193: THE WAIT’S FINALLY OVER, I WENT INSIDE THE HOUSE OF STOVER

Even though my photographer had his alarm set for 5:50am on Tuesday May 10, 2022, he woke about twenty minutes earlier and never went back to sleep. Perhaps Tom’s premature rise was due to him being extremely anxious to visit the Old Stover House where Andrew Johnson died, even though we weren’t scheduled to get to Elizabethton, Tennessee until very late in the afternoon. Or maybe it was because of the sweet smell of waffles; but wait, there was no breakfast at that Georgetown, Indiana Red Roof Inn.

Tom and Bob Moldenhauer had their gear stowed-away in the Jeep and we were on the road by 7:50am. We were lucky – the morning commute traffic in downtown Louisville, Kentucky was light, and we made the 18-mile journey to the Zachary Taylor National Cemetery in roughly 25 minutes. As Tom drove our Jeep down the long, paved roadway through the center of the narrow cemetery, I saw the tall off-white statue of President Taylor through an opening in the camera case. Even though it had been nearly eight years since I first laid my resin eyes on that statue, I recognized it and knew it stood next to the mausoleum that contained the remains of President Zachary Taylor and his wife Peggy.

On July 4, 1850, President Zachary Taylor attended a fund-raiding event at the Washington Monument, which was under construction at the time. During the following few days, Taylor became severely ill with a digestive ailment; then died suddenly on July 9th. After a full funeral procession through the streets of New York City, the 12th President was entombed in the Public Receiving Vault in Washington D.C.’s Congressional Cemetery from July 13 to October 25, 1850. At that time, Taylor’s remains were transported to his family’s 400-acre estate, known as ‘Springfield’, in Louisville, Kentucky. For roughly 76 years, the President remained in the small tomb on the ‘Springfield’ property, close to where his parents were buried. In the mid-1920s, the President’s descendants petitioned the U.S. government to turn the family burial ground into a national cemetery, which was exactly what happened in 1926 when 16-acres of the property became the Zachary Taylor National Cemetery. On May 6, 1926, the bodies of President Taylor and his wife Peggy, who died on August 14, 1852, were re-interred in the new mausoleum that was constructed of limestone, a granite base, and marble interior. One would think that sarcophagus inside the mausoleum was Zachary Taylor’s final resting place, but it wasn’t. On June 17, 1991, the President’s body was removed from the mausoleum at the family’s request and Kentucky’s Chief Medical Examiner tested samples of Taylor’s hair, fingernails, and other tissues to determine whether or not he was poisoned in 1850. While the tests weren’t conclusive on what Taylor’s cause of death was, because the body was so badly decomposed, it was determined for fact he was not poisoned.

For about a half-hour, my photographer went to work and snapped images of me as I posed at different locations around the Taylor mausoleum, and his original tomb as well. The tomb of Zachary Taylor was the seventh Presidential gravesite I had visited at the start my “career” and it was great to be back. During my first visit, Tom didn’t photograph me with Taylor’s sarcophagus; and I’m not sure why. However, on that sunny Tuesday morning in 2022, Tom did his best to capture a quality image of me peering into the vault’s interior while Bob held me up to the rear window. Due to heavy condensation on the windows of the brass front doors, it was difficult for my camera guy to get top-notch photos. Maybe, just maybe, that was the same reason he didn’t get any images of the interior in 2014.

Our time in the Zachary Taylor National Cemetery came to an end; and for me, it was an honor to return to Louisville and pay tribute to our 12th President. Another reason I was excited to visit Taylor’s grave for the second time was due to the fact it was Bob’s first trip to President Taylor’s final resting place. One of life’s great pleasures for me, and I know I can speak for my photographer as well, is when we visit a historic site that Mongo hasn’t seen before. And I know in my resin-filled heart Bob feels the same way when the shoe is on the other foot.

My companion’s butts had just got comfortable in the air-conditioned seats of the Jeep when we arrived at the second and last scheduled stop in Louisville – ‘Springfield’, the boyhood home of Zachary Taylor. Since the national cemetery was once part of the Taylor’s ‘Springfield’ property, we simply drove around the block to our final destination. As a matter of fact, I think my photographer could’ve thrown a baseball from the back of the burial ground and hit the historic home. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration! Forty years ago, Tom could’ve done that; but not today.

