224: A DAY FILLED WITH TAFT, AND GRANT, AND WOLVERINES, OH MY!

My photographer’s alarm went off at 5:45am on Saturday November 26, 2022. Tom and I were anxious to hit the road as he had planned on the two of us visiting several William Howard Taft sites in Cincinnati before we headed to the small towns where Ulysses S. Grant was born and grew up. Vicki, on the other hand, was even more excited for the day to get kickstarted. She had planned to watch or listen to the Michigan Wolverines football team go head-to-head against the Ohio State Buckeyes in Columbus. I found it hard to believe, and somewhat disappointing, that Tom’s wife was more interested in Harbaugh and McCarthy instead of Taft and Grant.

By 7:50am, the three of us were in the Jeep and headed for our first stop of the day – the William Howard Taft National Historic Site. It took roughly 20 minutes for Vicki to make the 13-mile drive from our Drury Inn hotel in Sharonville to the home where our 27th President was born in the Mount Auburn section of Cincinnati. As usual, we were the first ones to walk through the door when the visitor center opened at 8:30am. Even though we hustled to get to the site when it opened, the three of us had to wait 30 minutes for the day’s first tour of the home to begin. Unfortunately, by that time, someone else had signed up for a tour. I knew Tom was frustrated when someone arrived just a few minutes before nine and tagged along on our tour – he had hoped we’d have the place to ourselves so he could photograph me standing on some furnishings without causing a distraction.

The three of us, along with our tour guide and the other tourist, walked through the front door of the home, which had been beautifully decorated for the Christmas season. The two-story brick home was built around 1845, and became home to the Taft’s on June 13, 1851 when Alphonso Taft bought the modest dwelling and moved his family to the upscale Mount Auburn neighborhood. Alphonso’s wife, Fanny, died a year after they moved into the home; but 18 months later, the widower married a schoolteacher name Louise Torrey. On September 15, 1857, William Howard Taft was born in a small bedroom in the rear of the home.

The home had gone through a handful of significant changes after William’s mother sold the place in 1899. In the 1940s, the home had been transformed into a multi-room apartment building. By the early 1960s, however, the birthplace of President Taft was declared a National Historic Landmark and in 1969, the National Park Service took control and renovated the home to what it looked like when William lived there.

Our tour guide led us through all five of the first-floor rooms, including our final stop at the bedroom where President Taft was born. The young NPS Ranger was awesome – not only did she have an amazing smile, but she also allowed me to pose on a handful of items within the rooms as well. Okay, it was a small handful of items; the rest of the furnishings where I stood were ones Tom had conveniently failed to secure permission for. When our guided tour of the lower level was finished, the three of us went to the second floor where we discovered the five upper bedrooms had been transformed into exhibit areas dedicated to the life of President William Howard Taft.

It was 10am when we finished our tour of the Taft home and returned to the Jeep. We still had two William Taft sites left on our morning’s agenda before we were scheduled to arrive in Point Pleasant, Ohio for an 11:15 to 11:30 rendezvous with historian Greg Roberts at the Ulysses S. Grant birthplace.

Our next stop was at an old high school located roughly 1.5 miles south of the Taft birthplace in the Over-The-Rhine section of Cincinnati. When we arrived, Tom told me we were at Woodward High School where William Taft had graduated in 1874. But there was a catch – while Taft did graduate from Woodward High, it wasn’t from the huge brick building that stood in front of us. It turned out that the building I was looking at with my painted resin eyes was constructed between 1907 and 1910 – over thirty years after Taft had graduated. However, Taft did help lay the cornerstone for the “new” high school less than two years before he took Oath of Office as President, which meant the building was still a Presidential site in my mind. Plus, the Woodward High where Taft went to school and graduated was located on the same site.

Vicki stayed in the Jeep while Tom carried me up a set of steps and into an adjacent park, known as Ziegler Park Lawn, located alongside the north facade of the old high school building. From that large grassy and mostly vacant park, I got my first good look at old Woodward High School – the huge brick, stone, and terra cotta building blew me away. I posed in several different locations where my photographer used the old school as a backdrop. Even though there was a sign above the entrance that read ‘Woodward High School’, I knew the building had been transformed into the Alumni Lofts, a very well detailed apartment building in Cincinnati’s Over-The-Rhine neighborhood.

