343: I’M GOING HOME – TO SAY GOODBYE, TO FIFTY-EIGHT, WHO FELL FROM THE SKY

It was the moment of truth when Tom’s alarm rang at 6:00am on Thursday July 24, 2025 in our hotel room in Dixon, Illinois. My photographer had tweaked his knee the previous evening at Lowell Park, but he figured the Advil tablets he swallowed before bed would alleviate any issues by morning. And I hoped the pills worked as well. There was a great museum that was slated to be our first stop of the day; and it was only one hour away.

For a few years now, Tom has wanted to take me to a place called Historic Attractions, which is located in Roscoe, Illinois. That huge museum plays host to a treasure trove of Presidential artifacts, including the Hall of Presidents and a room centered on the JFK assassination. Historic Attractions also features a countless number of other displays that were sure to pique our interest – some of which were iconic movie automobiles such as the Batmobile from the 1960s, a DeLorean from Back to the Future, and the Ghostbusters‘ Ecto-1 car. But since my photographer figured the place was extremely huge and would take a few hours to explore, the last thing he needed was a “broken wheel” to hinder our experience.

Several minutes after Tom showered, dressed, and then packed up his belongings, I watched as he loaded the luggage cart. With each step my photographer took, I saw a slight hitch in his giddy up – that was when I first had the inkling our trip to the museum was in serious jeopardy. Just as I was about to say, “I’ll take pain tolerance for a thousand, Alex”, my camera guy told his wife he’s reached a tough decision. Tom said he didn’t want to go all the way to Roscoe, pay the fifty-six-dollar entrance fee for the three of us, and then have to cut the visit short due to his strained knee. He also told Vicki he wanted to enjoy the museum, and didn’t that would happen with the way his knee felt. With that decision, which I knew was horribly tough for Tom to make, we began the journey back to Michigan.

As the three of us boarded the Jeep, Vicki said something that nearly made my resin jaw fall to the floor. At first, I thought she felt sorry for her husband and was throwing him a Presidential bone. But it turned out my photographer’s wife had an ulterior motive for her passionate offering.

Vicki said, “Instead of driving straight home, why don’t we go to Grand Rapids and visit Gerald Ford’s grave again. We can also visit that other Ford paint factory site you missed last time and have been wanting to see. We can spend the night in G.R. and head home in the morning.”

I knew my photographer was stunned – his wife has never voluntarily offered to visit a Presidential gravesite, especially one we’ve already seen before. Then, just as a smile appeared on Tom’s face, Vicki added the other piece to the puzzle – the method behind her madness, so to speak. “Oh, and while we’re in that area, I’d like to stop at The Found Cottage in Hudsonville to do some shopping. It’s right on our way to Grand Rapids.”

I laughed to myself when I heard their negotiation unfold. But in my mind, it was a good trade off – a few Presidential sites for a quick stop at a glorified Hobby Lobby, as long as Tom and I didn’t have to go inside.

Traffic was normal and the weather was ideal during our drive across Illinois and into the Hoosier State, although the semi-truck congestion grew worse as we passed what Tom has called “The Butt Hole of America” – Gary, Indiana.

Then at 10:51am CDT, a large blue sign came into view – ‘Welcome to Pure Michigan’. We were home. Not “home, home”, that was still 280 miles away; but for the first time in twenty days, we were traveling on Michigan soil.

Roughly fifteen minutes after we arrived in the Great Lakes State, a new idea popped into my photographer’s head. Tom’s newfound scheme originated from a recent episode of Expedition Unknown he saw on the Discovery Channel before we left home; an episode titled ‘Searching for America’s Lost Flight’.

In that episode, the show’s host, Josh Gates, came to South Haven, Michigan to help search for the wreckage of Northwest Orient Airlines Flight 2501, a Douglas DC-4 plane that originated from LaGuardia Airport in New York City and was headed for Minneapolis-St. Paul, Minnesota when its flight crew encountered a huge storm. At around midnight on the night of June 23, 1950, communications from the airliner suddenly ceased and the plane disappeared into Lake Michigan.