Eight years ago, during my first visit to ‘Springfield’, my photographer was with his wife, which meant we had to abide by all of the rules. We couldn’t go onto private property; we couldn’t hop a fence to get closer to a historic site; and she definitely got mad when Tom went under a barricade to set me onto a historic artifact. During that 2014 trip, my photographer remained in the street and held me up in front of Taylor’s historic home – because it was, and still is, a private residence. He never even ventured into the yard as Tom didn’t want to push her buttons during the first day of that trip. But Vicki was home and Bob threw the rule book out the Jeep’s window before we left Michigan. And that meant one thing – my photographer needed to get me closer, a lot closer, to ‘Springfield’.

At first, Tom and Bob stayed in front of the home – they ventured into the yard a bit; but for the most part, they captured their images from near the street. At one point during the initial stages of the photo session, I overheard the duo discussing their strategy for possibly getting to the back of the historic Taylor house. Both agreed – the patio block pathway on the east side of the building was the best way to go. And the best part of all: There weren’t any ‘No Trespassing’ or ‘Private Property’ signs to be seen.

Then out of nowhere, as if sent by some divine entity, a woman and her dog stopped in front of the home and began talking with my companions. It turned out she lived around the block and was very interested in history. But during the five-minute conversation, the friendly lady mentioned two very important aspects about the Taylor home: First, the side of the building that faced Apache Road was the back. The second tidbit was the owner of Springfield was a very friendly, retired dentist. But that wasn’t all. Our newfound friend added another valuable nugget to our chitchat: She said the original Taylor cabin site, where the family lived while Richard Taylor built ‘Springfield’, could be seen from the front yard of her house. She said if we were interested in Zachary Taylor, we should check it out.

As soon as the conversation ended, and the woman continued her walk along Apache Road, Tom and Bob made their move. Without hesitation, the pair walked along the patio block pathway and past the east side of the home. When Tom pulled me out of the camera case, we were directly in front of ‘Springfield’. At first, I was nervous; mainly because we were trapped if the owner came out of his house brandishing a weapon. But when I didn’t see a sign of anyone in or around the historic home, I relaxed a bit and thought about exactly where I was.

In 1785, when Zachary Taylor was eight months old, his father Richard Taylor purchased a 400-acre farm and moved his family into a cabin on the property. Roughly ten years later, Richard and the enslaved people he owned, constructed a 2 1/2-story red brick home he dubbed ‘Springfield’ on the highest point on his property, which had grown to 700 acres by 1800. Before he began his military career in 1808, Zachary Taylor lived in the home for 13 years. On June 18, 1810, Zachary married Margaret “Peggy” Smith in ‘Springfield’ and five of their six children were born there as well. As I stood and admired the historic home, it was as though I could see Zachary, during one of his visits with his parents, as he walked down the steps and into the yard to play with his children. The sad part of the story came when Richard Taylor died in 1829, the home was sold to pay for the debts he had acquired. By the 1950s, the original Taylor property was divided up and today is only 3/4 of an acre in size.

Seconds after Tom had made his closest approach to the historic home with me in his hand, which surprised the heck out of me, I heard police sirens in the distance as we rendezvoused with Bob at the Jeep. Did the home’s owner call the cops on us? Were the three of us going to be arrested for trespassing? I knew one thing for sure, I didn’t want to spend the next few days in jail; that would’ve been devastating because we had people to meet and places to see.

I initially thought ‘Springfield’ would be our last Zachary Taylor site in Louisville, but my companions set out to find the original Taylor cabin location that was a block or two away. However, the site became a bit more difficult to find as the streets in the Riverwood section of Louisville wound around in all directions. But after some patience and with the help of Google maps, the three of us arrived at the only residence we saw with a red roof – which fit the woman’s description exactly. The final piece of the puzzle fell into place when we saw the exterior of the house – a section of it resembled a log cabin; and again, we heard the lady describe that as well. It was hard for us to imagine because of all the modern houses in that neighborhood, but all of that property was once owned by Richard Taylor. That entire area was once part of the 700-acres owned by Zachary’s father; some of which included the national cemetery.

