilton Garden Inn, the three of us headed to Tom McGrew’s house in Corning for dinner. I was excited when we arrived for two reasons. First, it had been over eight years since I last saw McGrew, which was during a visit to his home near Pittsburgh. I also had never met his wife Jennifer, who is a pastor. And second, with McGrew’s Gorilla Glue and athletic tape, my photographer was able to perform temporary surgery on my broken legs. I had to laugh after the procedure was completed because Tom had wrapped my legs in McGrew’s black athletic tape and it made it seem as though I was wearing old-school baseball socks. I thought my “new look” was cool! Our visit lasted just over four hours where I stood in silence as my companions enjoyed their reunion with Tom McGrew and “Father Jenn”. I watched as my photographer devoured his BLT sandwich and onion rings at dinner; then I was thoroughly disgusted by the way he “went to town” on his ice cream sundae that he and McGrew brought back from the Dairy Barn. At roughly 9:00pm, the three of us bid farewell to Tom and Jennifer and we headed back to Horseheads. I had to admit my photographer has some really cool friends; and Tom and Jennifer are two of the nicest I’ve ever met.

**********

Sunday morning September 5, 2021 began without the sound of an alarm clock; and I couldn’t believe it. As a matter of fact, Tom and Vicki didn’t roll out of the sack until 9:00am because they had no agenda for their day in Watkins Glen. And perhaps that was a good thing because the weather forecast wasn’t favorable – a heavy rainstorm was expected to hit the area between four and five o’clock and intermittent sprinkles were possible throughout the day. We spent the first part of the morning in Montour Falls where I was forced to perform a death-defying stunt. Moments after Tom carried me into Shequaga Park that featured a 165-foot waterfall known as She-Qua-Ga, or “Tumbling Waters”, my goofball photographer wasn’t satisfied with holding me for photos with the scenic waterfalls in the background. Oh no! Instead, he placed me on one of the spotlights that hung out over the gorge. I didn’t want to look down because it was a long drop to the shallow rocky waterway below. I heard Vicki say numerous times: “Tom, you shouldn’t set him on that light. If he falls, you’ll never get him back.” Guess what? He did it anyway; and not only once, but twice. That’s right, he set me on that spotlight for a second time, even though my resin life was in peril, simply because the sun had emerged from behind the clouds and the waterfalls looked better.

When my harrowing visit to Shequaga Park was over, the three of us boarded the Jeep for the four-mile ride to Watkins Glen International, which was a racecourse used by NASCAR. It didn’t take long before Tom realized we were twenty minutes too late to drive on the track. I laughed to myself because my companion’s decision to sleep in late cost them a chance to drive the Grand Cherokee on a NASCAR road course track. They would get a second chance, however, provided we returned by 4:15pm for the five o’clock time slot. I was excited to ride on the track; and I know for a fact that Vicki was thrilled as well. She and my photographer had been passengers in a pace car that took them around the track many years ago; but on that Sunday, Vicki would get her chance to be a NASCAR driver – even though our top speed likely wouldn’t hit 45mph. With a few hours to kill before “race time”, the three of us headed into downtown Watkins Glen.

We stopped at some stores in town and re-visited the park near Seneca Lake. When Tom decided he wanted Coney dogs for lunch, the three of us travelled 12 miles north to Dundee where my companions ate at a place called F.L.X Wienery. While the eatery offered a variety of gourmet dogs, Tom and Vicki ordered what they had believed to be regular Coney Dogs – chili, onions, mustard, and a dog in the bun. But once they began eating the food, I could tell they were less than impressed by the taste. Both of my companions mentioned the white hog dog meat and the homemade chili seemed weird and wasn’t what they had expected. When Tom and Vic choked-down the last of their Coney Dogs, we headed south along the western side of Seneca Lake where we passed dozens of wineries, which was no surprise as the Finger Lakes of New York is prime wine country. Vicki mentioned to my photographer that she wanted to stop at the Glenora Wine Cellars to purchase a bottle of merlot for their daughter Ashley as a gift for dog-sitting.

By 3:30pm, we began our journey back to Watkins Glen International. Before we could get through the village, however, it began to rain. As a matter of fact, the closer we got to the famous racetrack, the rain turned into a deluge. My companions stopped along the route to check the weather radar, which was when they saw the bad news: The worst of the storm was yet to come. “I guess this means we’ll have to make another trip to Watkins Glen so I can drive on that track” – Vicki said out loud as we headed for our hotel in Horseheads. For the remainder of that day, I stood alongside the television while Tom and Vicki dined on Taco Bell and watched the Cook Out Southern 500 from Darlington Raceway on NBC that started at 6:00pm. Shortly after Denny Hamlin took the checkered flag in Darlington, my photographer tallied his NASCAR fantasy league scores before he extinguished the lights for the night.

