ROUTE

August/September 2024

Kick Back on Route 66

Whether it’s classic cars, old-fashioned burgers or a museum that brings history to life, you can relive the glory days of Route 66 in its birthplace. Get extra “kicks” at the Birthplace of Route 66 Festival, August 8-10, 2024. We love our city and know the best places to eat, drink and play.

SEE YOU IN SPRINGFIELD, MISSOURI

SCAN NOW

Discover Oklahoma City’s vibrant districts with colorful murals and retro neon that make Route 66 fun by day or night. Our world-class museums and only-in-OKC experiences will ignite memories for a lifetime. Start your journey at VisitOKC.com.

39thStreetDistrict

Uptown23rdDistrict

A MUST-STOP ON ROUTE 66!

11Min+

WHERE CULTURE + ART...

Explore the vast cultures and cuisines of East Tulsa. Peppered in between vintage motels and graffiti murals are 10+ vintage shops filled with eclectic treasures. Local Rec – Stop by Fire Station 66 where the “Keepers of the Mother Road” have on display a vintage fire truck they’ve restored!

Don’t Miss the Capital of Route 66 ®

WHERE EAST MEETS WEST

MEET THE ROAD!

West on 66, pull over for classic Oklahoma cuisine, art studios and galleries, Route 66 landmarks, and public art celebrating Oklahoma and indigenous histories. Local Rec – If you’re looking to get hitched on 66, pop in to Route 66 Weddings and say I do!

Willowbrook

Chicago

Romeoville

Joliet

Wilmington

Braidwood

Dwight

Pontiac

Discover a new Post Card Mural Trail, a giant pink elephant, the world’s tallest catsup bottle water tower, giant monuments and more along the Last 100 Miles of Route 66 in Illinois. Legends live on this legendary highway. Learn more at riversandroutes.com

Ariston Café Litchfield, IL

Twistee Treat Diner Livingston, IL

Wildey Theatre Edwardsville, IL

Chain of Rocks Bridge Granite City, IL

The Belvidere Mansion

Claremore Museum of History

J.M. Davis Gun Museum

24 Only in America

By Aaron Garza

America is nothing if not quirky. Need a good example? Look no further than to Mitchell, South Dakota, and an odd destination known, unsurprisingly, as The World’s Only Corn Palace. This building was created to honor and promote the agricultural prosperity of South Dakota, and the massive, rough walls that have preserved the Corn Palace for decades have stood since 1892. The folk-art exhibits and murals are part of the palace’s redecoration with naturally colored corn and grains. This is one iconic piece of architecture that can truly only exist in America.

30 Place of Grace

By Cheryl Eichar Jett

While Route 66 has attractions and advertisements that can be seen from far and wide, on the dusty plains of Groom, Texas, stands a white, free-standing, 19-story cross that can be seen from 20 miles away. This beacon of hope is located just off Route 66 and reminds us of the importance of the Christian faith and the preservation of its force in Carson County. Over time, the attraction has grown and diversified, but its simple, beautiful message of faith and hope has changed very little.

42 A Conversation with Huey Lewis

By Brennen Matthews

Arguably one of the most iconic musicians of the 1980s, Huey Lewis is still a powerhouse in the lives and hearts of millions. From his first band, Clover, to the multi-platinum selling album Sports, and his pivotal part in the mega hit single, “We Are

the World,” Huey Lewis has awed audiences with his original singer/songwriting talent and his ability to write some of the most catchy tunes of the Decade of Excess. In this conversation, he retells the whirlwind of discovering his talents, passion for music, what he is doing nowadays, and so much more.

62 Among the Redwoods

Tucked amongst the towering, ancient redwood forests of northern California, is the quaint, enchanting resort of the Benbow Historic Inn. This luxurious, Swiss-like venue, located near the Avenue of Giants, contains décor from the 1920s, offers hiking trails, and boating in the Eel River. It also creates an unexpected vibe that easily transports visitors back to a more elegant time in a very surreal place. But the cherished inn was almost not to be. Numerous times. Its journey is one that is as Old-World American as the hotel itself.

ON THE COVER

Cadillac Ranch, Amarillo, TX. Photograph by Katy Pair.

Dog Bark Park, Route 95, Cottonwood, Idaho. Photograph by John Margolies.

America, the Land of the Free, is incredible for so many reasons, but one of the most notable is the country’s sheer number of quirky roadside attractions. There are decades of funky, downright bizarre stops along America’s highways that still scream out to passing motorists, urging them to slow down and take a break while they discover the country.

This tradition of roadside attractions began in the early 20th Century, fueled by the rise of the automobile and the burgeoning culture of road trips. Entrepreneurs and towns across the nation seized the opportunity to create unconventional and often whimsical stops that provided both entertainment and a much-needed respite from the journey. These attractions often reflected the local culture, history, and pure imagination of their creators.

From iconic Route 66, peppered with vintage motels and neon signs, to hidden gems like the World’s Largest Ball of Twine in Kansas, these landmarks are more than mere pit stops; they are destinations that capture the essence of American ingenuity and nostalgia.

In this annual issue, we celebrate vintage Americana and bring you a curated selection of unusual stories from across the country that tell a tale of a time when America was not only a simpler place, but more unpredictable and less cookie-cutter. Today, travelers have little appetite for risk when it comes to where they sleep and dine, and how they spend their time and limited resources. But not long ago, the nation was different, and the unexpected was as much a part of a road trip as the journey itself.

I want to tell you a little bit about my first time down Route 66 — 13 trips ago!

That year we were Mother Road virgins. America was wide open to us, and our curiosity was unquenchable. Waiting to hit the open road was agonizing, but then one day it was time to load the luggage and point the vehicle west. We were off.

The first major stop that we actually sought out was the human-like Gemini Giant in tranquil Wilmington, Illinois. If you read my book, Miles to Go, the story details our experience and the impact that standing in front of Gemini and the then-defunct The Launching Pad had on us. It would set the stage and the standard for the entire trip that year. He seemed to be mournful, reminiscent of a much busier, brighter past. But there was a glint in his eyes that also encouraged us and led us to believe that modern day Route 66 may just have some sparkle yet.

Then as we motored on, we came face-to-face with old, refurbished gas stations in towns like Odell and Dwight, and experienced what seasoned road travelers know as “greasy spoons.” It was all a bit overwhelming. But that was the joy of being on the move. The thing that we were not expecting was the people. Every place that we went, welcoming individuals emerged to greet and ask us our story. We were equally excited to hear theirs, and boy did they all have a tale to tell. Now, most of these folks were a little older, so they had lived some life and seen history when it was happening. We sat for hours with each of them, ingesting their stories of the road.

Then we hit Missouri and rose and fell on the Roller Coaster Highway. Turning a forested bend one quiet day — the skies were gray and gloomy and there was electricity in the air — we smacked into Uranus Fudge Factory with its giant rocket, dinosaurs, and everything else that makes it such a fun, perfect example of roadside America. We loved the spirit of the place, but on that first trip, it was rainy, and the thick, damp forest made the mood a bit bleak. Also, there were not many people around, so the huge parking lot was quite empty. The destination felt surreal. Since that first trip all we have ever encountered at Uranus is infectious energy and crowds of very enthusiastic visitors. I am glad that we had it all to ourselves that initial visit. What stands out to me most is how surprised we were to bump into places like Uranus and the Jesse James Museum, and the Dairy King in Commerce, Oklahoma. America is covered in a vibrant history, but it is also blanketed in a living quilt of weird and wonderful roadside stops that fill in where needed. There has been a concerted effort in recent years to preserve this living history but, sadly, a lot is still being lost.