Not only was it the deadliest commercial airliner accident in America up to that time, killing all 55 passengers and three crew members on board, but it also might be the only commercial airliner to crash inside the United States where the wreckage was never located. The only items recovered by the Coast Guard after the plane went missing were found floating on the surface of Lake Michigan – which included light debris, upholstery from the plane, and human body fragments.

In the weeks following the incident, other debris and body parts washed ashore between Benton Harbor and South Haven as well, but the fuselage of Flight 2501 has eluded searchers for the past 75 years. Some of the unidentified body fragments were interred in a mass grave in St. Joseph, Michigan’s Riverview Cemetery, while other remains that were washed ashore further North were buried in Lakeview Cemetery in South Haven.

While my photographer didn’t plan on donning scuba gear to search for the lost plane on the bottom of Lake Michigan, he did, however, want to search for the mass gravesite and the memorial to the 58 victims of Flight 2501 in South Haven.

Following what seemed to be an endless drive Northward along the Eastern shore of Lake Michigan, we finally made it to the town of South Haven at roughly one o’clock in the afternoon. When Vicki pulled our Jeep into the 36-acre burial ground, Tom used a map and photo of the memorial he found on the ‘Find a Grave’ app to assist in his search. But after fifteen minutes of searching proved futile, my companions resorted to the good old-fashioned way of finding a certain location – they axed a guy on a lawn mower for directions. Luckily for the three of us, the friendly groundskeeper knew where the marker was located and pointed us in the right direction.

After Vicki parked along one of the roadways roughly thirty yards from the memorial, she waited in the Jeep for Tom to do his thing. With me in hand, and his camera slung around his shoulders, my photographer made the painful uphill hike to the Flight 2501 mass gravesite.

I’ve stood on a countless number of tombstones, grave markers, and sarcophagi over the years where I paid my personal tribute to the person buried or entombed there. Each and every time, with the exception of a couple of Presidential assassins, I became mentally and physically captivated during my visit by the person’s legacy and was absorbed in their life’s accomplishments. In fact, there have been many times when it seemed as though I had felt the deceased person’s presence as well.

But on that Thursday afternoon in that South Haven cemetery, a feeling of unrest and sadness filled my resin body when I stood on the large granite monument dedicated to the victims of Flight 2501. Fifty-eight souls went down in that doomed aircraft – 27 women, 22 men, six kids, and the crew of three – and only unidentified fragments of some of the victims were ever found.

The saddest part for me was knowing the mass grave in Lakeview Cemetery was left unmarked for 65 years. The victim’s families were never notified that remains were found and buried in two separate cemeteries. Complete bodies or not, those people deserved much better than to be thrown into a hole and forgotten. It wasn’t until 2015 when a cemetery sexton discovered an old entry in the register that read, “Northwest Airlines Crash Victims” and a permanent memorial was erected on the site.

And now, with the help of Josh Gates, along with researcher Valerie Van Heest who made it her life’s mission to locate the wreckage, the passengers and crew of Northwest Orient Flight 2501 will never be forgotten.

For twenty years, researcher Valerie Van Heest and her organization MSRA (Michigan Shipwreck Research Association) searched in vain for the ill-fated Northwest Orient Airlines Flight 2501. When the search officially ended in June 2025, Van Heese believed the aircraft and its precious cargo disintegrated into fragments when it struck the lake and disappeared in the 150-foot-deep waters. Over the years, the wreckage was likely swallowed by the 30 to 40 feet of mud and silt that covers the bottom of Lake Michigan where the plane was believed to have crashed.