It was a few minutes before 10am when we left the Taylor’s ‘Springfield’ property and Louisville behind. I was somewhat sad to leave. The three of us had an incredible time at the Zachary Taylor sites – that visit was so much better than my first one eight years earlier. But then again, that wasn’t a surprise. When Tom and I tour historic sites with Bob Moldenhauer, we do it as thoroughly as possible and try to leave no stone unturned. And more times than not, that dynamic duo uncovers a diamond-in-the-rough, which on that morning, two “diamonds” were discovered – the original Taylor cabin site and the covert stroll into the front yard of ‘Springfield’.

The eastward 50-mile drive to Frankfort, the capital city of Kentucky, took less than an hour to complete. As a matter of fact, we were parked across the street from our first site at precisely 10:45am. This was my first visit to Frankfort, and I was thrilled to be there. Every site in Frankfort that was penciled-in on our agenda would be a new experience for me – including the only Presidential site in town, Liberty Hall.

Liberty Hall is a two-story brick Georgian-style mansion built in 1796 by Senator John Brown (no, not the Harper’s Ferry abolitionist John Brown). Although Senator Brown isn’t a widely recognized name in American history, he did play a huge part in Kentucky becoming the 15th state in the Union. After Brown served in the Continental Congress as a Representative of Virginia from 1787 to 1788, he became a member of the United States Congress in 1789 until ’91. During his time in Congress, Brown introduced the bill that granted Kentucky statehood. Once Kentucky became our 15th state on June 1, 1792, John Brown was elected a U.S. Senator by the state legislature for Kentucky, a position he held for 13 years. Even though Brown left office in 1805, he remained active in politics. As a matter of fact, during the final 32 years of his life, he hosted a small handful of historic figures at his home, Liberty Hall, in Frankfort. Those famous men included James Monroe, Zachary Taylor, Andrew Jackson, and Marquis de Lafayette – each of whom dined inside the historic mansion.

Although the three of us were finished with the Presidential sites in Frankfort, we weren’t done with all of the sites on our agenda there; especially since Frankfort is the state capital of Kentucky. Next on our docket was what’s referred to as the Kentucky Old State Capitol Building, which was only five blocks east of Liberty Hall. That historic building was the third Capitol of the Commonwealth of Kentucky and was where the Kentucky General Assembly met from 1830 to 1910, which was when the current State Capitol Building opened. As Tom carried me up the walkway in front of the building, I couldn’t help but notice dozens of backpacks that were left on the front portico of the Capitol; likely by school children who were inside. Should unattended backpacks that are left on a historic building be reported to authorities? While it was likely those backpacks weren’t dangerous or left by domestic terrorists, they were eyesores for my photographer’s pictures.

The Old Capitol didn’t serve as a Presidential site for us, but it did feature a historic spot where a famous assassination occurred. After William Goebel had edged out incumbent Governor William S. Taylor during the 1899 Kentucky gubernatorial election, political chaos ensued. As the official election results remained in dispute, Goebel walked towards the Capitol Building flanked by two bodyguards on the morning of January 30, 1900. As he approached the front of the building, five or six gunshots rang out; one of which hit Goebel in the chest and he collapsed to the ground. A day after being shot, Goebel was sworn into office as Kentucky’s 34th Governor. Despite the efforts of 18 doctors, William Goebel died in the afternoon of February 3, 1900. He remains to date the only American Governor ever assassinated while in office.

It was awesome to stand on the site where Governor Goebel was assassinated in front of the Old Capitol, although I admit, it wasn’t “JFK Dealey Plaza cool”. When our 15-minute visit near the exterior of the Old Capitol was finished, the three of us boarded the Jeep for the 1 1/2-mile drive to see the latest and greatest edition of Kentucky’s State Capitol, which was dedicated in 1910.

Tom easily found parking along Capital Avenue on the north side of the building. After a short up-hill walk onto the grounds, I posed for several images with the Capitol in the background. I thought for sure we would visit the interior where I could pose in the rotunda on the spot where Daniel Boone’s body laid in state following his death, but the three of us never got close to the building’s entrance. The main reason for our self-inflicted time constraint was due to our 5:17pm planned rendezvous with Dr. Dan Schumaier at his home in Elizabethton, Tennessee – which was over 280 miles from Frankfort.

