After three long months of relaxation with my bobble head friends, as well as enduring some minor cosmetic surgery along the way, it was time to hit the road once again with my photographer and his wife. I felt like a kid again – my once-severed right arm looked good, and my once-broken legs had been freshly wrapped with a few new strips of white gauze tape. Our scheduled trip to southern Ohio would mark a first for me as well – I had never before travelled in the month of November.
Tom’s alarm went off at 5:00am on Thanksgiving Day November 24, 2022 and it was good to see my rotund photographer back in action. He did his usual pre-trip routine – Tom got himself ready for the first leg of the trip; he made sure everything he needed for the four-day adventure, including me, was stowed safely in the vehicle; and then he waited patiently for Vicki to get herself ready. During that prep time, I heard my camera guy remind his wife only once that he wanted to be on the road by 6:45am so we’d be at our first site at precisely ten o’clock. And even though it seemed like Vicki moved in slow motion that morning, Tom was backing our velvet red Jeep Grand Cherokee L out of the driveway at 6:46am. We were one minute late; and I laughed to myself when I heard my photographer mention that fact to his wife.
It was a brisk 37-degree morning in St. Clair as we took Tom and Vic’s dog, Abigail, to their daughter’s house. From my position in the back seat, I noticed through an opening in the camera case that visibility was horrible. Dense fog blanketed the landscape and that is never good for travelling. By the time we reached Macomb County on I-94, however, the fog had dissipated and became a non-issue the rest of the way. Traffic through Detroit was also a non-issue, which was a surprise considering the city was hosting their annual Turkey Trot race; their annual Thanksgiving Day parade; and an NFL game that morning and early afternoon.
When we reached the Ohio border on I-75, I overheard my cheap photographer tell his wife he was going to alter our route because he didn’t want to pay the toll on the Ohio Turnpike, which was the roadway our GPS had suggested. Instead, Tom took the first exit in Ohio and headed west. For 75 miles, we “danced” along the state line – half of our route was in Ohio and most of the last 30 miles or so was back in Michigan. At 10:02am, I heard my photographer say: “Okay kids, everyone out – we’re here!” When Tom pulled me out of the camera case, all I saw were baren fields, a farmhouse off in the distance, and a three-foot-tall rock on the east side of a dirt road. I was flabbergasted. Where were the tombstones? Where was the Presidential home? Where in the heck were we?
It turned out that Tom had taken us to the exact spot where the states of Michigan, Ohio, and Indiana came together at one point. The three-foot-tall rock was an inscribed monument that was actually situated in Michigan; the inscription let visitors know the precise trisection was 130 feet to the south. Sure enough – after Tom read the inscription, we walked along the roadway to the south where we found a metallic square in the middle of the road where the dirt surface had given way to pavement. At first, I thought the Block ‘M’ represented ‘Michigan’, but it actually stood for ‘Monument’ and marked the location of a small monument buried a few feet below the roadway. Tom placed me onto the bronze marker where I proudly stood in three states at once for the second time in my travelling career. The first time occurred in 2019 at the spot where Kansas, Missouri, and Oklahoma came together.
As I posed for a handful of pictures at the site, the unexpected sound of gunfire startled me. Three loud rifle shots were fired from behind me and to the right. I wanted to yell out “I know it’s November, but I’m not a JFK bobble head!” As a matter of fact, I had to snicker to myself when Tom yelled to his wife while he focused his camera on me: “I now know how Abraham Zapruder felt in Dallas.” Thankfully, 59 years later, history didn’t repeat itself – Vicki saw a deer blind in a nearby field and she figured it was a hunter trying to assassinate an innocent white tail buck.
Twenty minutes after our arrival, the three of us left the three-state border site and we headed on a zig-zag southeastern course towards Defiance, Ohio. With Vicki now behind the wheel, it took us roughly one hour to make the 50-mile journey to what Tom had described as a “secret site”. As we got within a few hundred feet of our intended destination, I saw my photographer hit his wife in the shoulder five times as he yelled out “Five multi-colored Slug-Bugs, no Slug-Bugging back!” Sure enough, located on the corner of East 2nd Street and Domersville Road on the east side of Defiance were five 1960s Volkswagen Beetles stacked on top of one other. The classic “Bugs” were painted in a monster-type motif and were put in place to draw visitors to the nearby Pack Rat’s Pawn Shop. I laughed to myself when Tom confessed to his wife the reasoning behind the visit: “You’re always hitting me when you see a Volkswagen Bug. When I saw those VWs on the Roadside America website, I knew I could carry-out a “mass assault of Slug Bugs”, similar to someone using an AR-15. Thankfully we didn’t have to go too far off the beaten path to get here.” I was shocked when Vicki laughed at the entire episode, adding that she was impressed by her husband’s creative scheme. That’s also when she vowed revenge!