**********

The alarm rang at 6:00am on Labor Day Monday September 6, 2021. The rain had stopped, and the sun was trying hard to burn off the morning fog in between the hills. As we boarded the Jeep, I was stunned to hear my photographer tell his wife that we were headed for the Grand Canyon. I thought to myself: “He’s got to be kidding her; the Grand Canyon is over two thousand miles away and we’re scheduled to be home in Michigan tomorrow.” It turned out that our destination was the Grand Canyon of Pennsylvania, and it was only a two-hour drive to the south.

We arrived at the Leonard Harrison State Park at 8:50am. That park was situated along the eastern rim of the Pine Creek Gorge, also known as the Grand Canyon of Pennsylvania. Once the three of us walked the trail to the scenic lookout, I got my first look at the Grand Canyon – and at first, I was underwhelmed. Pine Creek Gorge is 800 feet deep and about 4,000 feet across, which pales in comparison to the famous canyon in Arizona. But when Tom carried me to a second vantage point, the grandeur of Pine Creek Gorge came into view; especially when I was once again forced to perform a death-defying stunt. My photographer placed me onto a moist, slippery, wooden handrail where he insisted I pose with the gorge in the background. Located an inch or two behind my feet was a several-hundred-foot drop. Had I slipped or had the wind blown me off, the next person to hold me would’ve been known by the name Sasquatch.

Vicki enjoyed the Grand Canyon of Pennsylvania, and she was surprised to learn that her father, Jerry Winter, had visited there in the past. There was a time during our visit, especially when my photographer’s wife gazed out at the scenic gorge, I knew Jerry was on her mind.

It was roughly 9:40am when the three of us returned to the Grand Cherokee for what was scheduled to be a butt-numbing 195-mile ride across the western half of Pennsylvania. About an hour into the trip, as we wound our way through the hills and valleys of the Keystone State, Tom decided to reveal our destination to his wife, which was a cemetery. I was surprised when Vicki seemed to take the news with a grain of salt: “Which President is buried there?” At that moment, after Tom said that no President was buried there, my photographer went into a lengthy spiel about the Evans City Cemetery, which was where the opening scenes of the 1968 horror movie ‘Night of the Living Dead’ was filmed. Although Vicki has never been a fan of horror movies, she seemed to accept the fact that we were headed to that famed filming location. I think what helped persuade her was when Tom mentioned ‘Night of the Living Dead’ was the first movie that featured zombies; and Vicki knew how much their two granddaughters loved zombies.

Just before two o’clock, Vicki drove onto the spooky uphill roadway that led into Evans City Cemetery. After she parked the Jeep near the small stone chapel, Tom carried me to an area where the famed movie scene was filmed. As I stood on or near some of the famous tombstones used in the movie, I kept my eyes peeled for walking corpses – thankfully I didn’t see any. A week before we left on the trip, I watched Tom as he previewed the graveyard scene on YouTube, and I was shocked to see that not much had changed in the past 53 years. As a matter of fact, when I stood on the large granite marker that was etched with the name ‘Blair’, I thought I heard a voice that sounded like Johnny when he tried to scare his sister: “They’re coming to get you, Barbra.” We spent about 45 minutes in the cemetery, but when it was time to leave, Tom had one more surprise up his sleeve. He asked Vicki to recreate the scene in the movie when Barbra escaped the cemetery “ghoul” in her 1967 Pontiac Lemans. Tom wanted his wife to put the Jeep in neutral and let our vehicle roll down the roadway without any help; which was what the Lemans had done. It worked to perfection. Ironically, Vicki panicked and pressed the brakes when our Jeep hit 25 mph with no indication of slowing down; mainly because my photographer’s wife was worried about hitting a tree. In my mind, that would’ve been the ultimate movie recreation!

There was one additional bargaining chip that Tom had used to entice his wife to visit the ‘Night of the Living Dead’ Cemetery without complaining. He had promised Vicki that we would spend our final day of the trip in Amish country near Berlin, Ohio. But there was a catch – Tom had also planned on seeing the William McKinley farm that was located outside of Minerva, Ohio, which was on a direct line from the spooky cemetery to Berlin. But first things first; and since it was nearly three o’clock in the afternoon, my companions wanted to find a place to eat. Since the three of us were only 20 miles north of Pittsburgh, there was no better place to eat than at Primanti Brothers. And wouldn’t you know it – they accidentally discovered one of the popular eateries in the city of Cranberry, Pennsylvania. I watched the Tigers – Pirates game on TV while my photographer and his wife polished off a couple of sandwiches. During our meal, Vicki also found a great on-line deal on a hotel. As a matter of fact, because of her bonus points, the cost was nearly free for a night’s stay at The Wallhouse in Walnut Creek, Ohio. Shortly after Detroit surrendered four runs in the bottom of the 7th inning enroute to their 6-3 loss, the three of us hit the road westward into Ohio.