Even though I thought the exterior design of the Kentucky Capitol Building was nothing special, it’s 210-foot-tall dome stood majestically over the grounds and was a lot easier to see than Indiana’s dome – which was 46 feet taller. At one point, I heard my photographer recite a statistic about Kentucky’s Capitol – it was the 25th tallest Capitol in our country. That’s right – it marked the half-way point in height. New Mexico has the shortest Capitol Building, which was 35 feet tall, while the Louisiana State Capitol was the tallest at 450 feet high. I’ve been to all three – the shortest, the highest, and the one in the middle.

Our visit to Kentucky’s Capitol lasted only twenty minutes. When we were finished, I was placed in the Jeep’s back seat and the three of us headed over the Kentucky River towards Frankfort Cemetery. Once inside the 100-acre burial ground, we followed a white painted line on the roadways until we arrived at our final destination – the grave of frontiersman, pioneer, and American folk hero Daniel Boone and his wife Rebecca. The large, 12-foot-tall ornate granite monument that marked Boone’s grave overlooked the Kentucky River, as well as the State Capitol Building in the distance. The view of Frankfort from Boone’s final resting place was breathtaking. But there was one bit of confusion – was that Daniel Boone’s gravesite or not?

When Daniel Boone died at his son Nathan Boone’s home on September 26, 1820 at the age of 85, he was laid to rest next to his wife Rebecca, who died nearly seven years earlier at the age of 74. Their gravesite was in the Old Bryan Farm Cemetery near present-day Marthasville, Missouri, which is roughly 50 miles west of St. Louis. In 1845, the Boone’s remains were dug up and reinterred in the Frankfort Cemetery in Kentucky; the large monument that marks their gravesite today was added in 1862. But there’s a catch; or urban legend. A story grew over the years that the tombstone that marked the Boone’s Missouri gravesite had been inadvertently placed over the wrong grave, but no one corrected the error. Daniel Boone’s Missouri ‘kinfolk’ were displeased the Kentuckians came to exhume Boone, so they kept quiet about the mistake, and allowed the wrong remains to be disinterred. While there is no absolute proof this happened, in 1983 a forensic anthropologist examined a crude plaster cast that was made of Daniel Boone’s skull just before his reburial in Kentucky and announced it might be the skull of an African American. Since Black slaves were buried in the same crowded cemetery where the Boone’s were interred, it was possible the wrong remains were transported to Frankfort.

Whether or not Daniel and Rebecca Boone’s mortal remains were beneath that large granite monument didn’t play a huge role in the three of us paying tribute to a true American treasure. At one point, Bob Moldenhauer thought about scaling the five-foot tall wrought-iron fence that surrounded the burial site; but he was afraid of instant castration. Mongo said he would’ve sacrificed himself to get me onto a Presidential gravesite, but not onto the grave of a back woodsman.

At a few minutes past 12 noon, our time in Frankfort, Kentucky had come to an end – it was time for Tom, Bob, and me to bid farewell to Daniel Boone. I’d like to think the urban legend of Boone’s grave mix-up was just a tall yarn spun by his Missouri relatives who were filled with sour grapes. But maybe, just maybe, the next time the three of us get west of St. Louis, we’ll stop by the Old Byran Farm Cemetery near Marthasville, Missouri just to make sure we visited Ol’ Dan’s grave.

As we headed out of Frankfort Cemetery, I heard my photographer say to Bob: “Well, it’s time to sit back and enjoy the scenery. We’ve got a five-hour, 283-mile ride ahead of us. But at 5:17pm, when we get to the end of the road in Elizabethton, Tennessee, we’ll meet Dr. Dan and he’ll take us inside the Old Stover House where Andrew Johnson died”. My resin body trembled with excitement; I was finally going to see the bedroom where President Johnson took his final breath. And when I say “finally”, it wasn’t due to the lack of effort. Two other times, the first in 2017 and the second time in 2021, my photographer and I were on trips that took us in the proximity of Elizabethton, but both times Dan Schumaier was out of town. In 2017, Tom and I were travelling with his wife, which meant he wouldn’t drive 50 miles out of our way, then not get inside the historic house. Four years later, on a historic adventure with Moldenhauer, Tom had arranged permission from Schumaier to stop by his property to see the Stover House, but there would be no one there to let us inside. I remember Bob saying to my photographer as the pair captured images of the home’s exterior: “So close, yet so far away.”