This summer as you are out on the road, slow down, take it all in, and remember how important roadside stops are on the American landscape.

Stay safe and travel well.

Best,

Brennen Matthews Editor

PUBLISHER

Thin Tread Media

EDITOR

Brennen Matthews

DEPUTY EDITOR

Kate Wambui

EDITOR-AT-LARGE

Nick Gerlich

LEAD EDITORIAL

PHOTOGRAPHER

David J. Schwartz

LAYOUT AND DESIGN

Tom Heffron

DIGITAL

Matheus Alves

ILLUSTRATOR

Jennifer Mallon

EDITORIAL INTERN

Chloe Cassidy

CONTRIBUTORS AND PHOTOGRAPHERS

Aaron Garza

Billy Brewer

Carol M. Highsmith

Cheryl Eichar Jett

Deanne Fitzmaurice

Efren Lopez/Route66Images

JD Mahoney

John Margolies

Joseph L. Roberts

Katy Pair

Michelle Chaplow

Mitchell Corn Palace

Paul Aphisit

Sarah L. Boyd

Editorial submissions should be sent to brennen@routemagazine.us.

To subscribe or purchase available back issues visit us at www.routemagazine.us.

Advertising inquiries should be sent to advertising@routemagazine.us.

ROUTE is published six times per year by Thin Tread Media. No part of this publication may be copied or reprinted without the written consent of the Publisher. The views expressed by the contributors are not necessarily those of the Publisher, Editor, or service contractors. Every effort has been made to maintain the accuracy of the information presented in this publication. No responsibility is assumed for errors, changes or omissions. The Publisher does not take any responsibility for unsolicited manuscripts or photography.

Route 66 Art Park Original “Ribbon Road” of Route 66

Historic Coleman Theatre Rt 66 Gateway Sign

Steve Owens Heisman Trophy Statue

WW II British Flyers Cemetary

Famous Ku Ku Burger

13 Area Casinos Murals on Route 66

Mickey Mantle’s Hometown Statue

STANDING THE WINDS OF CHANGE

Spotted above the treetops of the railroad stop village of Dwight, Illinois, proudly towers a lone monument. Naturally, once upon a time, this structure — a picturesque windmill — harnessed wind energy to pump water upward from the earth’s dark depths. But there is even more to this story than meets the eye. Overlooking a tranquil, lily pad-speckled pond at an impressive seven stories, with a roadmap of paved pathways and lush forestry spread beneath, the steel-framed Oughton Estate Windmill resonates as a treasured landmark within the hearts of the Illinois Route 66 community.

Residing on 313 acres formerly belonging to John R. Oughton, local Irish chemist and business partner with Leslie Keeley of the renowned Keeley Institute — the first medical facility to treat alcoholism as a curable disease — the windmill was originally part of the Victorian estate’s renovation project started in 1895 by skilled Joliet, Illinois, architect Julian Barnes.

Unlike the usual, more simple designs, this windmill bore style: bright yellow threshold surrounded by a rugged patio, tapering dark slate tile roof supported by white pillars, rectangular windows that added to its lighthouse-like appearance, and a 360-degree observation deck enclosed at about the fifth floor — accessible by a spiraling staircase. Constructed by the U.S. Wind Engine & Pump Company, upon its completion in 1896, the cost totaled $3,424 — about $127,808.14 in today’s currency.

A crucial piece, the windmill — also known as the “pumping tower” — supplied fresh water for the beautiful estate grounds, greenhouse, gardens, and livestock. “[But] as far as drinking it or bathing in it, I doubt that happened,” explained Bill Flott, board member of the Dwight Historical Society. It would take two years after the windmill’s creation for the Keeley Institute to establish a running water system with the village’s first water tower.

much to the villagers’ dismay, the windmill was in bad shape. “Not the whole windmill; just the outside,” continued Flott. “They had the blades up high, and three of them were knocked off. I think that’s probably when some of the slate outside of it was destroyed. The windmill itself was very sound… It’s a steel structure, eight-sided… [the exterior is] wood… [with] slate on the outside of the wood.”

The then-owner, Robert “Bob” Ohlendorf, who had transformed the estate into a restaurant and bakery in 1978, was as keen on preserving the historic windmill as the community.

“We take a lot of pride in our community, and no one wanted to see that structure destroyed. It was adjacent to his property, so it’s a great spot to photograph for wedding pictures. There’s probably nobody in town that hasn’t had their picture taken at the windmill,” remarked Mary Flott, president of the Dwight Historical Society. Though it took three years, a new windmill head was purchased to replace the destroyed blades — shipped straight from Argentina, South America. “He was very community minded. I’m sure that he just wanted to see it up-kept.”

A well-beloved landmark for a steadily growing township, the 110-foot windmill — with its 88-gallon cypress tank and 840-feet deep well, connected to a pipe traveling underground — attracted travelers’ attention for miles around.

Over the years, the property exchanged hands many times, but then, one fateful day in 1975, a storm crashed through the peaceful little village. When the dark clouds cleared,

With the missing slate replaced by shingles, the contraption’s head was attached. Measuring 16 feet across, the windmill head was the largest of its kind built during that period.

By 1996, the windmill was introduced to its new owners, Mike and Bev Hogan. But, as the windmill once again fell into ruin, the Hogans made a monumental decision. On December 31, 2001, they donated the iconic structure to the village’s care — including the pond and, later, park-like walkways winding the red brick carriage house, transformed into a library, and restaurant.

The following year, the community-driven Windmill Preservation Project was created, and restoration began. “There’s a porch that goes around the outside at ground level, and that floor was in disrepair, so it was completely replaced. It looks like the exact same design as the original floor,” concluded Bill Flott.

Displayed on the National Register of Historic Places — alongside the restaurant — in 1980, the Oughton Estate Windmill is testament to a village’s dedication to preserving history. A town symbol, the windmill stands steadfast for first-time travelers and those who have visited many times, to admire for years to come.

Photograph by David J. Schwartz –Pics On Route 66.

AMERICAN GIANTS

GIANTS MUSEUM

By Sarah L. Boyd

Photograph by David J. Schwartz - Pics On Route 66

Used as a mid-century marketing campaign, massive human-like statues started to sprout up across American soil in the 1960s, serving as the first friendly face to greet travelers at businesses along the country’s two-lane highways. But then, they disappeared. For years, they remained tucked away in forgotten niches, fallen from their former glory. But through the dedication of historian and restorationist Joel Baker — and unending support from the charming Route 66 town of Atlanta, Illinois — Muffler Men have finally found a place to present their proud history to the world: the American Giants Museum.

Before the ‘60s, fiberglass structures were not all that common. It was not until entrepreneurial cowboy Bob Prewitt emerged that advertising giants picked up steam. Originally focused on designing horse trailers, with the assistance of sculptor Gladys Brown Edwards, Prewitt created a fiberglass horse mold around the early 1960s to advertise his products. He needed something to get consumer attention. But when people started flocking toward the statue rather than the trailer, he wisely switched to the lucrative business of producing fiberglass animals.

However, one day Prewitt would get a request that changed everything.

Harnessing the durable material of fiberglass, the first of these giants — an axe-wielding, 21-foot-tall, bearded Paul Bunyan lumberjack mold sculpted by Bill Swan — hit the road in 1962 to advertise the Paul Bunyan Cafe located in Flagstaff, Arizona. It was a hit! A year later in 1963, Prewitt sold his business to the International Fiberglass Company, which purchased the molds from Prewitt, carrying on the trend of fiberglass giants with glowing results.