Fifteen minutes after our visit to Woodward High School began, Tom and I were back in the Jeep and ready for the third and final Taft site of the morning. Vicki did a good job as she navigated the city streets while we headed to the northeastern part of Cincinnati known as the East Walnut Hills section – which was roughly two miles east of where President Taft was born. There, in a quiet residential area along East McMillan Street, we arrived at ‘The Quarry’. As soon as I saw the large, three-story home, I recognized the place from our 2014 trip with Bob Moldenhauer. But something was different – the hideous plum colored exterior had been changed to a bluish-gray hue. I also noticed two workers in the front yard who seemed to be in the process of doing renovation work to the historic home. The workers surprised Tom and me because we were told by the NPS Ranger at the Taft birthplace that The Quarry was vacant, and no one would be there. In other words, the two of us figured we had the house and grounds entirely to ourselves.

Following the wedding of William Howard Taft and Helen Herron on June 19, 1886, ‘Nellie’s’ father, lawyer John Williamson Herron, gave the couple the lot of land in the upscale East Walnut Hills section of Cincinnati as a wedding present. When it was time to build their home, Alphonso Taft helped finance the original $6,000 cost of the three-story house. The newlyweds lived in The Quarry until the 1890s when William became involved in politics and the couple moved to Washington D.C. – first renting their home before selling it later. Before their departure to the nation’s capital, William and Nellie’s son, Robert A. Taft, was born in The Quarry in September 1889. Robert, a lawyer-turned-Senator, ran unsuccessful for the Presidency three times.

Cautious due to the ongoing work, Tom methodically approached the front of The Quarry with me held in his left hand; Vicki stayed with the Jeep, which she had parked in a private driveway next to Taft’s former home. As we stood on the sidewalk in front of the home, I heard my photographer ask the two workers for permission to walk onto the grounds: “Hello – I am a Presidential historian and would love to photograph this home that once belonged to President Taft. Do you care if I walk around and snap a few pictures and maybe go around to the backside of the home as well?” Without hesitation, one of the men said in a broken English accent: “It’s okay. Go where you want and take as many pictures as you’d like.” I posed for a few images in the front yard of The Quarry before Tom carried me to the back yard; which in 2014, looked like a dumping ground for discarded furniture, appliances, and garbage. When we got to the rear of the home, which offered a nice view of the Ohio River in the distance, we discovered that most of the yard had been cleaned up – and that was a pleasant surprise. After a minute or two behind the house, Tom and I returned to the front of the home where another surprise awaited us – the owner of The Quarry had arrived.

The man was dressed neatly in blue jeans; his black leather coat covered a dark colored winter vest. The owner’s hair was white, as was his neatly trimmed beard. I was happy to see a smile on his face when Tom explained the reason for our visit. Seconds after the friendly gentleman introduced himself as Ahmed Ilhan Sezer, the Turkish-born native asked my photographer if he wanted to see the interior of his home. At first, Tom hesitated; and for two reasons. First, Vicki was still in the Jeep and was expecting us back at any moment. And second, the clock was ticking for our 11:30 appointment with Greg Roberts at the Grant birthplace, which was over 20 miles away. But knowing this was possibly a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Tom said: “Sure. Why not? It would be an honor to see the interior of the Taft home. I just can’t stay too long.”

For the next 20 minutes, Ahmed led us through most of the ramshackle rooms inside The Quarry. To me, it appeared as though a bomb had gone off inside the house and blew out every wall. There were also times I thought my chunky photographer might fall through the floor or stumble down a dilapidated staircase. But with each doorway we walked through, Mr. Sezer proudly discussed his renovation plans for the historic house – and his ideas weren’t pipe dreams. Sezer was an engineer who had lived and worked in the United States for the past 40 years. Ahmed told us he bought The Quarry in late 2007 and wanted to renovate the home because of its historic significance to President Taft. But his ambitious initiative has taken a lot of time and even more money – Sezer said he’s spent over a million dollars with no end in sight.