The scenic route that Bob had mapped out took us from Kentucky, into Tennessee for a few minutes near the Cumberland Gap, then into my favorite state, Virginia, before we made it back into Tennessee for the final leg of our journey. Five hours earlier in the day, when we were leaving Frankfort Cemetery, I heard Tom say out loud he planned on us getting to Dr. Dan’s house at precisely 5:17pm. When we pulled into Schumaier’s driveway, which was located about six miles northeast of downtown Elizabethton along Blue Springs Road, the clock on the Jeep’s dashboard read 5:15pm. We were two minutes early – and in my opinion, that’s unacceptable.

From my position inside the camera case that was wrapped around Tom’s shoulder, I knew my photographer was a bit nervous as he and Bob approached the door to Dr. Dan’s house, which was built in 1820 and was once known as the Rueben Brooks Farmstead. When Donna Schumaier, the doctor’s wife, greeted the pair, her southern charm and down-home demeanor seemed to put Tom at ease. But what about the audiologist? What would Dan be like? Would he have a more matter-of-fact personality and be on edge as a couple of ‘Yankees’ wanted to invade his pride and joy?

Our questions were answered in the first few minutes of meeting Dan Schumaier. As the four of us walked together around Dan’s large pond and towards the back portion of his property where the two-story Stover House was situated, we could tell that he was anxious to show-off the historic home where President Johnson died. Before the doctor unlocked the door, however, Schumaier explained how he painstakingly had the small house dismantled board by board and had it moved from its previous location, over six miles away, to his property where it was reassembled and sits today. Dan said the house he had purchased in 2004 was not only taken apart one board at a time, but each piece was also numbered and photographed so it could be returned to its original location during reconstruction.

My resin heart was nearly beating out of my chest as Dan inserted the key into the front door and unlocked it. When Tom carried me across the threshold and into the first floor living area, it was though I had stepped back in time to the 1860s when Mary and Daniel Stover lived in the home. Tom placed me onto the fireplace mantel where I stood beneath a portrait of Mary Johnson Stover; who was President Andrew Johnson’s youngest daughter. During my time on the mantel, Schumaier talked about the antique spinning wheel in the corner. That wheel was originally used at a home in Stoney Creek, not too far from Dr. Dan’s home.

When the three of us followed Schumaier upstairs and into the historic second floor bedroom, my head was bobbing with anticipation. This wasn’t an ordinary bedroom, mind you, it was where Andrew Johnson was recovering from a stroke when he suffered a second stroke and died on July 31, 1875.

Exactly six years after Andrew Johnson left the White House in 1869, he became a member of the United States Senate – he was the only former President to be elected a Senator. When he learned some folks were bad-mouthing him in Ohio during the gubernatorial race there, Johnson decided to make a trip to the Buckeye State where he planned on making speeches. On July 28, 1875, he left his home in Greeneville, Tennessee for Ohio, but stopped at his daughter Mary Stover’s farmhouse in Elizabethton along the way. As it turned out, his oldest daughter Martha was also staying at the Stover farm during that time. That same evening, Johnson suffered a stroke, but he refused medical treatment until the following day when two doctors arrived. Initially, Andrew Johnson responded to their medical assistance, but in the evening of July 30th, he suffered a second stroke and died the following morning at the age of 66.

While the bed was an exact replica of the original deathbed, I found it to be a somber experience when I stood there. It was as though I could hear President Johnson mutter his last words: “My right side is paralyzed; I need no doctor. I can overcome my own troubles.” At that moment, Dan Schumaier broke the solemn atmosphere when he said to my companions: “I have the last thing Andrew Johnson ever saw in his life.” My photographer said: “Really? I’d like to see that.” The audiologist pointed to the ceiling and said: “Look up, it’s right there. The last thing Johnson saw was that ceiling.” All I could do was shake my head, but I do that most of the time anyway. During the 15 minutes we were in the second-story bedroom, Tom placed me on a couple of furnishings that were owned by the Stover’s and were in the house when the President died there. But to me, the most memorable place I stood was on the original bedroom floorboards next to the bed. That very floor may have been the last place Andrew Johnson ever stood.