From 1965 to early 1967, giants were shipped across the states in droves, wheeled out for businesses eager to attract visitors to their service stations and quaint roadside restaurants.

Texaco Inc. especially pushed their hardest, requesting 300 fiberglass 25-foot-tall “Big Friend” statues. Black-andwhite video commercials featuring an actor interacting with a car model — advocating for generous, quality car service — emerged, emphasizing the Big Friend service aspect of the brand. Donning a black service jacket, brimmed cap, and jovial grin to tend to travelers’ beloved automobiles, they were the first of what would be later dubbed Muffler Men.

However, by 1974, things took a turn as International Fiberglass stopped production — demolishing the remaining statues.

“They were a big nuisance; it was tough to get them moved around. Wind, weather, and vandalism were taking their toll,” explained Baker, founder and owner of American Giants. “You had these giants blowing over and causing damage… And at the time, there were actually some complaints that these things were eyesores.” As the 1980s dawned upon America, the age of the giants reached a standstill, and their popularity faded away like the crusty flecks of paint adorning their fiberglass shells. But with Baker working alongside Bill Thomas, treasurer for the Atlanta Betterment Fund Organization, the giants would make the ultimate comeback.

In the sweltering summer heat of 2012, Baker and a group of friends drove down to the historic downtown district of Atlanta, Illinois, to film a vintage 19-foot-tall Hot Dog Bunyon

Muffler Man — moved from a retired hot dog stand in Cicero, Illinois, to the Route 66 town in 2003 — for their American Giants channel. Wielding a GoPro camera mounted atop a large pole, for Baker, the statue was one among many insightful videos to come.

But something more was in store for this Muffler Man hobbyist.

Unbeknownst to him and his crew, sheltered within his office space, Thomas peered out his window curiously. Hoping to offer valuable history about the giant, assuming Baker to be a tourist, he stepped outside — a decision that would lead to a more fruitful venture than either would have guessed.

“I went across the street and introduced myself — and that was the beginning of the wonderful relationship that we now have with Joel Baker and American Giants,” said Thomas, friendship forged, fittingly, at the feet of a Muffler Man. “He shared with me his passion for those giant statues… And, in the course of just talking, over the years, he would bring up every once in a while, ‘Oh, you know, I have all this stuff from International Fiberglass: documents, photos, artifacts. I actually own giants and various body parts of giants. What I don’t have is a museum.’ And I said, ‘Joel, one day. One day we’ll give you a museum.’”

Through a partnership with the city, in 2022, Thomas and the Atlanta Betterment Fund made good on their word.

Sitting down with Stan Cain, a retired architect from State Farm Insurance Company, Thomas — along with Baker — collaborated to create what would define the museum’s theme: reigniting the Texaco.

“We knew from the beginning that my Texaco Big Friend had to come to the museum and be one of the focal points. There are only six left [in existence], so having one there was a huge deal. And we kind of went with that,” continued Baker. “We have the stars, and we have the original Texaco banjo sign, and the Texaco giant, and the gas pumps and everything… it helps take you back to when all of these giants were being built.”

Designed by Ragland Buildings’ construction crew in October 2022 to resemble a 1965 Texaco gas station, boasting a white and green-striped, rectangular metal building with bright red gas pumps out front, a concrete parking lot, and a grassy area called the Route 66 Land of the Giants Rest Stop, the museum was ready to go.

Now, all it needed were exhibits. Over the following winter months, they got busy.

“Joel has been integral to [the project] … loaning his artifacts and documents and photographs from International Fiberglass along with giant statues and various body parts and other items that we have on display,” said Thomas. The moment visitors step inside the unique building, they are thrust into the immersive world of giants. “If you look up, you will see a 7-foot-tall Esso Tiger… crouching on a shelf above your head… We have three or four heads hanging from the ceiling.”

In the late summer of 2023, the museum — free to the public and staffed entirely by volunteers — was opened, promising visitors a fanciful experience with permanent and rotating artifacts, including one-on-one statue interaction. Accomplishing the museum’s goal of bringing people together to celebrate vintage Americana, the American Giants Museum is a one-of-a-kind opportunity for motorists exploring the colorful past of advertising on the Mother Road.

ONLY IN

AMERICA

By Aaron Garza

Opening photograph provided by Mitchell Corn Palace

When you imagine the grand palaces and structures of the world, no one would fault you for thinking of the stony nobility of Buckingham Palace and the Taj Mahal, or the steely engineering icons of the Empire State Building and the Burj Khalifa. There does, however, stand a truly fascinating piece of curious engineering in a place not many would suspect. The plains of South Dakota have a grand, palatial structure of their own. Once one of many, but now the sole survivor, the aptly named World’s Only Corn Palace is an icon that stands both as a signal for the continuing agricultural prominence of South Dakota, and as a reminder of a strange period in the Mount Rushmore State, and the Midwest at large, where agricultural architecture was all the rage. The story of the World’s Only Corn Palace begins though not in South Dakota, but in Sioux City, Iowa. Little Chicago.

Sowing the Seeds

The year was 1887. The Big Die-Up, one of America’s harshest winters, had come and gone, but its effects were still very much felt across the United States as withered fields and frozen cattle had left many lacking. Sioux City, however, had been graced with sublime fortune as the worst of the droughts that afflicted many others in the Midwest had spared them, amazingly leaving them with an abundance. Amidst the dreary aftershocks of the winter that would mark the end of the free-range cattle days, Sioux City wanted — no needed — to show the U.S. that the Midwest could not and would not be kept down. Inspired by the beginning of Minnesota’s own ice palace tradition in St. Paul just a few years prior, the thought occurred to the people of Sioux City, why not build a palace out of corn? Seems like an obvious idea, right? And so, the construction began.

Sioux City’s first Corn Palace covered a commanding 18,000 square feet when it was completed for their Sioux City Corn Palace Jubilee. As was the case with many of the corn palaces to come after it, this ‘World’s First Corn Palace’ was a wooden structure upon which they covered every last inch of wood with ears of corn. Colored, sliced, and nailed as needed in order to create a beautifully eccentric piece of architecture with numerous, intricate, and exotic details that worked together to elevate the strange beauty of the Sioux City corn palace. The arched doorways were framed with farming scenes. A wax statue of the Roman goddess of grain, Ceres, was given a corn stalk scepter and cornhusk robes. A map of the U.S. was fashioned from grains and seeds. A spiderweb, complete with carrot spider, was made from corn silk. Not to mention countless murals of fields and rivers, buffalo and canoes, and symbols to honor the Native Americans. Safe to say, there was no part of their corn harvest that they didn’t make use of in some way.

And the corn craze didn’t stop beyond the walls of their corn palace either. An a-maize-ing fad swept through Sioux

City as their corn palace jubilee’s opening quickly approached. Society parties had corn themes, people wore beaded necklaces made of corn, hats made from cornhusks, and smoked from pipes carved out of corn cobs. October 3rd, 1887, saw the inaugural Corn Palace Jubilee open and the week that followed was a veritable cornucopia of joyous expression and great successes. 130,000 visitors, incredible attention from news sources the country over, and even a visit from the standing president, Grover Cleveland — although he didn’t arrive until the day right after the festival’s close — all led to Sioux City declaring their inaugural Corn Palace Jubilee an absolute and smashing success, and grounds to keep it up. And with each year, the Corn Palaces grew grander and more exotic. Right up until 1891.