When my companions’ laughter died down in the parking lot of the Pack Rat’s Pawn Shop, it was time for Thanksgiving dinner, which Tom had planned to be held in Piqua, Ohio. Instead of sticking to his agenda, however, Tom convinced his wife they needed to visit the site of Fort Defiance. If for nothing else, my photographer wanted to take in the scenic beauty at the confluence of two rivers – the Maumee and Auglaize.
After we made the two-mile drive to the site of the fort, however, Tom and Vicki gained a greater appreciation for what had transpired on that section of land. As we strolled around the grounds where the historic fort once stood, it became more difficult to not think about some of the evils that were unleashed upon the Native Americans that once owned and lived on that sacred land.
The eight-day construction of Fort Defiance was completed on August 17, 1794 by General “Mad” Anthony Wayne. The newly constructed fort played a part in the Battle of Fallen Timbers, which began just three days later. The name ‘Fort Defiance’ was derived from a declaration by military officer Charles Scott, who led a band of Kentucky militia in support of General Wayne: “I defy the English, Indians, and all the devils of hell to take it.” Fort Defiance was abandoned roughly two years after it was built, mainly because the Treaty of Greenville between the United States and the Indigenous nations of the Northwest Territory had been signed.
My photographer carried me to different areas within the footprint of the historic fort where I posed for several pictures. I knew I was standing where the legendary General Anthony Wayne once stood, but I didn’t have a warm and fuzzy feeling during our entire visit. At first, I wasn’t sure why I felt uncomfortable there – after all, it was just the site of an old fort with an amazing view. However, when I discovered General Wayne had ordered the destruction of all Native American villages and their crops within a 50-mile radius of the fort, the reason for my angst became much clearer. As a matter of fact, it was “Mad Anthony’s” leadership tactics that led to the ethnic cleansing of Native Americans throughout the Ohio Valley. Wayne set the tone for the way the Indigenous people all around this country were treated by the United States government from the 1790s and beyond. In other words, it was the holocaust that very few Americans recognize and even less talk about. That tragedy has been swept under the rug for the past 230 years or so, and is, quite frankly, America’s ‘Dirty Little Secret.”
It was high noon, and I was happy when we left Fort Defiance behind in the rearview mirror. Don’t get me wrong – I’m not in favor of destroying sites because of what happened to the Indigenous people long ago. It’s the same for me when it comes to sites that are centered on slave owners and the evils of slavery in the United States. Burying the past doesn’t make the atrocities go away as though they never happened. Everyone must learn from the past so we can make a better future for all people on this planet going forward.
Ninety minutes after we vacated the fort, Vicki pulled the Jeep into the parking lot of the Cracker Barrel restaurant in Piqua, Ohio. It was there where my photographer, General “Mad Tom” Watson, had planned to do his best to put turkeys on the endangered species list. That’s right, Tom and his wife celebrated their Thanksgiving with turkey dinner at the Cracker Barrel. But even the sanctity of a traditional Thanksgiving dinner wasn’t void of a little controversy, which I discovered when my photographer was told the restaurant’s turkey dinner featured sweet potato casserole rather than traditional mashed potatoes and gravy. “I don’t know one person who would rather eat sweet potatoes with their turkey and dressing instead of regular mashed potatoes and gravy. It’s unbelievable to me that we can’t substitute one potato for the other.” Since they weren’t allowed to substitute the potatoes, my companions went to ‘Plan B’ and substituted the entire dinner. While the traditional Cracker Barrel Thanksgiving turkey dinner was a carbon copy for all who ordered it, the fried turkey dinner on the menu afforded the diner a choice of side dishes – which made everyone thankful. Especially me, because I was tired of listening to my photographer gripe about the sweet potatoes.
Following dinner, which my photographer topped-off with a bowl of peach cobbler and vanilla ice cream, the three of us were back on I-75 and were headed southbound towards Dayton, Ohio. The weather was ideal for travelling as the temperature had reached an unbelievable 67 degrees, which was 30 degrees warmer than it was when we left home seven hours earlier. About a week before we departed on the trip, Vicki had reserved our hotel room in Dayton. That room would have to take a back seat, however, as Tom had his sights set on Woodland Cemetery, which was located a mile or two southeast of downtown Dayton.