In my resin mind, I thought Tom was crazy for going inside that house without his wife knowing where we were at. After all, what if Mr. Sezer had been a killer. There was a time when we were in the bowels of the house and the owner led us up the stairs to the third story of the home. At that moment, I envisioned the possibility of Sezer pulling out a knife and slitting my photographer’s throat, while slicing the spring in my neck as well. But those goofy thoughts were ludicrous – Ahmed Sezer couldn’t have been a more generous host. And when our tour was finished and the two of us were once again standing in the front yard, Mr. Sezer invited us back to The Quarry any time we were in the Cincinnati area.

When Tom and I returned to the Jeep at a few minutes past eleven, Vicki was so busy on her phone that she never realized we’d been gone as long as we were. I laughed to myself when my photographer enthusiastically recounted the story of our house tour with his wife, who in turn blew it off as nothing out of the ordinary. But to the two of us, that impromptu tour was one of those unexpected “gems” that Mongo and Tom have admired from our past trips.

We had no time to waste; the clock was ticking down to our 11:30am appointment with Greg Roberts at the Grant birthplace. My photographer called Roberts’ cell phone to inform Greg that we were on our way, but the call went unanswered. For roughly 23 miles, Vicki navigated the two-lane road known as the Ohio River Scenic Byway; luckily for us, traffic was light on that Saturday morning. The three of us figured most people in the area were likely getting settled in front of their television sets for the Michigan-Ohio State football game.

At exactly 11:28am, my photographer’s wife parked our Jeep across the street from the small two-room cottage where Ulysses S. Grant was born. I noticed a blue sign in the front window that read: ‘US Grant Birthplace CLOSED’; but that didn’t mean much to the two of us because we had secured advanced reservations with Greg Roberts a few weeks prior to our trip. Tom carried me to the rear door of the home, he knocked, and the next thing I knew the two of us were back inside the birthplace home of Hiram Ulysses Grant. As usual, Vicki remained in the vehicle with her precious phone while she waited for the Wolverines game to start.

For thirty minutes, Tom and I sat in a trance near the cottage’s small museum/gift shop as we listened to historian Greg Roberts talk about Grant’s early life in that part of Ohio. I’ve been on a countless number of tours with my photographer, but I don’t think I’ve ever met a more passionate historian than Roberts. The docent not only brought Hiram Ulysses Grant to life through his words, but he also portrayed the General and 18th President as the person who single-handedly ended slavery in our country and played an even bigger part in the Reconstruction of the South. When Greg Roberts had finished his spiel and the three of us headed into the room where Grant was born, our tour guide had me convinced U.S. Grant was the greatest hero this country has ever known. And it was hard to argue against his philosophy; especially knowing the horrible impact the evils of slavery had on our country.

Hiram Ulysses Grant was born on April 27, 1822 in the room where I once again had the honor of standing on the original floorboards. It was great to be back; it had been over eight years since my first visit on September 6, 2014. While most of the furnishings in the two rooms were from the period around the future President’s birth, a couple of the pieces were once owned by the Grants – including the small, monogrammed travel chest owned by Jesse Grant and used by Ulysses at West Point. Greg Roberts was very cool, and he allowed me to pose for photos anywhere in the house. At one point, Greg removed the Plexi-glass cover that had protected the travel chest so I could pose alongside it. I stood so close, as a matter of fact, my resin back nearly rested against the historic relic. When we were finished with our visit in the birth room, the three of us headed to the museum where I saw an impressive display of artifacts associated with our 18th President. Some of the intriguing items on display were a pair of kid gloves Grant had worn at his first inaugural ball in 1869; a strongbox used by Ulysses while President; and an ornate onyx locket that contained a nice lock of the President’s hair.

For one hour and twenty minutes, Tom and I were mesmerized by Greg Roberts inside the cottage where President Grant was born. Without a doubt, the historian made a huge impact on the two of us. During some of our visit, Roberts discussed the Grant’s time in Point Pleasant. But since Ulysses and his family had lived in that small town for only a short period of time, Roberts proudly redirected his focus to an in-depth discussion of the role the area had played in helping slaves escape to their freedom before and during the Civil War. Greg’s demeanor was temporarily dampened when he mentioned it’s believed slavery was utilized in southern Ohio along the border with Kentucky. “Most people believe the institution of slavery never existed in Ohio, but that’s bull sh*t. There were times when farmers along the river needed help with their crops and Kentucky slave owners sent their slaves by boat into Ohio as a loan. When the work was finished, the enslaved people were sent back across the river to Kentucky. For the most part, however, I’m proud to say our county played a huge part in the Underground Railroad that helped get the enslaved people northward to their freedom.”