That year, a cold and rainy autumn made the jubilee — argued by some to be the greatest of their corn palaces: this one stretched all the way across Sioux City’s Pierce Street, had a balcony atop a 200-foot-tall main tower, and even had an archway large enough for traffic to pass down the street through the palace — a rougher festival compared to their past four years. It just didn’t quite make up for the money that went into it, even leaving the city with a strange dilemma. They had the money to put it up and run the festival as usual, but they didn’t have the money to bring it back down. One of the greatest tools in the Sioux City corn palaces’ arsenal, their abundance of grains and corn, was also a problem. Birds and rodents were just as attracted to the palaces as people were, not to mention the ravages of time, eventually claiming the corn as they were exposed to the elements, so just leaving them up was not an option. Eventually the 1891 Sioux City Corn Palace was sold at auction, leaving one H.H. Buckwalter the proud owner of a palace of his very own for the low price of $1,211 (roughly $42,144 by today’s standards). While not very useful as an actual palace in which to house his family, Buckwalter at least got some good sheep feed and the ability to say he bought his own palace.

While 1891 was a rough year, the city was still motivated to keep their tradition going. And why shouldn’t they? People were coming from all over to see them, the city always fell into a joyous frenzy to help build the palaces, and there was always plenty of corn to use. Surely 1892 would be better and they’d get right back on track.

Sadly, the flooding of the Floyd River in May of 1892 led to the loss of over a dozen lives and heavy damage to property in Sioux City. As much as the city enjoyed their Corn Palace jubilees, they could not leave their citizens out in the cold amid such a tragedy. The hope was that this would be merely a postponement and not the end of a treasured city fixture,

but another financial crisis the following year in 1893 spelled the end of Sioux City’s corn palace fixation. Sioux City’s corn palace tradition may have only lasted five years, but it kicked off a passion across the Midwest and there was hardly even an interruption in the grander scheme of Corn Palace passion in the region. Just like the first kernel in a bag of popcorn, once one popped, many more began to follow.

A New Harvest

With Sioux City’s inaugural Corn Palace in 1887 being such an overwhelming success, many towns and cities across the tri-state area of Iowa, South Dakota, and Nebraska started to get the idea themselves of building out their own prairie palaces. Bluegrass, alfalfa, corn, and much more went into making several dozen palace-like structures across the Midwest, and among the townships getting in on the agricultural architecture craze was none other than the town of Mitchell, South Dakota, a young township looking to grow in the then Dakota Territory.

“They used to call them grain palaces back in the 1800s,” said Corn Palace Director Doug Greenway. “They were trying to get people to move here, and the land office would say,

‘Hey, you could claim a quarter section as home stake. Stake your claim,’ and that’s what they did. They staked their claim to a piece of land in a township in a county in South Dakota [that] they got if they lived there for five years. It was slow going though, because it’s tough living out here, and they were trying to get people to move here. So, communities were building these grain palaces. Sioux City had a really nice one. Plankinton, South Dakota, just west of us, had several, so the leaders of Mitchell said, ‘We can’t let little Plankinton have a grain palace and not us,’ so they built what they called the Corn Palace at the time.”

People flock to great sights and sites, and fortune shone upon Mitchell, South Dakota, as misfortune hit Sioux City, not unlike how years before Sioux City flourished as others were struck by low crop yields. Mitchell’s Corn Palace opened its doors for the first time in 1892, right on the town’s Main Street, for all to witness the beginning of a new age in crop art.

Costing $3,700 ($124,720 by today’s standards) of community-raised funding, Mitchell’s first Corn Palace was a Medieval-style wonder that featured over half a dozen towers, ranging up to over 30 feet in the air. An exterior decorated with colorful and striped corn patterns, the original Mitchell

Outside of the Palace. 1987. Photograph by John Margolies.

Corn Palace, referred to by many at the time as the Corn Belt Exposition, stood for over half a decade on the corner of 4th and Main Street. The unusual attraction maintained the same structure, but with new patterns and murals put up each year, as the city hoped to learn from Sioux City’s corn palaces and make the most of the structure they had as opposed to tearing it down and building a new one every year.

The corn palace that opened in the heart of Mitchell in 1892 though is not the Corn Palace that currently stands in the Palace City today. Their first corn palace remained until 1905 when the city made a bid to become the new capital of South Dakota, building a brand-new corn palace in the hopes of swaying the odds in their favor. While the bid was ultimately unsuccessful, their new palace was even more extravagant and massive, jumping from a 66’ x 100’ structure to an imposing 125’ x 142’; practically twice the size of the last and four times as expensive at a price — in 1905 — of $15,000. Just a single block away from their original corn palace on the corner of 5th and Main Street now, the new palace afforded even more space to display their corn murals and house even larger audiences, although, like the first, this new corn palace only really saw use during the summer months as those cold South Dakotan winters weren’t so great to weather in the unheated building. However, the popularity of the Mitchell corn palace only surged with this new structure, especially in light of its origin as the possible new home to the state’s capitol. And yet, it wasn’t enough. In 1920, the Corn Palace needed to be rebuilt a third and final time before it would be ready to become a truly iconic part of South Dakota that would remain standing and in operation for the next century.

“This building alone is 103 years old; this is the third corn palace we’re in now,” continued Greenway. “The only one left of the original grain palaces is the Corn Palace, so now it’s the World’s Only Corn Palace, and we’ve been the only one since 1907.”

Standing now as the World’s Only Corn Palace, the biggest change from the original designs that many corn palaces used was the switch to a fire-resistant brick and cement structure, removing some of the worry of a stray spark sending Mitchell’s palace up in flames. “These original grain palaces, they were basically decorations; they were a building framed loosely with lumber and covered with all kinds of grains and natural-

made materials,” said Greenway. The switch was a fortuitous bit of foresight as many years later in the 1970s, a series of fires plagued the Corn Palace, inflicting a not insignificant amount of damage, but thanks to the building’s new designs and fire systems, nothing irreparable afflicted the World’s Only Corn Palace.

Being such a large building covered in corn, it should be no surprise that it’s more than just people attracted to the Corn Palace. “There are all kinds of corny jokes that people make about being the world’s largest bird feeder and ‘How do you keep birds from eating all the corn?’ And the truth is, we don’t,” continued Greenway. “The birds sit around, and they have a picnic all summer long on our murals, which is why we replace them, but by replacing the murals, it keeps people coming back. They get to have new experiences with the Corn Palace.”

Fruits of their Labor

Across the years of its mass popularity near the end of the 1800s and into the early 1900s, nearly three dozen grain palaces made and decorated with corn, alfalfa, wheat, and so many more crops graced the wide expanse of America’s Midwest. As the craze died down and these halls of agricultural nobility came down one by one, one stood tall amidst the plains of South Dakota. Right in the heart of Mitchell, South Dakota, the World’s Only Corn Palace still carries on the torch that was first lit in Sioux City, keeping up a tradition that began over a century ago. Today, the Corn Palace is not only an eye-catching architectural art piece, but also host to all manner of events as Mitchell’s premiere convention center. Plays, three ring circuses, concerts, and, most importantly to this South Dakota community, basketball.

“We’re a civic center, the largest event center for our town, so any major events are held here, and in the winter, we play a lot of basketball here. Keep in mind, you’re not doing anything outdoors [during winter] unless you’re a farmer or rancher and have to go take care of your animals. People are looking for something to do. It’s dark at 7AM and it’s dark at 5PM, so we’re looking for something to do indoors in the evenings and that’s basketball. Our community likes basketball.”