When my photographer reached down to snatch me from the memorial, I noticed something extremely ironic – Tom was wearing a black shirt with Buddy Holly’s name embroidered on the front. On February 3, 1959, which was a little less than nine years after the Northwest airplane disaster, Holly, Ritchie Valens, J.P. ‘The Big Bopper’ Richardson, and pilot Roger Peterson were killed when the four-seat Beechcraft Bonanza plane they were flying in crashed in a frozen cornfield outside of Clear Lake, Iowa.

The Day the Music Died made front page news around the nation in 1959 when three of America’s biggest recording stars lost their lives. Nine years earlier, when 58 innocent people, including six kids, perished into the depths of Lake Michigan after their passenger plane succumbed to the wrath of a huge storm and crashed, that deadly disaster made headlines around the country as well.

But for some reason, that event seemed different – almost as if it was okay for the Coast Guard to abandon their search efforts after only thirteen hours. There were no Rock and Roll stars on board the plane. There were no songs written and recorded about the victims or the crash itself. There were no movies made about what happened on that fateful night. In fact, had it not been for Josh Gates’ show Expedition Unknown, Tom and I would have never known about one of America’s deadliest air disasters in history.

As my photographer carried me down the hill and back towards the Jeep, a tune popped into my resin head – a tune that reminded me of the past.

“February made me shiver, with every paper I’d deliver; bad news on the doorstep, I couldn’t take one more step. I can’t remember if I cried, when I read about their final ride, but something touched me deep inside, the night the children died. So, bye bye, to the hallowed ground; we went to the grave and looked all around; Josh Gates made the place completely renowned, singing, “Why did those passengers have to die? Oh, why did those fifty-eight people die?”

My photographer and I returned to the Jeep where Vicki was busy looking at Instagram posts on her phone. While it was a privilege for me to stand in the footsteps of Josh Gates and honor the fifty-eight souls lost in the Flight 2501 plane crash, I realized our Expedition Unknown episode had finished. We didn’t find the wreckage, but we did find the memorial dedicated to the victims.

By two o’clock on that warm Thursday afternoon, the three of us were headed on another expedition, and that one was completely known. The brutal truth of the matter was – our Expedition Known adventure that had just begun didn’t change the fact that Tom and I were not thrilled whatsoever to be part of the show’s script. There are times, however, when the two of us are forced to throw my photographer’s wife a bone – and that time had come. While I’ve heard my photographer call it the ‘doggie style’ of travel, he’s the one who usually sits up and begs to visit a Presidential site, while his wife rolls over and plays dead.

Forty minutes after we left Lakeview Cemetery in South Haven, we arrived in the parking lot of a place called The Found Cottage, which was located in Hudsonville, Michigan. Tom and I decided to “pull a Vicki”; we stayed in the air-conditioned comforts of the Jeep while my photographer’s wife did her thing inside the “girly” store. Over the years, I heard stories Tom told about his past adventures inside The Found Cottage; and quite frankly, the place sounded nightmarish to me. Women were everywhere; young, old, large, and small – and each of whom were in search of Chinese made knick-knacks and home goods they couldn’t live without and could likely buy cheaper at Hobby Lobby.

Unlike the countless number of antique stores we had visited on our trip, Vicki didn’t leave The Found Cottage empty handed. When she returned to the Jeep where Tom and I waited, my photographer’s wife said she found two items that caught her eye. One was a coffee table book, even though neither of my two companions drink coffee, and the other was a two-inch long copper-colored praying mantis, which looked like it came out of a box of Cracker Jack.

When we hit the road for the twelve-mile drive to Michigan’s second-most populous city, I was anxious for the opportunity to visit the gravesite of President Gerald Ford for the fifth time in my traveling career. As a matter of fact, my last visit came exactly one year and three days earlier, and it happened to be the day when President Joe Biden dropped out of the 2024 Presidential election.