Roughly one month before his first birthday, young Hiram Grant left Point Pleasant for good and headed east with his family to Georgetown, Ohio, which was exactly where we were headed next as well. Tom and I bid farewell to Greg Roberts and met up with Vicki at the Jeep. I laughed when my photographer attempted to tell his wife some of the interesting facts we had learned from Greg because Vicki simply turned up the volume on the radio – she didn’t want to miss any plays of the “Big Game”.

During the half-hour it took us to make the 24-mile drive from one Grant home to the next, the three of us listened intently to the football game. In the first quarter and early minutes of the second, it seemed as though the Wolverines struggled on offense. When Vicki parked the Jeep on the street alongside the boyhood home of President Grant near the hub of downtown Georgetown, the Buckeyes’ kicker Noah Ruggles had just booted a 32-yard field goal to put his team up 10-3. For Tom and me, the game was secondary as we had a historic home to visit. But when it came to my photographer’s wife, she optioned to stay with the Jeep where Vic kept her ears and focus on the game.

Normally, the US Grant Boyhood Home and Schoolhouse would be closed for the season in late November. However, roughly two weeks before we left on the trip, Tom had made special arrangements for a special guided tour on that Saturday afternoon – scheduled at half-past one o’clock. When the two of us walked up to the side door of the historic home at that precise time, my photographer became instantly confused – there was a large tour already in progress. What could have gone wrong? The only thing the two of us knew was we would have to wait.

Tom and I made good use of our time as he photographed me near the exterior of the home. It had been over eight years since my first visit to Grant’s childhood home, and as far as I could tell, nothing had changed. The 2 1/2-story brick home was built in 1823 by Jesse Grant and the future President lived there from age 11 months until he left for West Point in 1839. As far as historical significance goes, Ulysses S. Grant lived in that house longer than any other home during his lifetime – in my painted eyes, that’s huge. Minutes after we had finished our photo-shoot outside of the house, Tom wanted to take me across the street to Jesse Grant’s tannery. But at that very moment, before we crossed Grant Avenue, my photographer was notified the other tour had finished and it was our time to see the interior.

Once inside, it became immediately evident to us that our tour guide was cool and he would have no problem with me posing on some of the furnishings, including the Grant’s black horsehair sofa that was original to the home. The guide led us from room to room, and then to the upper floor where I posed in young Hiram’s bedroom. During the twenty minutes or so we spent inside Grant’s home, my head was flooded with the thoughts of the future President and how he spent his formative years in that building. Hiram likely learned to walk, talk, read, and write inside that home. But more importantly, he learned the difference between right and wrong from his father within those walls as well. In other words, infant Hiram transformed from “Kal-El to Clark Kent to Superman” within the walls of that house and 19 years later, he nearly single handedly saved the Union.

When we finished our tour of the Grant boyhood home, I laughed to myself when our tour guide asked my photographer if he wanted to see the inside of the Grant schoolhouse, which was roughly a half mile away. As Tom and I followed the guide outside, he mentioned another building that we would pass on the way to the historic schoolhouse – it was where Grant first attended school and was now a private residence.

During our short drive from the home to the school, my photographer and his wife started to yell out loud when they heard Michigan’s Cornelius Johnson catch a pass from quarterback J.J. McCarthy, which the receiver “took to the house” for 75 yards and gave the Wolverines a 17-13 late second quarter lead. When Vicki pulled the Jeep off to the side of Water Street near the front of the school, she opted to stay put and listen to the game rather than experience a historical site.

Once again, it seemed great to be back inside the school where Hiram Grant was educated from 1829 to 1835. Although the school room was decorated with school furnishings from the time when Grant was there, the guide mentioned the wooden bench in the corner was where young Hiram sat during class. I never pass up an opportunity to stand in the footprints of a President, and it’s even better when I get to pose on their butt prints as well.