Much has changed about the World’s Only Corn Palace across the decades. Once more medieval in design and fabricated with hearty timber, it now stands as sturdy stone in the Moorish Revival style, complete with onion-shaped domes and minarets. Geometric and general pattern murals have been replaced with complex and thematic designs, such as their soon to be completed 2024 theme of Famous South Dakotans. And yet, the heart of the idea still beats strongly as the Corn Palace draws attention from all corners, reminding travelers from across the Midwest and beyond that the plains of South Dakota are much more than just corn and wind and harsh winters. No, South Dakota is home to its very own vibrant, curious piece of culture and history.

Isn’t roadside Americana great!

Inside of the Palace. 2021. Photograph by Carol M. Highsmith.

PLACE OF GRACE

By Cheryl Eichar Jett

Photographs by Katy Pair

Agleaming 190-foot-tall cross stands sentinel over Groom, Texas, a dusty small town — population 552 — about 40 miles east of Amarillo. Just to the north across the interstate, the blades of a wind farm lazily turn, and on the south side of town stand a row of grain silos, but one’s eyes are naturally drawn to the shining steel cross. From 20 miles away, travelers can see it as they approach Groom, some regarding it as their port of call and some astonished by what is looming in the distance.

The Groom Cross was constructed in 1995 by Steve Thomas, a man offering an alternative view to the adultbusiness billboards spread along the east-west stretch of I-40 through the western plains’ Golden Spread. Today, whether viewed as a Christian symbol or as a roadside attraction, like the Britten Leaning Water Tower just three miles down the road, the Giant Cross has grown into a 10-acre religious campus, a spiritual destination on its own.

Along America’s highways, everything large and unique turns into a tourist attraction — think muffler men, the Gateway Arch, the World’s Largest Catsup Bottle, the Space Needle. These giants are each a place to photograph and post on social media before being relegated to the back burner of one’s mind after the return to everyday life from a vacation. But some travelers, possessed with a historical bent or observant of their Christian values, take a more mindful approach to a roadside stop such as this. The Giant Cross, at a minimum, is a place to be respectful of Steve Thomas’ inspired vision. But the journey of his life to the point of envisioning and constructing such an enormous project began with twists and turns that would have deterred many an individual. But somehow his life story seemed to lead him exactly here.

Shaped by Tonka Trucks, a Signpost, and Domestic Violence

Structural engineer Steve Thomas knew since he was a child what his career would be. “I was playing with my Tonka trucks in a dirt lot. We [kids] were making roads with our hands, and all of a sudden four or five guys looked over and asked why I’d dug a hole for a post. ‘That’s a signpost,’ I said. They asked, ‘What’s the sign say?’ And I said, ‘I don’t know.’ I never did know, but God had a plan for me back then.” But that was not the only experience that shaped Thomas. Growing up, his family struggled with extreme poverty, and his parents were both alcoholics. His father had violent tendencies. When Thomas was 17 years old, his father went on a rampage, attacking Thomas’ mother and sisters. They would recover, but afterward, his father, unable to come to grips with what he had done, committed suicide. A decade later, Thomas’ mother would do the same, forcing him to step up to complete the task of rearing his younger siblings before moving on to build his own life.

We are all influenced by our past and after a childhood of fear and uncertainties, Thomas was committed to building for himself a very different kind of life. He worked hard and earned an engineering degree from Texas Tech, after which he racked up a series of professional successes, including hitting oil with the first well he ever drilled, designing the world’s largest drilling rig, and establishing his own successful company. Armed with determination for a life well-lived and empathy learned from personal experiences that most of us have never had to endure, Thomas was able to move on from his troubled childhood and start a family with his wife Bobby (they have now been married over 50 years). Sons Bart and Zach were athletic from a young age, and Zach went on to become an All-Pro linebacker for the Miami Dolphins, while daughter Katina served as Miss Amarillo before winning the swimsuit competition in the 1997 Miss Texas pageant.

A Focus on the Cross

In 1995, Thomas was comfortable. He had retired, selling the oil and gas business that he had operated for some 35 years. He and Bobby were settled on their ranch, where they would regularly sit out on the front porch and watch the Panhandle winds blow the dust. He had time to think, and he thought about how blessed he was and how he had wanted to become a missionary. But he did not want to leave his home and his ranch, and travel around the world. So, what was the right path for him? Inspired by God’s leading, he decided that he would bring the world to Texas instead. And so, he did.

Thomas decided that it was time to create a spiritual billboard as a counteraction against those adult billboards along I-40. But then “in a V-8 moment” he realized something: “It’s like one of those commercials where you slap your head.” It hit him that it was well within his capabilities to build a giant cross instead of just a billboard after his wife Bobby’s discovery of a 100-foot-tall sheet-metal cross — 300 miles south of them — ignited the idea within both of them.

“It was in our local newspaper, but the cross was in Ballinger, Texas. I was like, oh my gosh, we should check that out,” Bobby said. “I showed him the story and we just kind of realized that was the Lord’s plan for him. Since he was a civil engineer and he had designed one of the world’s largest drilling rigs, it was perfect practice.”

But the search for a place to erect the cross was not so easy. After crossing Pampa and Amarillo off their list of possible locations due to a variety of local restrictions there, a chance drive past Groom one day called the Thomases’ attention to property there that might be available.

“I’d been trying to build it in various cities and my wife said, ‘Why don’t we just build it right along the interstate in Groom?’ and I had another V-8 moment. I mean, why not?” explained Thomas. “I knew one person — Chris Britten — in the area, and we pulled into his office on a Saturday

afternoon. I told him, ‘You won’t believe what I want to do. I want to build the world’s largest cross along Interstate 40 and I’m looking for land.’ And he said, ‘I’ll just give you 10 acres.’ So that’s how we ended up in Groom, Texas.” (Chris Britten is the son of the late Ralph Britten of the Britten Leaning Water Tower family.) And so, Thomas was ready to design and build the biggest project of his life. He was well equipped with everything that he needed to accomplish such an enormous feat: he was a structural engineer, he was a millionaire, he was a man of deep-seated faith, and he believed that he was chosen by God — perhaps readied because of his childhood traumas — to build this cross.

Engineer Thomas oversaw eight months of construction in two separate shops in Pampa, Texas, keeping over 100 welders busy on the project. He had borrowed the design of drilling rig masts, with which he was well familiar. White corrugated steel, the kind used for industrial warehouses, was transformed into a 2 ½ million-pound steel cross. Initially constructed in three separate — but huge — pieces for transport to its new home at Groom, the cross was finally completely assembled, where it stood as tall as a 19-story building. On the day that the huge foundation was poured, sales of ready-mix concrete to other customers screeched to a halt in the Texas Panhandle.

In all, the cross costed Thomas half a million dollars, but he would have spent even more and built it even taller if objects higher than 200 feet had not been subject to FAA regulation. The original goal was to have the cross constructed and

standing tall by Easter of 1995, but they simply could not get it done by then. But in July 1995, Steve and Bobby Thomas watched as the two-and-a-half million-pound cross was finally erected on the 10-acre plot, just off Exit 112 in Groom.

Soon travelers began to stop.

The Cross Ministries Complex

But the Thomases were not done. Initially standing alone, the cross became the centerpiece of the Cross Ministries complex, but after the installation of the giant cross, a small building was constructed for greeting visitors. One day, while working at his drafting table, Thomas was trying to work out a design for a path from the cross to the parking lot and the right spot to arrange the stations of the cross — one of the most important additions to his huge undertaking — but his plan did not satisfy him, and he threw it in the trash. He needed some guidance. Picking up the phone he called a friend — Demetrio “D” Martinez, one of the welders of the cross, and a man he considered to be his spiritual partner.

