The long Michigan winter was finally over and I was anxious to hit the road to see some Presidential sites. But when June of 2015 had arrived and I hadn’t been anywhere yet, I started to wonder if something was wrong with my photographer. Did Grant’s disheveled house in Detroit leave such a sour taste in his mouth that he had given up on Presidential sites?
Then, just as June was winding down, I got the news: Tom was asked to do some safety work in Buffalo, Iowa for a few days – we were back in the game. Although there were no Presidential sites in that small Mississippi River town, there was one in West Branch, Iowa – and that’s where he had planned on taking me next: to the birthplace and gravesite of 31st President Herbert Hoover.
We left Michigan on Monday June 29, 2015 at 4:00am and headed west in our rented Chevy Cruze. The weather was ideal; there wasn’t a cloud in the sky for the entire 525-mile drive. We were under a little time crunch, however, as my photographer was slated to arrive at the Buffalo salt packaging facility sometime between 3:00pm and 4:00pm. The one advantage that we had was we gained an hour due to the time zone change. It took a bit over eight-hours to get to West Branch and by 11:15am I was standing in front of Herbert Hoover’s birthplace on North Downey Street. The two-room cottage, built in the spring of 1871, was where our 31st President was born on August 10, 1874 to Jesse and Hulda Hoover.
In the middle of our photoshoot, a gentleman who was sporting a ‘Hoover Presidential Library’ badge stopped and asked my photographer: “What are you doing with that bobble head?” After the guy heard a few stories about my adventures, he mentioned that the Director of the Hoover Presidential Library, Thomas Schwartz , would love to meet the two of us. He said that Schwartz was a huge bobble head collector, and he would enjoy hearing the stories as well.
After Tom finished spinning tales of my travels, which lasted for about ten minutes, I was carried inside Hoover’s birthplace. The first of the two rooms that we went into was the living room; which also served as the dining room and kitchen. While there were some furnishings inside the living room, there was no doubt that they were all period pieces. The main room that I wanted to see was the bedroom; after all, that’s where the future President was born. Inside the bedroom was a bed, with a trundle bed located below it. That made sense as a trundle bed was designed to save space in a small room. Alongside the beds was a small cradle; likely put in place to represent where Hoover slept as an infant.
Our entire tour of the two-room cottage took less than ten minutes – there was simply not a lot to see and surprisingly we were the only ones there. It was cool standing in the room where the President was born; but most people have larger garages or tool sheds at their homes. Hoover was proud of his humble birthplace. After his Presidency, he visited the site and called it “physical proof of the unbounded opportunity of American life.” Herbert Hoover was the first President born west of the Mississippi River.
From the birthplace, I was carried along Downey Street where we saw other buildings that represented life in the late 1800s. Near the home we saw a blacksmith shop, a schoolhouse, and a church – each had ties to the President. With our clock ticking, however, my photographer did not take me into any of those buildings. As we strolled around Hoover’s neighborhood for a few minutes, it reminded me of Abraham Lincoln’s neighborhood in Springfield, Illinois where the street was isolated to pedestrian traffic and was lined with historic buildings of the era.
Located one block south of Hoover’s birthplace, we discovered another place of interest – the boyhood home site of our 31st President. In March of 1879, when little “Bertie” was three, his father bought a larger house at auction for $140. By May of that year, the Hoover family moved into their new digs they called “The House of Maples” because the property was lined with maple trees. Although it was at that larger home that Herbert had most of his childhood memories, all of those recollections were not good. Both of his parents died in The House of Maples; Herbert’s father died when the child was six and his mother passed away when he was nine.
Finished at the boyhood home site, we decided to visit the Hoover’s graves before we headed to the Presidential Museum. The burial site was located on a quiet, grassy knoll roughly 300 yards directly behind the President’s birth cottage. It was hot and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky; which meant we opted to drive out to the burial site instead of taking a hike. That decision saved a ton of time as my robust photographer doesn’t hike very fast.
Upon our arrival at the gravesite, it was easy to see why Hoover himself had selected that tranquil area years before his death. Herbert Hoover died at the age of 90 on October 20, 1964 in New York City from internal bleeding that stemmed from having a cancerous tumor removed in 1962. Five days after his death, Hoover was buried on that quiet hillside behind his birth cottage.
Although the twin slabs of Vermont white marble seemed modest, which fit perfectly in keeping with the Quaker’s ideal of simplicity, they were the perfect contrast to the dark green bushes and trees that filled the backdrop of the site. I was placed on top of the President’s marker and I could immediately feel the heat from the sun’s rays that had been scorching the marble surface. It was so hot, as a matter of fact, that I began to worry that my resin legs or base would be damaged.
From my perch atop Hoover’s grave marker I could see the tiny birth cottage off in the distance. It looked so small from where I stood; but that’s what made the site so memorable. Both ends of the spectrum of Hoover’s life were in one area and could be seen together. The only other Presidents buried within eyesight of their birthplace are Franklin D. Roosevelt and Richard Nixon.