Altogether, Tom and I spent about 15 minutes inside the schoolhouse where we listened to our guide talk about young Hiram Grant. When our visit had finished and my photographer thanked our docent for his time, I heard Tom mention that we were headed back towards the childhood home because he wanted me to pose near the exterior of the tannery. But there was another site that intrigued my camera guy as well – the other schoolhouse the guide had mentioned earlier, which was only several hundred yards from the boyhood home.

Back in the Jeep and ready to retrace our route back to Grant’s boyhood home, we listened to Vicki as she complained about the game. She had a good reason to be dissatisfied – Ohio State had scored a touchdown with less than four minutes left in the second quarter and they led at halftime 20-17. In my resin-filled mind, it was a typical Michigan Wolverines football game. They spend all season beating up inferior teams, but when it comes to playing against worthy opponents, Michigan seems to find new ways to poop the bed and come up short.

Vicki dropped my photographer and me off at the building that once served as Ulysses Grant’s first school, then she drove down to the historic home where she waited for us. I posed for a couple of images near the old schoolhouse, then Tom carried me down East Grant Avenue for a couple hundred yards where we finished our time at Jesse Grant’s tannery building.

During his time in Georgetown, young Hiram Grant made it no secret how much he hated his father’s tannery. For one, most people in the neighborhood, including young Grant, disliked the smell that emitted from the building. But for Hiram, it was more than the odor that spawned his ill feelings towards his dad’s business. Almost since he could walk, Hiram played around the horses at the tannery – swinging on their tails and crawling under their bellies. It seemed as though the animals understood the lad and he was considered a “Horse Whisperer”. So much so, in fact, Grant quickly developed his skills as a trainer and rider. Hiram loved horses and was so good with them that he became a local legend at a young age. By the time Ulysses enrolled at West Point, he was considered the finest horseman at the academy.

For over three hours, I had walked in the footsteps, stood on the butt prints, and toured two homes where our 18th President Ulysses S. Grant spent the first seventeen years of his life. Although his early goals in life were to be either a farmer or down-the-river trader, he ended up far-exceeding even his own expectations. It’s hard to fathom that the General who led troops on the battlefield and saved our nation during and after the Civil War was actually very squeamish. Grant could not stomach the sight of animal blood and rare steak nauseated him – he insisted his meat be cooked well done. Young Hiram hated to hunt, even at a time when shooting game in southern Ohio was a favorite youthful pastime. Growing up, the future President was modest, soft-spoken, and mild-mannered – some historians have claimed Grant was a bit effeminate. But perhaps his personality was that of someone who cared deeply for life – whether it was the life of all humans no matter their race or that of innocent animals. Maybe it was that deep, ingrained passion, feminine or not, that made him fight so hard to right the wrongs in our nation. In my mind, we could use another Ulysses S. Grant leading our nation today.

At roughly 2:50pm, my companions and I left Georgetown behind as we headed north towards our final destination of the day – the Courtyard by Marriott in Springfield, Ohio. Throughout the first half of our 85-mile ride, Tom and Vicki enjoyed the second half of the Michigan – Ohio State football game on the radio; and what a game it was. After the Wolverines scored the only points in the third quarter on a 45-yard touchdown pass from J.J. McCarthy to Colston Loveland, they had a 24-20 lead and never looked back. By the time my photographer’s wife had navigated our Jeep onto I-71 just north of Wilmington, Ohio, running back Donovan Edwards had busted loose on touchdown runs of 75 and 85 yards to secure the victory over the team my companions despise the most in college football. I laughed to myself when I saw Vicki rub the yellow block ‘M’ on her blue fleece shirt – the Michigan Wolverines had destroyed the Ohio State Buckeyes 45 to 23. And to top it all off, we were only 50 miles from the ‘Maize and Blue’ celebration in the heart of “enemy territory”!

We arrived in Springfield, Oho and were registered and unpacked in the Courtyard hotel by five o’clock. My companions were hungry and soon after our arrival, they decided to head out on foot to find dinner. As Tom placed me inside the camera case for the grub search, I heard him tell his wife: “We’re right in the center of town. We shouldn’t have any problem finding a place to eat, especially with the CoHatch Market right across the street. It looks like they have all kinds of food options there.”