“We got together and prayed for God’s vision about laying the stations out and D’s eyes got real big. He said, ‘You got this, don’t worry. It’s good to look at Scripture — come on, Steve, that’s all you need,’” Thomas explained. “I blindly put my finger down as I read Ezekiel Chapter 1. It basically says, ‘I see a wheel within a wheel with many spokes,’ and that’s how we built it. And then we went back and read the Scripture again and it says, ‘I see many eyes along the outer

The Last Supper sculpture.

wheel.’ Sounds real strange, but if you see this plaza from a narrow view, the stations are sitting on oval smooth concrete forms, and they look like eyes, because the sculptures are bronze, and each one shines just like a pupil over there in that oval form.”

Thomas did not stop with the stations of the cross. Over the next eight years or so, an exact replica of the Shroud of Turin, a life-sized Empty Tomb, the Memorial for Innocent Unborn, a bronze sculpture of St. Michael the Archangel, and The Ten Commandments Monument were added.

The complex now also includes a 20,000-square-foot building which houses a state-of-the-art 225-seat theater, gift shop, restrooms, offices and counseling center, the Divine Mercy Fountain, and the Divine Mercy Reception Gallery, featuring paintings of the Apostles by Texas artist Kenneth Wyatt. Sometimes on a weekend, a barbecue station is set up outside, indicating that a private event such as a wedding or funeral is taking place. And, unlike many attractions, travelers are welcome to stop for the night to sleep in the parking lot, adequately sized to handle big rigs and RVs.

“This is a 24/7 preaching effort,” Thomas said. “It’s open at night. You can sleep here. There’s enough lighting so you can read the plaques all over the site and see the facilities. So, it’s still a lot of visualization whether we’re here or not.”

Illuminated at night in the dark Texas sky as a sort of modern-day Star of the East, the cross is seen each year by an estimated 10 million people, who, as the Thomases’ Cross Ministries likes to say, “makes people think about Jesus Christ, if only for a minute.” The grounds and parking lot are open 24/7 to visitors and travelers, and many of the 10 million people who drive by on I-40 each year stop.

“Although it has its own following because of its religious meaning — it’s a roadside attraction as well —but it’s so different from most other attractions,” said Dora Meroney,

secretary-treasurer of the Old Route 66 Association of Texas and owner of Texas Ivy Antiques on the 6th Avenue alignment in Amarillo. “They’ve made it very nice, and they’ve turned it into a destination.”

Into the Future

Although the Cross of Our Lord Jesus Christ Ministries states that it is not affiliated with any church, and therefore has no set congregation, its goal is to continue to minister to the millions of souls from all around the world that drive by it every year. That goal impels them to continue to grow and expand. Currently, they are completing the Last Supper sculptures and need to commission three more Apostles to finish the exhibit. Ground has been broken for a separate chapel after a thorough design process. When the chapel is completed, those seated within it will look past the altar to see a view of the cross through a wall of glass.

“We’ve put it under plans right now and my take is in two or three years we could really start on it,” Thomas enthused. “It will be a beautiful facility because when you’re in that chapel in your pew, you will see that big cross, you will be able to see Calvary and the circular stations. We think it will be an amazing spiritual experience. You know, we’re used to going into a church and seeing what’s kind of before us, behind the altar, and this will be an extraordinary sight.”

Also on their to-do list of future plans is a Bible History Museum and gardens with biblical scenes cast in bronze. Thomas has stated that, although he is in his 70s, he will keep adding new features for as long as he can.

“On its own it has a following, you know, on its own aside from 66,” said Meroney. “So, it’s helped bring a different group of people to 66, and when it was the largest cross in the northern hemisphere that was pretty cool. But then Illinois beat us out!”

Hailed at its construction in 1995 as the tallest cross in the U.S., it was bypassed a few years later when the City of Effingham, Illinois, assisted by Steve Thomas, built a cross just eight feet taller. (The Effingham cross is, in turn, dwarfed by the 208-foot-tall cross at Mission Nombre de Dios in St. Augustine, Florida.)

But for travelers across the Texas Panhandle, the Groom Cross is plenty tall enough to satisfy their needs, whether they are on a spiritual pilgrimage or a hunt for the “giant” constructions of the American road — such as the leaning water tower not far away.

“We get a great variety. There’s really no typical visitor,” said Bobby. “Some people just don’t want to leave, because it’s so peaceful here.”

A giant, but peaceful, roadside attraction, situated in a dusty little Panhandle railroad town that ended up on U.S. Highway 66. That could be a tourism trope, or it could be just the stop that you did not know you were waiting for along the world’s most famous highway.

One of the fourteen Stations of the Cross sculptures.

OUR STORY

On Museum Square in Downtown Bloomington, the Cruisin’ with Lincoln on 66 Visitors Center is located on the ground ﬂoor of the nationally accredited McLean County Museum of History.

The Visitors Center is a Route 66 gateway. Discover Route 66 history through an interpretive exhibit, and shop for unique local gift items, maps, and publications. A travel kiosk allows visitors to explore all the things to see and do in the area as well as plan their next stop on Route 66.

CRUISIN’ WITH LINCOLN ON 66 VISITORS CENTER

Open Monday–Saturday 9 a.m.–5 p.m.

CRUISIN’ WITH LINCOLN ON 66 VISITORS CENTER

Open Monday–Saturday 9 a.m.–5 p.m.

Free Admission on Tuesdays until 8 p.m.

/ CruisinwithLincolnon66.org

*10% o gift purchases

200 N. Main Street, Bloomington, IL 61701 309.827.0428 / CruisinwithLincolnon66.org

*10% o gift purchases

ONE OF

Photograph by Brennen Matthews

A KIND

Down in the desert grassland of southern Arizona’s Santa Cruz County, surrounded by landscape that feels unblemished and remote despite its proximity to Interstate 19, is the small town of Amado. Founded in 1878, by homesteaders forging a new life on the land and christened after Manuel Amado, a rancher who settled in the area around 1850, the town and surrounding region became a rancher’s haven, most famous of which was the Kinsley Ranch, established by Otho Kinsley in the 1920s. Kinsely, whose specialty was raising bucking horses, had acquired about 600 acres from Sahuarita down to Tubac, near the border, and established a gas station, a tavern-cum-grocery store, Kinsley Lake, and a large hexagonal dance hall building. Before his premature passing in 1962, Kinsley sold off most of his land and holdings. The dance hall burned down, and the old general store eventually became the landmark Cow Palace and Restaurant with its giant cow on top of the roof.

Then for the longest time, Amado remained just another small, obscure rural community nestled in the middle of open plains, just off Exit 48 on Interstate 19. However, that changed when Tucson sculpture artist, Michael Kautza, was recruited to create a giant sculpture that became a defining feature for the tiny community and put the town on the proverbial road trip map.

In the early 1970s, Kautza — famed for building the iconic giant Tiki head and other statues that once stood at the defunct Magic Carpet Golf in Tucson, as well as the giant cowboy boot on Sabino Canyon Road — started work on building an enormous steer sculpture that would be affixed to the entrance of what was then a bait shop, whose backyard was Kinsley Lake. Kautza recruited the help of two local teenagers, Hans Van Sant, and Danny West, to help with mixing the cement and mortar, while Kautza welded the framework for the skull, eventually adding stucco and rebar for reinforcement. Around 1975, the steer skull, affixed on faux rocks, was finished. It featured a giant nasal cavity that customers walked through, hollow eye sockets, and pale-yellow curved horns that measured 30-feet-tall. The monument made for a striking feature, easily visible, turning an unassuming building into an instant landmark.