At 3:15pm, Vicki drove the Jeep into the parking lot of the Gerald R. Ford Presidential Museum in Grand Rapids. Before the three of us headed out on foot for the lengthy hike to the gravesite of Jerry and Betty Ford, Tom made a telephone call to his good friend Scott Salamasick. Scott, who my photographer has known since 1975, lives with his wife Lori near the small community of Nunica, Michigan – population of roughly 350 people. After a brief discussion with his friend, Tom said the three of us were invited to Scott and Lori’s home after we had finished with the Gerald Ford sites in Grand Rapids.

Usually, the low-key and solemn two-tenths of a mile walk to the President’s grave is uneventful, even though I always envision I’m following behind the military pallbearers as they carried President Ford’s flag-draped coffin to the burial site. But on that Thursday afternoon, something out of the ordinary immediately caught my eye. The majestic fountain and reflecting pool that had graced the area in front of the Presidential Museum since it opened on September 18, 1981 was gone. In the fountain’s footprint was freshly laid sod; I saw green grass, and lots of it.

My initial reaction when I noticed the missing fountain was one of disappointment, although the large reservoir had fallen into a state of disrepair and hadn’t held water since the Fall of 2019. As it turned out, an engineering study estimated that restoring the fountain would cost between $4 million and $7 million, and that steep price tag didn’t include the maintenance required for constant upkeep. The fountain was removed and replaced with the grassy landscaping in April 2025 – which was only three months before our arrival.

Since the grass always seems to be greener on the other side, the three of us continued our walk to the uniquely designed burial site of Gerald and Betty Ford, where the grass near the site looked as though it was in need of some TLC. While the grass appeared unkempt in certain areas around the burial site, the granite crypt and surrounding walkway were exactly what the doctor had ordered – shadowless. And that was a rare occurrence for me as there had been a Sun and shadow issue at Ford’s gravesite during each of my four other past visits.

Tom placed me directly in front of the crypt area where President Gerald Ford was interred on January 3, 2007, which was a little over one week after Ford passed away on the day after Christmas 2006. As I stood in silent remembrance of our 38th President, another President suddenly popped into my mind – one who stood on that very spot during his visit to Grand Rapids on April 23, 2007. Less than four months after Ford’s death, President George W. Bush made a trip to the Gerald R. Ford Presidential Museum where the 43rd President paid his respects to his fellow Republican predecessor.

While Tom was busy taking photos of me in various spots around the burial site, Vicki sat on one of the benches where she proceeded to book a hotel in Grand Rapids for our final night’s stay of the trip. My companions could’ve saved some cash by making the three-hour drive home that evening, but we still had one site left to see; plus, Tom and Vicki didn’t want to rush their time with the Salamasicks.

Finished at the burial site, my photographer carried me along the lengthy walkway, past the AFKAF (Area Formerly Known as the Fountain), and into the museum. While Tom had no intention of taking a tour of the museum, mainly because the two of us had done that a year earlier, he did make a stop at the gift shop where he purchased three Presidential bobble heads made by Royal Bobbles. He bought an Abraham Lincoln bobble head for his granddaughter Reese, because the ten-year-old simply adores and admires our 16th President. And since the museum also had the two latest released bobble heads in stock, which were Grover Cleveland and Martin Van Buren, Tom added those two Presidents to his impressive collection.

With Abe, Grover, Martin, and me in hand, Tom and his wife boarded the Jeep and we began the short 1.7-mile drive to the final historic site of the trip – the Ford Paint and Varnish Company once owned by Gerald Ford, Sr. In 2024, my photographer and I visited the former Ford paint company where I posed near the front of the building. But it turned out there was a second building associated with the elder Ford’s business; a building that was on the opposite end of the block.

As soon as Vicki parked along the curb near the corner of Elizabeth Avenue and Crosby Street in the Northwestern section of Grand Rapids, I recognized the property immediately. In the distance, I saw the former Ford paint building where I posed the previous year – which was at the end of the block along Elizabeth Avenue. Today, a business known as B&E Seal Coat Products, Inc. occupies the site.