Woodland Cemetery is a 200-acre burial ground that is the largest garden cemetery in the United States. While Woodland was incorporated in 1842 by John Whitten Van Cleve, who was the first male child born in Dayton, it was an interment 70 years later that was the focus of our visit. Vicki navigated our Jeep along the paved roadway as we searched for one particular plot among the 100,000 other grave markers. As we drove around blindly, I couldn’t help but think the cemetery was misnamed. After all, there were at least eight famous inventors buried in Woodland, so perhaps ‘Inventor Memorial Gardens’ would have been a better choice. It’s true – the folks who invented the folding step ladder, the Yellow Pages, moisture proof cellophane, the cash register, the stereoscopic (3-D) camera, and Freon refrigerant were all buried somewhere on the rolling hills of Woodland. While all of those inventions were incredible and made life a lot easier, and at times, more enjoyable for a lot of people, it was the two brothers who invented the airplane that changed the world.
We finally found the Wright family plot, which was located near the back of the cemetery, after 15 minutes of searching. At one end of the rectangular plot, which was framed with stone pavers, we saw a huge granite marker emblazoned with the name ‘Wright’ on its face. Located directly in front of the granite marker were five small granite headstones, each were cut in a semi-circular shape. There was also a single white marble tombstone among the rest as well. The final resting places of Orville and Wilbur Wright, along with the grave of their sister Katharine, were situated at the front of the plot. Orville and Wilbur’s parents, Milton and Susan, were buried in the center of the plot – their headstones flanked the marble gravestone of their twin children Otis and Ida Wright, who died shortly after their births.
A small tidbit that I heard Tom mention to his wife was the fact that Orville Wright was born on August 19, 1871 and Katharine Wright, his sister, was born on August 19, 1874. My photographer was born on August 19, 1956, and his son, Thomas II, was born on August 19, 1983. And if that wasn’t enough, Vicki’s maternal grandparents were married on August 19, 1933. What was Vic’s grandfather’s first name? If you guessed Orville, you’d be Wright. Sorry, I meant to write right!
My photographer placed me on both of the Wright Brothers’ headstones where I posed for pictures; then I was set on top of the large monument where I looked down at the entire family plot. I had visited the Wright’s graves in 2014 with Bob Moldenhauer, but for some reason, Tom didn’t set me on any of the markers. As I stood there in silence, I thought about other inventors and their ideas that helped shape the world. But none of the other inventions have made more of an impact than Orville and Wilbur Wright’s heavier-than-air machine that was first flown on December 17, 1903. Less than seven decades after that first flight, humans flew to the Moon and walked on the lunar surface. Astronaut Neil Armstrong had a small piece of fabric and a wooden support piece from the Wright Flyer and took it to the Moon’s surface with him aboard Apollo 11’s Lunar Module. Five score and eighteen years after that, a small piece of fabric from the wing of the Wright’s first plane took to the air once again – this time attached to the belly of a small helicopter on the planet Mars.
My photographer and I spent roughly 20 minutes at the grave site of Orville and Wilbur Wright. When we were finished, I heard Tom mention to his wife that there was one more grave he wanted to visit while we were still in Woodland. I thought to myself: “I wonder if we’re going to see the grave of James M. Cox, the Democratic candidate who lost the 1920 Presidential election to Warren G. Harding? Or perhaps we’ll visit the final resting place of newspaper humorist Erma Bombeck?” When we got close to the front of the burial ground, Vicki stopped the Jeep and the three of us got out. At that moment, I heard Tom say: “There it is – the Boy & Dog monument.”
Sure enough, we were standing in front of the grave of Johnny Morehouse. As soon as I saw the unique tombstone, sadness filled my resin heart – for I had recalled the story of the boy and his dog from my 2014 visit. Local legend has it that five-year-old Johnny Morehouse was playing with his dog near the Miami and Erie Canal on August 14, 1860 when the lad suddenly fell into the water. Unable to swim, Morehouse struggled to stay afloat in the murky canal, but he eventually drowned. His dog, and best friend, pulled the lifeless boy to shore, but the rescue was too late. After his funeral, Johnny’s parents laid their son to rest in Woodland Cemetery. Several days after the burial, the Morehouse dog found Johnny’s grave and stood vigil over the gravesite day and night. Strangers and mourners left scraps of food at the grave for the dog to eat. The story of the boy and his dog ended without history recording the eventual fate of the pooch, but a year after Johnny’s death, the pair were reunited in stone. A local sculptor named Daniel De Low created a special marble monument and erected the piece over Johnny’s grave. Not only does the sculpture depict a dog watching over his sleeping master, but the monument also features Johnny’s toy top, his ball, his harmonica, and his tiny hat – all found in the lad’s pockets when he drowned.