As the years rolled by, the building housed several different businesses, including a clothing store, and a roofing company. But in 1993, Ed Madril and business partner, Al Reynolds, purchased the building and from 1998 to 2012, operated it as the Longhorn Grill, serving everything from burgers and steaks to Mexican and Italian cuisine. The giant skull was the perfect advertisement for the steakhouse. However, the restaurant, facing stiff competition from the Cow Palace across the street, fell on hard times, and they were forced to sell to businessman and metal artist John Gourley, who operated the premises as an event venue until his passing in 2015. Then, it lay vacant once again. But not for long.

“[My wife and I] dated there,” explained Greg Hansen, who now co-owns the Longhorn Grill & Saloon with his

wife Amy. “We did some wedding anniversaries and some other social events inside the Longhorn as a caterer. So, we got a little bit familiar with the inside.”

For the next couple of years, the Hansens, local restaurateurs who owned eateries in nearby Green Valley, drove past the lone building on their usual work-to-home route between Green Valley and Tubac. And then one day, when Gourley’s son, Al, placed a for-sale sign out front, the Hansens ceased the opportunity and purchased it right away. By May 2018 the iconic venue had a new lease on life.

However, a few months later, on September 24, Amado faced a devastating flood that led to the destruction of their competition across the street — the popular Cow Palace. Fortunately, the Longhorn Grill remained untouched and the skull intact. “When the microburst flood first hit, water flowed into the [empty] lake [behind the property] and did not do any damage to the Longhorn at all.”

In 2019, after extensive renovations, which included gutting the kitchen, expanding the dining room, and cleaning and repainting the iconic skull, the Hansens officially reopened as the Longhorn Grill & Saloon. Boasting a Western, casual atmosphere, the interior is heavily inspired by the skull: entering through the steer’s nose, you are greeted by the saloon’s long, bronze cow skull — crafted by John Gourley — centered amid shelves of variegated alcoholic beverages and, in the following chamber, the dining area adorned with faux rocks, gunnysack pillows featuring local rancher brands, and cattle-themed artwork.

For the two years, business boomed. Then the pandemic happened. But, after closing for a day, the Hansens returned with a plan. Using the restaurant’s three-and-a-half acres, they expanded to include outdoor seating. “We poured a lot of money, and a lot of effort, and a lot of sweat, into that building… and I wasn’t going to lose it because of [the pandemic],” concluded Hansen.

Despite the town’s size, and its seeming obscurity, the town and surrounding area served as a backdrop in several films, including in the opening scene of the 1955 film Oklahoma!, and the skull sculpture has made its own cameo most notably in Martin Scorsese’s 1974 film Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, and in the 1995 Drew Barrymore movie Boys on the Side. “People get their pictures taken here and we’ve had Western dress models come to do photo shoots in front of the steer head. We’ve had TV shows filmed here... we had a big line dance — around 40 or 50 people — doing a line dance for TV, right in front of the skull. It’s just striking. It’s unique, and people like to take advantage of it.”

Today, the giant longhorn skull sculpture remains one of the most unique restaurant entrances in the country and a proud roadside icon and symbol of the diversity of the Southwest. So, if you are ever driving anywhere on I-19 heading towards Nogales, Arizona’s southern border town, look out for a giant white steer skull and the small town of Amado. Discoveries like this unexpected roadside gem is exactly what makes the American road trip so darn special.

A Tribute to Love

While Route 66 contains its share of unique landmarks that cause many a wide-eyed wanderer to pull off the highway, a stainedglass chapel nestled among the rolling green hills of Carthage, Missouri, may not be a destination that motorists are expecting. Surrounded by expansive hedged gardens, elegant statues of winged cupids, and teardrop-eyed children, the sanctuary is a welcome respite from the quiet road. Though beautiful, the true treasure lies at the heart of the property. Walking through glistening, lovingly crafted halls that embody childhood innocence in its purest form, one can feel themselves stepping into another world: the Precious Moments Chapel.

Despite assembling a multi-million-dollar empire around the adorable, hand-painted, child-like figurines dubbed Precious Moments, the man behind such compelling artistry, Samuel J. Butcher, grew up with next to nothing. Born in Jackson, Michigan, in 1939, Butcher was the third of five children and his family struggled financially. “They did not have much as far as finances were concerned, but they did the best that they could at the time,” explained Joette Blades, the director of the Precious Moments Chapel. “His father did some mechanic work to supplement their income. Butcher didn’t have much as far as materials were concerned.” However, though he had a humble upbringing, his passion for art flourished. As a young child, he often would scavenge through rejected piles at factory dumps for drawing materials.

that we share with our loved ones; the memories that we always cherish.”

Recognizing how his art resonated with people on a deeper level, Butcher felt inspired toward creating a destination that offered free access to all willing to seek, a place that would be his most fulfilling project ever: a chapel.

But not just any chapel — a chapel wholly devoted to his art, while reflecting his original purpose toward openly sharing his faith and uplifting others. “Mr. Butcher built the chapel as a way of saying, ‘Thank you’ for all the blessings that God had given him in his life. He never dreamed that he would have the kind of success that he did through Precious Moments. And when he was so richly blessed, he wanted the opportunity to give back.”

In 1975, to support his own growing family, Butcher started a small business with his best friend Bill Biel called Jonathan and David, capturing his Precious Moments artwork through greeting cards. After a promising deal with Gene Freedman from the collectible-making company Enesco, in 1978, his art designs were transferred onto 21 porcelain sculptures. Fast forward to 1985, and his artwork — now a full-scale business — had become a pop culture sensation, enrapturing the hearts of his audience with the cutesy aesthetic wrapped within his Precious Moments’ teardrop-eyed children collectibles. But the figurines represented something more. They were a symbol. “Precious Moments are based on those times in our lives that we want to capture and hold onto those memories forever,” said Blades. “There are some moments

After witnessing the vibrant wall-to-ceiling paintings adorning the Sistine Chapel in Rome, Butcher’s creativity overflowed, crafting a roadmap that would lead him straight to Carthage. With its sloping hillside, babbling creeks, and cavernous caves, Butcher believed that God had brought him to the perfect place to lay the groundwork for his masterpiece. In the sweltering, sweat-soaked summer of 1985, the buzzing of construction echoing off the walls, Butcher scaled the 30-foot-tall scaffolding, lay on his back, and painted what would become the most challenging section: the ceiling. But it was all worth it. A year later, the ceiling — showcasing baby cupids flying across a night sky filled with puffy white clouds — was completed. Not long after, in 1989, the chapel’s ornate, teak wood doors opened to the public.

Until his passing on May 20, 2024, Butcher resided in a house on the chapel’s beautiful grounds. “He [was] working at home and painting at his leisure in the studio. Sometimes he [would] come and meet us at the chapel.”

Butcher could never have imagined the impact that his art would make generations later. “I think for a lot of people along their Route 66 journey, [the chapel] is a great thing because it brings them back to an earlier time in their life, too,” reflected Blades. From long-time enthusiasts to weary travelers passing through Carthage, the chapel stands as a proud testament to one man’s unwavering faith in crafting a monument to endure in the memories of others.

Photograph by David J. Schwartz –Pics On Route 66.