As we got closer to Minerva, the sun was getting lower in the western sky. My photographer soon discovered that he needed to postpone the farm visit due to the sun’s angle. In my mind, Tom was comfortable with his own decision because I knew he would rather make that visit with Mongo where the two of them would walk together onto the private property for a close-up visit of McKinley’s farm. Tom likely couldn’t get away with that stunt in the presence of his wife.

At roughly 7:15pm, we arrived at The Wallhouse; located in the heart of Amish Land. Once we were unpacked for the final time on the trip, it didn’t take long to discover that The Wallhouse was not only a new hotel; it was very luxurious and impressively designed as well. When Tom set me on a very cool table where I spent the night, it felt as though we had hit the lottery. In my mind, this hotel was featured in an episode of the ‘Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous’. I figured I didn’t need to watch for cockroaches during the night as those bugs couldn’t scamper very fast in tuxedos. But when the lights went out at 9:30pm, my mind quickly switched from the ‘Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous’ to the ‘Night of the Living Dead’. Inside my resin brain, there was only one thing worse than a zombie – and that was an Amish zombie. Throughout the entire night I envisioned male Amish zombies walking around in our room; they sported thin beards and they smelled like dead horses. Each wore black clothes and their black hats had wide brims; I also heard the name “Yoder” whispered several times. Thankfully my photographer and his wife never woke from their sleep and they were none-the-wiser to my ‘Night of the Living Amish Dead’ horror story.

**********

Tuesday September 7, 2021 began when the alarm went off at 7:00am. My photographer leapt out of bed and began the day by saying out loud: “Happy Birthday Buddy Holly”. Had Buddy not been killed in the plane crash on ‘The Day the Music Died’, he likely would be celebrating his 85th birthday on that Tuesday. It also didn’t take much to get Vicki motivated that morning either. Unlike the days when we have a lot of Presidential sites on the docket, my photographer’s wife shot out of bed as though she was wearing high-voltage pajamas lined with porcupine quills. My companions packed the Jeep, finished their breakfast at the hotel, and the three of us entered the nearby Walnut Creek Antique Mall precisely at 9:00am.

For just over four hours, we visited numerous antique shops and malls in the area between Walnut Creek and Berlin, Ohio. At C&C Treasure Seekers in Walnut Creek, I stood next to what I thought was a huge Big Boy bobble head; but it turned out that his head wasn’t attached to a spring. Inside the small store, my photographer and I saw a mannequin wearing a cool Trump mask; but because of its tee-shirt, my photographer refused to let me pose alongside the display. I’m not sure if that Trump display had changed my cameraman’s demeanor or not, but about 45 minutes later, while we shopped in another antique mall, he got into a small verbal altercation with an Amish worker over the price of a cast-iron skillet Tom’s wife wanted to buy.

At roughly 1:00pm, my companions decided they had visited enough antique shops and we began the 240-mile journey home. The GPS predicted it would take us four-and-a-half hours to make it back to our residence in St. Clair, Michigan. Near the half-way point, as we headed westward along Ohio Route 20, I laughed to myself when my photographer came up with a scheme for lunch. Tom suggested to his wife: “Since we are driving directly through Fremont, we could stop at a fast food place and eat our lunch on the grounds of Rutherford B. Hayes’ home Spiegel Grove”. While I wasn’t surprised by her answer of “no way”, I was stunned by how fast she nixed his idea – it was incredible. However, during our time in line at the Wendy’s drive-thru near Clyde, Ohio, my companions received a phone call from their son who warned them about severe weather that was headed for our home town in Michigan. As a matter of fact, the storm had already arrived near Auburn, Michigan and Tom II pulled off the road to watch for what he thought was a possible rotating cloud. My photographer, who has claimed to be a “closet storm chaser”, no longer mentioned anything about President Hayes’ home in Fremont – especially after he heard the excitement in his son’s voice. Instead, Tom wanted to hurry home to experience the potential tornadic activity for himself.

We crossed the border into Michigan at exactly 4:00pm; and the further north we drove, the darker the sky had become. I knew my companions were worried about getting trapped by the storm on the expressway in Detroit’s rush-hour traffic, but that never happened. In fact, the storm seemed to dissipate – we experienced only a handful of sprinkles on the Jeep’s windshield by the time we arrived home at 5:50pm. I could tell that my photographer was disappointed when Mother Nature’s alleged roar turned into a whimper.

That five-day excursion was a good trip, but it wasn’t a great adventure for me. Not only were there not many Presidential sites for me to see, I was also injured along the way. I’ll never forget the fact that I was subjected to several death-defying stunts as well. Back in our home, Tom placed me inside the showcase where I began to focus on our next trip – a three-week western adventure scheduled to start on October 8th. Before I’m able to travel anywhere, however, my “baseball socks” will need to be removed and I’ll be forced to go “under the knife” once again for reconstructive and cosmetic surgery on my legs. After all, I want to look my best when I stand face-to-face with Crazy Horse.