Moments after Tom plucked me off the sculpted marble hat on Johnny Morehouse’s grave, I was carried back to the Jeep where my photographer and I listened to another tragic event unfold on the radio. During the waning seconds of the Buffalo Bills – Detroit Lions game at Ford Field in Detroit, we listened and cheered as Lions’ kicker Michael Badgley booted a 51-yard field goal to tie the Thanksgiving Day game at 25. Our exuberance was short-lived, however, as the Bills made good use of the final 23 seconds of regulation and got the football quickly into field goal range. And sure enough, Buffalo’s Tyler Bass split the uprights with a 45-yard field goal with 2 seconds left on the clock to defeat the upset-minded Lions 28-25.
“I swear the Lions are jinxed against the elite teams. It’s as though someone puts a hex on them and somehow, the Lions manage to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory in the big games.” In my mind, Tom’s words echoed truth about the sad sack NFL team from Detroit. As Vicki drove the Jeep through the gates of Woodland Cemetery, the three of us were left shaking our heads; which was something I did on a regular basis anyway.
Ten miles north of Woodland Cemetery was where our final site of the day was located – and it wasn’t a surprise when I heard it was another cemetery. At roughly 4:10pm, my photographer’s wife drove our Jeep over a stone bridge and into the 217-acre Dayton Memorial Park Cemetery that hosted its first interment in 1923. Vicki followed one of the many paved roadways that guided us to the rear of the cemetery, which was when I heard Tom say: “There’s the Abbey Mausoleum over there – just park in front. I believe its doors are open until five o’clock, so we have plenty of time to find the witch’s crypt.”
My resin ears perked up when I heard my photographer say, “witch’s crypt”. Which witch? Cemeteries are spooky enough, but whenever I hear there’s a witch’s crypt inside a mausoleum, I become a bit skittish. A sense of relief came over me after Tom and I walked up the steps to the mausoleum’s front door and we saw a posted sign that revealed visiting hours had ended at 4pm; we were fifteen minutes too late. My photographer was outraged, and I thought for sure I saw his nose twitch with anger as he shouted out an expletive that could’ve woken the dead. And perhaps it did. When Tom took the door handle into this right hand and angrily pulled, the large wooden framed and glass-paneled door opened with ease. Not wanting to waste any time, the three of us proceeded up a set of stairs to the second floor and then turned left into the Sanctuary of Peace. I was extremely nervous. At one point, I thought I heard the spring in my neck rattle. As we slowly walked further into the Sanctuary of Peace, a scene in the movie ‘The Wizard of Oz’ popped into my head. That particular scene focused on the four main characters as they headed down a long hallway towards the Wizard’s chamber. At one point, the terrified Cowardly Lion said to his friends: “Tell me when it’s over.”
Upon first glance, I noticed a large stained-glass window at the end of the chamber; both sides of which were lined with dozens of marble crypts – each etched with the deceased’s name along with the dates of their birth and death. As Tom carefully scanned each crypt for a particular name, I waited for a wicked witch to make her grand entrance in a cloud of black smoke. I wanted to yell out: “Tell me when it’s over.” Then suddenly it happened; the deafening silence was broken by Vicki when she said to my photographer: “There’s Agnes Moorehead’s crypt right next to you. If you would’ve been any closer to it, Endora would’ve grabbed your arm.”
Sure enough, situated halfway up the wall, we saw the inscription on the crypt’s marble face: ‘Agnes Robertson Moorehead 1974’. There was also a photo of the famed actress that someone had attached to the crypt just above a small bouquet of yellow flowers. Agnes Moorehead was an accomplished actress, starring in numerous movies throughout her career – including ‘Citizen Kane’ in 1941. But it was her role as Endora, the sharp-tongued and sharper-witted witch on the TV show ‘Bewitched’ that she’s best remembered for. For the entire eight-season run of ‘Bewitched’, from 1964 to 1972, Endora did her best to antagonize her daughter Samantha’s mortal husband Darrin Stephens.