I posed for a small number of photos on and near Hoover’s grave. At one point, I was startled when a hummingbird flew very close to the top of my head as it searched out nectar from nearby flowers. When the heat of the marble became unbearable, it was time to head for the cooler confines of the Presidential Library and Museum, which was located a short distance from the birth house.
Once inside the Herbert Hoover Presidential Library, my photographer was on a mission. His goal was to snap pictures of me standing on or alongside authentic artifacts that Hoover had used or worn during his lifetime; and especially artifacts that were associated with his Presidency.
The first interesting artifact that we discovered was an old telephone that was situated behind a glass case. It turned out that the phone was the first telephone used by a President in the Oval Office and it was installed on March 29, 1929. The phone number was 1414 Ex. 30.
In another area of the museum, I visited a replica Suite 31-A that was identical to the one where Hoover had lived at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in New York City. In that room, I saw some furnishings that belonged to the President – including a desk, some chairs, and Hoover’s television set.
After we had walked through the museum, my photographer carried me back to the front where he asked to see Thomas Schwartz. A young man at the information desk mentioned that Schwartz had been waiting for us; he guided us down a hallway and into the bowels of the museum. Our young guide led us into an office where we were introduced to the Director of the Herbert Hoover Presidential Library, Mr. Thomas Schwartz PhD.
The Director was extremely friendly, and Tom asked about my travels. My photographer told him some of the more interesting sites we had been to, including the “ghost encounter” at Garfield’s tomb. After a few minutes of chit chat, Schwartz wanted to have me pose next to his favorite bobble head – Herbert Hoover. I was placed alongside Hoover, who was situated on a cabinet shelf, for a few photos; which marked the first time that I was photographed next to another bobble head. I’m not one who likes to brag, but I thought I looked a lot better than Hoover.
It was at that moment, as “Bertie” and I were nodding in excitement, that I saw a look of shock on my cameraman’s face. “Oh my God, his legs are broken!” Sure enough; my left shin was cracked and there was a fairly large piece of my calf missing – so much so, in fact, that my stainless-steel skeleton was exposed. My right shin was severely cracked as well, but thankfully there were no pieces missing. Although my legs looked terrible, I wasn’t in any pain. I had known that I tilted to the right a bit, but I simply thought it was due to the uneven surfaces that I had been placed on. I had no idea that I had two broken legs.
My concerned photographer thanked Mr. Schwartz for his time and we headed outside for our 50-mile drive to Buffalo. But before Tom got into the Cruze, he set me on the front seat and called his wife Vicki.
“Hi honey, I’m okay, but I have a quick question,” he said to his wife. “You didn’t happen to knock the bobble head off the shelf at home and break it, did you?” She quickly replied with a “No, why?” My photographer said, “Well, I am at the Hoover birthplace, and I just noticed that Jefferson’s legs are cracked and broken in spots. It looks as though he was dropped.” Vicki finished the conversation by stating: “I promise – if I had accidentally broken it, I would have told you.” That was the end of the conversation about my legs.
Since I had travelled from Michigan in my protective and padded camera case, it was highly unlikely that I was damaged while riding in the car to Iowa. All I knew is that I never felt anything out of the ordinary; but then again, I’m not sure what kind of nerve endings a resin-made bobble head has. It had to have been the extremely hot grave markers that I had stood on.
Confused as he searched for answers, my cameraman looked at the first images that he had taken of me upon our arrival at the birthplace and he discovered that my legs were broken then – he just hadn’t noticed. The photographic evidence ruled-out that I was damaged by standing on the super-heated marble grave stones. Once again, my injuries were a mystery.
It took 45 minutes to make the 50-mile drive to the Cargill salt packaging plant in Buffalo, Iowa. Once there, I was left alone in the back of the Cruze, and I stayed there in solitary confinement for two hours. Although it was hot in my camera case, there was no chance of someone stealing me from the back section of that locked hatchback.
Around 5:00pm, we made the 10-mile journey into Davenport and found the Radisson Hotel; which was where I spent the next three nights. I was placed on a very nice desk next to our sixth-floor window that afforded me a great view of the Mississippi River. No cockroaches. Great view. Life was good for this broken-legged bobble head.
On Friday July 3, 2015 we began the 483-mile non-stop journey back to Michigan. Although the entire ride was uneventful, I kept thinking that we would be retracing that exact route in 16 days. At least the two-week layover would give my photographer time to patch me up; or would it?
There was no doubt that I faced certain surgery, but no one knew what kind of material to repair me with. It wasn’t like there was a bobble head hospital down the street where I could hobble in for resin graphs or a leg transplant. We were about to embark on the Summer Dance Party Tour and I had two broken legs; I just hoped the old car didn’t crash.