Tom carried me to an area along Crosby Street where I got my first good look at the other building that was once part of the Ford Paint and Varnish Company. When my photographer compared the site with a photo of the Ford building from the past, there was no doubt in my mind it was the same place – even though the building had been obviously renovated over the past 55 years since the elder Ford owned it. Today, the building is home to ABLE Manufacturing; but from October 1929 until 1970, it was the place where the 16-year-old future President toiled alongside his brothers when they worked for their dad.

While I posed for several images in front of the historic building, I envisioned young Jerry as he pushed heavy tubs of paint over the rough floor. I also thought about what the President’s brother once said when he watched Jerry as he mixed ingredients for production. Younger brother Tom said Gerald had a reputation of being the sloppiest guy in the shop – which was surprising for a man who became an incredible athlete for the University of Michigan, and a Lieutenant Commander in the U.S. Navy, and served in the U.S. House of Representatives for 25 years until he finished out his political career as our 38th President. The only sloppiness in my mind was the way Chevy Chase portrayed the President on Saturday Night Live, which was a very inaccurate portrayal.

It was a sad moment when Tom carried me back to the Jeep because I knew the former Ford Paint and Varnish Company building was the last site on our three-week-long road trip. I was relieved, however, because we had escaped that section of Grand Rapids without any issues. Although G.R. is one of the most popular and fastest growing cities in Michigan, it is also one of the more dangerous cities in our state as well – in fact, it ranks well above the national average for violent crimes. And what is the root cause for a majority of those crimes? You shouldn’t have to axe for the answer!

At roughly 4:25pm, we were once again on the road and headed West – but this time it was for only 23 miles instead of all the way across the country. A half hour later, we arrived at the home of collector, accumulator, arbiter, entrepreneur, and one of the most laid-back and happiest guys I’ve ever met – Scott Salamasick. There was no doubt we had the right place when Vicki drove our Jeep into the driveway because I saw our friend’s antique firetruck parked in the field next to Scott and Lori’s massive wooden barn, which is always stuffed to the rafters with hoarded goods.

Once inside the beautiful old farmhouse, my companions sat with their friends at the dining room table where they reminisced about the past or laughed when Scott recited an old joke. While I stood patiently inside Tom’s camera case, I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself when I compared Scott to Mike Wolfe from the American Pickers show. Not only has Scott Salamasick been ‘picking’ for as long or longer than Wolfe, but I thought our friend should start his own podcast called Nunica Picker. In that show, Scott could tell stories, show-off his finds, talk about the area’s rich history, and sprinkle in some of the ‘twisted’ humor he’s known for. And the cherry on top? Scott’s beautiful wife Lori could play the role of Danielle Colby.

Forty-five minutes after we arrived, it was time for dinner; and my companions let the Nunica Picker pick the place to eat. Without hesitation, Scott chose a local dining place known as Turk’s Tavern, which was established in 1933 and is one of the oldest eateries in Ottawa County. According to Lori, Turk’s has served homemade, delicious food to its customers every day since it opened and is always packed – even though the restaurant is “out in the middle of nowhere”.

We followed the Salamasicks in our Jeep as the five of us made the short two-mile drive to Turk’s. Immediately upon arrival, I saw that Lori was right on both counts – there was a line of people waiting to be seated; and the place was truly in the middle of nowhere.

Roughly a half hour or so after Scott had put our names on the wait list, our small group of five hungry pickers, travelers, and a bobble head were led to an empty table near the back of the packed restaurant.

When the food arrived, Tom and Vicki enjoyed their fish and chips, while Scott and Lori dined on burritos – a specialty at Turk’s and a favorite of the Salamasicks. Once my friends had finished their dinner, the five of us went outside where we posed for a group photo. For me, and I know my travel companions felt the same, it was great to meet up with Scott and Lori again to tell stories and share some laughs.