Our visit inside the Old Stover House lasted for roughly 25 minutes, but that was some of the best 25 minutes I’ve ever experienced. I listened intently as Dr. Dan told stories about the historic house; and I laughed when he fired-off one of his jokes. During the entire time we were inside, I waited for my photographer to ask the million-dollar question he always asks when we’re inside historic homes – has there ever been paranormal activity reported inside the house where Andrew Johnson died? Schumaier paused; then he smiled. “There was one weekend, a handful of years ago, when a bunch of Civil War re-enactors were here,” Dan said to the three of us. “Three of them asked if they could spend the night in the house and I agreed to let them. The following morning, the three men all seemed disheveled, and they said they would never step foot in that house again. I don’t know what they saw or heard or experienced, but they’ve never been back.”

The doctor led us out of his historic home, but that wasn’t the end of our private tour. Besides his own personal residence, which was a historic site in its own right, Dan had two additional dwellings on his 14 acres of property that he wanted us to see. The first was a slave house, which was one of two slave quarters built in 1820 when the main house was constructed. During the few minutes we were inside the lone surviving slave house, Tom asked Dr. Dan if any Civil Rights groups have ever protested or raised concerns over the existence of that building. Schumaier laughed and told the three of us he had always thought his ancestry was “German and Cherokee Indian”; until the DNA test his children had purchased for him proved eight percent of his roots were from the Congo. Then out of nowhere, he received a phone call from a woman in Oregon who said she was his cousin, and their great-great grandmother was a slave who was purchased in 1836 by her husband. A short time later, the woman sent a copy of their ancestor’s sale paper, which Dan now has proudly framed in his home.

The final building on our tour was a log cabin; an original 16 by 20-foot cabin built around 1820 that once stood in Braxton County, West Virginia. That antique cabin now sits on a piece of Schumaier’s property where his tennis court once stood. Dan mentioned when his kids moved out of the house, and he quit playing tennis, he had the tennis court removed. But there was a void there; a vacancy Dan knew he had to fill. That’s when he bought the cabin in West Virginia, had it moved to his property, and it was reconstructed over the tennis court’s footprint. Although his cabin is a relic from days gone by, the audiologist says it’s the centerpiece for parties and for friends to gather. He also said the cabin’s porch has been used annually as a stage for a blue grass band when he’s hosted large parties on his land.

As the four of us strolled from the cabin, past the slave quarters, and back towards the main house, Dr. Dan said he wanted to show us some artifacts inside his home. Once inside, Schumaier proudly showed us the copy of his great-great grandmother’s sale papers from 1836, plus a handful of other interesting photos of his heritage. Then he led us into another room where we saw original historic artifacts that were owned and used by Andrew Johnson, including a large pair of shears he used while he owned and operated his tailor shop.

The entire hour we spent with Dr. Dan Schumaier was far better than most of the Presidential or historical tours we’ve ever been on. It was easy to tell from the outset that the doctor was passionate about history; and dedicated to preserving as much of it as he could. But most of all, Dan was a genuine guy who loved to tell stories, some of which were filled with humorous anecdotes. Just before we said goodbye to our host, Schumaier recited a final tale about a Revolutionary War soldier named Peters who attempted to cross the Delaware River with George Washington until he fell overboard and was lost. If you want to know how that epic tale ended, you need to go to Elizabethton, Tennessee and there’s no doubt the good doctor will finish the story.

During our visit, my photographer asked Dr. Dan numerous questions about the Stover House, including one about its original 1875 location. The doctor said the original site of the home, when President Johnson was there, was not the same place the house sat in disrepair when he purchased it in 2004. But he knew where the original site was because he had visited the house in his youth. Once we had the directions to the site, it took less than ten minutes for Tom to make the 5.7-mile drive from Dr. Schumaier’s house.

Using the verbal description of the site given to us by Dr. Dan, he said there wasn’t a historical marker or signage that indicated where the Old Stover House once stood. Schumaier said we would see a stone wall located just north of the Watauga River and behind a manufacturing facility; that’s where the Stover House stood on July 31, 1875 when Andrew Johnson died in the upstairs bedroom. My companions found the stone wall that fit the doctor’s description and before I knew it, I found myself posing on the wall as I looked out towards the river. Was this the view Daniel and Mary Stover once had from their historic home? With all of the weeds and foliage that blocked most of my view of the Watauga; and with all of the trash, including an old sofa, that was strewn along the narrow roadway near the wall, I hoped the scenery was better in the mid-1800s.