From an opening in the camera case, I had a great view of the Christmas lights in town; especially at the Esplanade, which was a narrow park sandwiched in the median of South Fountain Avenue directly in front of our hotel. But as soon as we walked into the CoHatch Market, I knew our search for food wasn’t over when my companions discovered none of the nine establishments featured chicken wings or burgers on their menu. While the CoHatch appeared to be a trendy marketplace that offered everything from pizza to sushi, and most venues also featured a full line of craft beers as well, it wasn’t what my picky friends were hungry for.

For the next half hour, the three of us walked blindly up and down several streets in search of a place to eat. By that time, daylight had turned to darkness; but we felt relatively safe because the sidewalks were well lit, and the entire area had a festive holiday vibe. Tom and Vic decided to dine at a place called The Bullpen Sports Bar, which was located across Main Street from the Springfield City Ice Skating Rink that was packed with skaters young and old alike. While my two travel mates relaxed and each enjoyed a cheeseburger and a bottle of Michelob Ultra beer, they overheard a conversation between a man and woman seated at a nearby table. My resin ears nearly fell off my head when the couple said a person was shot outside of the CoHatch Market during the Christmas tree lighting ceremony the previous night. Yes, that’s the same CoHatch Market that we had walked through 30 minutes earlier. So much for feeling safe, especially since we had to walk past that very area to get back to our hotel. To make matters worse, the gunman was never apprehended.

After dinner, the three of us made our way back to the Courtyard, which was only one block away to the south. I was on high alert, looking for suspicious characters through the opening in my camera case. Then out of nowhere, in a blink of an eye, my photographer did something extremely stupid. As the three of us stood and admired the city’s official Christmas tree and the rest of the holiday lights on the Esplanade, a couple of older teenagers walked past us. When Tom noticed the guys were sporting Ohio State Buckeyes clothing, he couldn’t resist asking the big question: “Say, how did your Buckeyes do today?” When they grumbled it was a horrible game, my photographer instantly shot back: “No it wasn’t – it was a great game. We’re from Michigan – Go Blue!” I couldn’t believe it. We were within eyesight of the location where the shooting had occurred less than 24 hours earlier and Tom decided to run his mouth. Only one thought ran through my resin mind: “If they pull a gun and start shooting, I hope they hit him and not me!” Thankfully, the youngsters only made a crude comment under their breath and walked away.

Safe and sound in the lobby of the Courtyard, Tom asked the desk clerk a few questions about the shooting. The woman said she heard the previous night’s gunfire from the hotel lobby, and it startled her. The only thing she knew was the victim was okay, and the alleged suspect was still on the run. In my mind, I hoped the gunman didn’t like antiques; mainly due to the fact we were scheduled to spend a few hours at the Ohio Valley Antique Center the following morning.

My photographer placed me alongside the television set in our room where the two of us watched several episodes of ‘Seinfeld’. After an exhausting day of visiting Taft and Grant sites, Tom extinguished the lights at roughly 8:30pm. While he began snoring shortly after the room went dark, I had a difficult time relaxing – and it was all because of the gun violence in our country. During our trip to Minnesota in August, shots rang out inside the Mall of America only 24 hours after we were there. Three months later, gunfire erupted again – less than 24 hours before we arrived at our Springfield, Ohio hotel, located across the street from the crime scene. We’ve been lucky – a day earlier or a day later in those instances and we could’ve been caught in the middle of the mayhem.

During my nine years of travel, I’ve stood at the sites where Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley, Theodore Roosevelt, Kennedy, and Reagan were all shot. In the darkness of our room, just two days after Thanksgiving 2022, I was very thankful that Tom and me, or any of the people we travel with, have yet to face the cold steel barrel of a firearm or look into the eyes of a crazed gunman. There is no easy solution to solving the gun violence epidemic in America; at least not until our outdated Constitution is reexamined and the penalty for committing a crime with a firearm puts the fear of God into the soul of the perpetrator. But one thing is for sure, I feel like vomiting whenever I hear members of our Congress and Senate say they are sending their “thoughts and prayers to the victims’ families” – that isn’t doing a damn thing. I have a new slogan: ‘Guns don’t kill people. Ball-less politicians do!”