At 7:40pm, the three of us said our goodbyes to the Nunica Picker and his wife and we headed to our hotel situated on the Eastside of Grand Rapids. It seemed to take an eternity for Vicki to complete the 34-mile journey around the Northside of the city, but at roughly 8:20pm, we arrived at the Econo Lodge and Suites. Once my companions were registered and had our stuff transported to the room, it became instantly obvious to me that we weren’t staying at the Ritz, although there may have been some Ritz Cracker crumbs on the carpet.

After I was placed alongside the television set for the final time on the trip, my photographer and I watched Little League softball for the next two hours. When Tom finally wound down from a long day of travel, he extinguished the lights at 10:15pm, which left me alone in the darkness with my thoughts.

We were on the final leg of the longest and one of the best trips the three of us had ever taken together; and we did it without much controversy, turmoil, or potential peril. Tom’s well-crafted agenda took us close to some of the highest and most spectacular mountains in America and to the Utah salt flats where my companions drove one hundred miles per hour without the threat of getting a ticket. We met some great people, heard some strange noises, searched for the elusive Squatch and Oregon beaver, and walked on the Moon. And the best part of all – at least for the three of us? We got to take our friend, Earl McCartney, along for the ride.

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Day twenty-one, the last day of our long journey, began at 8:40am without the sound of Tom’s alarm. For the first time in three weeks, my photographer didn’t set his phone to wake us up – and that wasn’t a bad thing. As I watched my companions pack up for the final time, my camera guy decided to play his usual “Last Day” tribute on his phone – and it was without a doubt pure music to my resin ears, even when I changed some of Alice’s lyrics to fit my narrative.

“I’m going home. There I am there in the hotel. I’m safe and I’m snug and waiting – so glad to be there. I’m going home. None of this ever happened. But, God, I really did it – still nothing has changed. I’m going home. I’m going home. To my own room, to see my friends, to wait for my next big trip. It feels so good, I don’t care; I’m just glad to be going home. I wonder if anyone missed me, or have I been gone so long, they thought that I died? How many said, ‘I wonder what happened to Thomas?’ How many shrugged or laughed? How many cried? But I don’t give a damn, because I’m going home. I’m going home.”

We left the Econo Lodge and the city of Grand Rapids behind at 10:20am on Friday July 25, 2025 and began the 173-mile trip across the state of Michigan. While the weather was ideal, although a bit overcast with the temperature in the mid-70s, the traffic was even better.

Throughout the nearly three-hour drive, my ears were homed in on the Sirius XM radio where I had hoped to hear ‘Dominique’ on the 60s station, but that never happened. Instead, I heard more than my fair share of Beach Boys songs. I respect the talents of Brian Wilson, Mike Love, and the rest of the band, but I don’t like that surfin’ shit. Rock and Roll has been goin’ downhill ever since Buddy Holly died.

Our primary trip of 2025 came to an end when Vicki pulled the Jeep into our driveway at 1:15pm. Shortly after my two companions unloaded the Jeep one last time, Tom placed me in his display case where I planned to wait patiently for our next adventure. And since we had just travelled a total of 7,021 miles over twenty-one days, it might be a while before my photographer and his wife want to hit the road again.

But then again, Jimmy Carter’s gravesite is only 925 miles away and I have a sneaking suspicion that Tom is in the process of scheming another trip – this time to Plains, Georgia. The moment I get the honor to stand on President Carter’s grave, it will mark the 40th Presidential gravesite I’ve visited since 2013. And during that entire time, I’ve traveled a total distance of 85,551 miles and have visited 47 of the 50 states.

I may not be on the Midnight Train to Georgia in the near future, but there’s a good chance I’ll be on the Daytime Jeep – and I can’t wait to hop on board. Will you please join me?

** It saddens me to announce that just 24 days after we returned home from our trip to the Pacific Northwest, my photographer’s younger brother, Robert Watson, passed away after a short battle with lung cancer. Bob died on August 18, 2025 at the age of 66. This post is dedicated to the memory of Robert Thomas Watson **