The bewitching actress passed away from cancer on April 30, 1974 at the age of 73. Moorehead was laid to rest alongside the crypt of her sister, Margaret, who died in 1929 at the age of 23 from suicide. Their parents, John and Mary Moorehead, were entombed alongside Margaret. Even though Agnes lived to the age of 73, she actually died young compared to her mother. Mary Moorehead passed away at the age of 106 in 1990 – outliving her daughter by 16 years. It’s been long rumored that Agnes’ cancer began on the set of the 1956 movie ‘The Conqueror’ where she starred alongside John Wayne. Most of the exterior scenes in the movie were shot in the Escalante Desert near St. George, Utah, which was downwind from the atomic bomb testing site in Nevada. That desert received the brunt of the nuclear fallout from the above ground tests during that time. Of the 220 members of the cast and crew of ‘The Conqueror’, 91 developed cancer during their lifetime and 46 of those folks perished from the disease – including Moorehead, John Wayne, and Susan Hayward.
As Tom held me up next to the crypt of Agnes Moorehead, I thought about her role as the witch Endora. It was said on the show by Endora’s brother (Samantha’s Uncle Arthur) that she was over 4,000 years old, simply because witches are immortal. While Endora had survived for over 40 centuries, including eight years with her son-in-law Darrin, it took only 18 years for the United States government to kill her. Perhaps they thought she was a Native American!
We spent roughly 15 minutes inside the Abbey Mausoleum as we paid our respects to Agnes Moorehead and her beloved alter ego Endora. During our time inside the mausoleum, I was concerned the staff might unknowingly lock us inside since we were there past four o’clock. I felt a sense of great relief, however, when my photographer opened the exit door and we were once again outside.
Just before the three of us boarded the Jeep for our short drive to the hotel, Tom saw a photo opportunity in an adjacent field that he couldn’t ignore. He said the field of weeds and woody burrs, with the setting sun in the background, reminded him of something supernatural, like a coven of witches. When we arrived at the precise spot Tom had in mind, I had to agree – it was the perfect photographic tribute to Endora the Witch. As a matter of fact, when the image of Endora filled my resin mind as we stood in that creepy field, I thought about how she once described what it was like to be a witch in Season 1 of ‘Bewitched’: “We are quicksilver, a fleeting shadow, a distant sound…our home has no boundaries beyond which we cannot pass. We live in music, in a flash of color…we live on the wind and in the sparkle of a star!” In my mind, Endora forgot one thing: They also live in the twilight as a woody burr!
Less than five minutes after Tom and I returned to the Jeep where Vicki waited for us near the Abbey Mausoleum, we arrived at the Hampton Inn & Suites. It had been a long day for my companions. Although I saw some interesting and historic sites, and I also stood on a few graves to boot, our first day was void of any Presidential sites. While I was slightly disappointed, I knew my dismay would be short-lived. Our three remaining days in Ohio was slated to be filled with some pretty cool sites associated with our Presidents – including Air Force One that transported JFK to Dallas in 1963.
Unpacked and in our room for the night, Tom placed me alongside the television set where I watched the Dallas Cowboys beat the New York Giants 28-20. My photographer also watched that game, but it was mostly through his eye lids. His wife was fast asleep by 6:30 and I never heard a peep out of her throughout the entire night – except for an occasional snort. Tom woke up in time to watch some of the Vikings – Patriots game before he shut the lights off in the room around 9:30pm.
On Thanksgiving night, I stood alone with my thoughts – my head was filled with all of the things I was thankful for. I’ve had the privilege to have visited some great historical sites, and I’ve met some amazing people in the past nine-plus years. I’ve had the honor to pay my personal respects at all 39 Presidential gravesites and I’ve seen several of the Presidents in person with my own resin eyes – including one from inside the White House. But as proud of America as I am, and as much as I cherish our great nation and its rich history, the fact that our government (including some of our Presidents) treated the Indigenous people of this land so horribly, it made me sick. In the recent past, our nation as focused on the evils of slavery in our country, and rightfully so. But the fact that over 12 million innocent Native American men, women, and children were slaughtered on our soil since 1492 shouldn’t be swept under the rug either. On that Thanksgiving night, I was thankful for my awakening; my greater appreciation for our TRUE Americans. The Native Americans.