Although it was only 28 miles to our hotel, which was the Days Inn situated about six miles east of downtown Bristol, Virginia, it was getting late in the evening when we left Elizabethton. Then out of nowhere, about twenty minutes into our journey, I heard my photographer shout out loud: “Holy cow, Mongo, that’s the racetrack! That’s Bristol Motor Speedway! Vicki and I were there in August 2017 for the night race. I can’t believe I’m back!” Tom must’ve seen an entrance onto the grounds at the last second because the camera case, with me in it, tumbled against the Jeep’s door as he nearly took the vehicle onto two wheels. Within a couple of minutes, I found myself standing on a large visitor-friendly sign where I posed for a couple of images. While the track had nothing to do with our Presidents, I’m glad my photographer decided to stop anyway. Bristol Motor Speedway is “The Last Great Colosseum” and I finally got to see it – at least see it from the outside. That’s right, on August 19, 2017, which was Tom’s 61st birthday, I was left behind at the hotel while he and his wife enjoyed the night race. And you thought my photographer and I were inseparable!

During our 2017 trip to Bristol, my photographer and his wife let me tag-along on August 18th, the day before the race. At first, I thought it was because Tom and I do everything together on our trips. But I was wrong. It turned out he brought me into downtown Bristol for a ‘Dog and Pony Show’ photo-op; or should I say, a ‘Bobble head and Gecko Show’? It turned out the Geico commercial that featured their famous gecko “spokes lizard” standing on Main Street in downtown Bristol had been released the previous year and Tom wanted me to recreate the scene. And wouldn’t you know it, he planned on doing it again on this trip. After he found a parking spot along the Virginia side of Main Street in downtown Bristol, Tom set me in the middle of the street, nearly in the identical spot where the lizard stood. I knew he wanted me to say: “Now I’m in Virginessee; or am I in Tenneginia?” I said nothing. However, I thought to myself: “Get me off this busy street before I get run over! I may be able to save 15% on my car insurance, but I need life insurance for what I’m doing now!”

I was lucky. I survived that stunt in the middle of the street, even though I couldn’t pose on the brass marker because it had been deformed by wayward motorists, or souvenir hunters, over the years. After I was safely carried back to the sidewalk and placed inside the camera case, it dawned on me what I had actually done. I stood in two states at one time; which was made possible by the fact the state line ran down the center of Main Street through downtown Bristol, Tenneginia; or Virginessee.

The three of us spent another 30 minutes or so wandering up and down Main Street before we headed out of town just as the streetlights began to light up. Even though it was only a six-mile drive to the Days Inn, we weren’t registered and unpacked until shortly after 9:00pm. However, my companions hadn’t had dinner yet. Luckily for all of us, we didn’t have to travel far for a good meal; well, if you consider pancakes and hashbrowns a “good dinner”. From an opening in the camera case, I watched my photographer as he filled his face with blueberry pancakes, hashbrowns, and Diet Pepsi – even though he preferred Diet Coke.

The moment we got back to our small room at the Days Inn, Tom immediately placed me alongside the TV set where I had a chance to digest all I had experienced that day. I listened to my companions as they digested as well. There was one small piece of information that kept running over and over through my mind – it was the possibility of paranormal activity in the Stover House. While I didn’t see or feel anything out of the ordinary during our time inside the historic house, Dr. Schumaier’s story about the Civil War re-enactors gave me the chills. What did those three men experience during the night? Did President Johnson pay them a visit? Or was it Johnson’s son-in-law Daniel Stover – a colonel who was killed during the Civil War in 1864? Something inside my resin body told me I needed to go back and visit the Stover House at some point in the near future. During our travels over the years, I’ve been a magnet for paranormal activity. I also knew in my mind I wanted to find out who or what was lurking in that house at night. I’d love to spend some time in the Old Stover House after dark with my two companions, but that’s entirely up to Dr. Schumaier. Knowing my bobble head luck, that dream will likely come up short.

**This post is dedicated to Dr. Dan Schumaier for his time and generosity during our visit to his historic home.