A CONVERSATION WITH

Huey Lewis

By Brennen Matthews

Photographs courtesy of Deanne Fitzmaurice

In the ever-evolving landscape of popular music, certain artists carve out a niche for themselves, leaving an indelible mark that transcends generations. One such luminary is Huey Lewis, whose soulful voice and timeless hits have solidified his place in the annals of music history.

Born Hugh Anthony Cregg III on July 5, 1950, in New York City, but raised from the age of five in Marin County, California, after his parents’ divorce, Huey Lewis’ early life was a tapestry of diverse experiences that would lead him to the vibrant music scene of the San Francisco Bay Area. Lewis excelled academically, even scoring a perfect 800 on the math portion of the SAT and attended Cornell University to study engineering. However, his love for music — particularly the harmonica — would eventually steer him away from academia and toward a life of rhythm and melodies.

Lewis’s musical journey took flight in the late 1970s when he co-founded the band Huey Lewis and American Express, later renamed Huey Lewis and the News. With Lewis as the frontman, the band truly burst on to the radar of music fans with their sophomore album, Picture This (1982), which featured the hit single “Do You Believe in Love.” This catchy tune served as a precursor to the band’s meteoric rise to fame and set the stage for a string of chart-topping songs that would dominate the airwaves throughout the decade.

In the summer of 1983, the music world was abuzz with anticipation as Huey Lewis and the News prepared to release their third studio album, aptly titled Sports For Lewis, the stakes were high — his band’s previous albums had achieved moderate success — but Sports was poised to be their real breakthrough into the mainstream. Sports quickly became a cultural phenomenon, with a series of anthems that would come to define the sound of the 1980s. From the exuberant optimism of “The Heart of Rock & Roll” to the irresistible charm of “Heart and Soul,” each track was a testament to the band’s powerhouse of musical talent.

The decade would prove to be a golden era for Huey Lewis and the News, as they churned out hit after hit, including classics like “The Power of Love,” “Hip to Be Square,” and “Stuck with You.” Their signature sound of feel-good music resonated with a broad worldwide audience, earning them legions of devoted fans and critical acclaim. However, amidst the peak of their success, Lewis faced a formidable challenge that threatened to derail his musical career.

In the mid-1980s, he was diagnosed with Ménière’s disease, a chronic inner ear disorder that causes vertigo, tinnitus, and hearing loss. Though his battle necessitated adjustments, Lewis continued to create music and perform live, inspiring audiences with his unwavering passion, proving that even in the face of adversity, the power of music prevails.

Today, Huey Lewis’s impact on the music industry continues, his timeless hits serving as a testament to his impressive legacy. As a pioneer of the pop-rock genre, he has left a lasting imprint on the hearts and minds of music lovers around the world, reminding us that true greatness lies not only in talent but in the ability to persevere despite hardship. Huey Lewis’s musical journey is a testimony to the transformative power of music and the enduring spirit of a true artist.

You grew up in Marin County, California, right at the epicenter of the 1960s counterculture movement. Were you very affected by everything taking place at the time?

They were heavy times, obviously, with the hippie movement just starting and [with] music.

The Summer of Love had an influx of people coming to California from the East coast. It was huge. There were signs out like, “New Yorker Go Home!” San Francisco and Marin were invaded by people from all over the country, and we rebelled against that. In those days, everybody was in a band, and there were so many live venues, and so many places to play. The exciting part was that the genres were being broken up, like the Grateful Dead. Those bands in 1967, they were the first bands that didn’t play 3-minute songs. They took a jazz player’s approach to pop music if you will, or a kind of country music, in the Dead sense. They were marvelous times for music.

Did you feel at that time that it was all happening in San Francisco, or was LA still the place where bands went to break?

No, it was definitely happening in San Francisco. I went to prep school in New Jersey, took a year off to bum around Europe, and then I was in my first year at Cornell University. San Francisco was blowing up. I was playing in charity bands, and I said, “I’ve got to get home,” so I quit school and went home to San Francisco and joined the action. Everybody knew that’s where it was happening, that’s why we were so surprised when we heard that the best rock’n’roll town in America was Cleveland. (Laughs) I thought, “You gotta be kidding me! How can Cleveland be the best? We have everything here in San Francisco: we got Santana, The Grateful Dead, Jefferson Airplane...” We had so much. San Francisco was on fire.

After high school, you hitchhiked across the country from California to New York. What was behind that decision?

I went to prep school in New Jersey. My mom was one of the first hippies, and my dad was worried… he wanted to get me out of San Francisco. It was blowing up; it was like 1962 or 1963. My dad convinced me that I needed to go away to prep school because it was a wonderful opportunity for me: I could compete with the best. In his mind though, he wanted to get me out of my mother’s house and out of San Francisco, so I went. I skipped second grade, so I was a year younger, and when I graduated from Lawrenceville Prep School, I was 16, and then turned 17 the next month. I was accepted into the Cornell University College of Engineering, and my old man said to me, “Congratulations, you’ve done everything. As far as I’m concerned, you can make decisions on your own, you’re a man now, and you can do whatever you want.” But there was one more thing that he was going to make me do. He wanted me to take a year off and bum around Europe. I didn’t have any money, but in those days you could hitchhike. I hitchhiked everywhere. I was on my way to Europe but needed to fly from the East Coast. It was cheaper and easier.

Hitchhiking is sort of romanticized from back then; from the Dust Bowl era all the way through to the 1950s. Now,

of course, we see it as a little more dangerous. When you were hitchhiking, especially across America, were you ever afraid of any of the people who offered you lifts? Did anything dodgy happen?

Oh yeah, we had some close calls. I got picked up by an ex-convict, a guy who had just gotten out of jail and he didn’t have any money. We had to siphon gas all the way from southern California, where I started, to Denver, Colorado. I had money — I had a couple hundred bucks — but I didn’t want to tell him that, so I pretended not to have any money either. So, we would go somewhere, find a car, and siphon gas at night. I thought that was a little risky and he was a crazy guy, but it worked out.

I remember freezing my butt off in Ohio waiting for a ride, though. I hitchhiked to Boston, I had classmates at Harvard University, and I hung out in their dorm for four or five days. I saw Muddy Waters at Club 47 in Boston!

Did you sleep in motels as you traveled, or did you manage to drive the entire way?

No, I had a sleeping bag. I would sleep by the side of the road a lot of times, in the car, or wherever — just stowed away. When I was in Europe, it was the same thing; we slept anywhere. People would take us in sometimes. I remember in France, a family took us in, and the dad was a physical fitness nut, and he got the whole family up at like 5:30 in the morning to do calisthenics. (Laughs)

You learned to play the harmonica while waiting for rides when you hitchhiked across the States?

I carried a few harmonicas that Billie Roberts gave me, he was my mom’s boarder, and he was a folk singer; he wrote “Hey Joe” and he used to play harmonicas with one of those harnesses. He gave me a bunch of old harmonicas. I was playing them already in prep school, but when I took a year off, as I was hitchhiking by the side of the road I would play, so I got better.

Over in Spain… this is 1968, which was Franco [era] Spain. They had the three-corner cops, and they were super strict, so it was very hard to get a ride. Because I had long hair it was very difficult to get a ride, so I would play for hours on the side of the road. (Laughs) But I played harmonica in the squares of Europe for a year.

When you went back to America, that was when you started Cornell?

Yes, I spent a year abroad and then I went back to Cornell. I walked into the engineering quad, and I looked around at all the engineering students, and it didn’t look nearly as fun as hitchhiking through Europe and playing the harmonica. At that point, a little bell went off in my head and I thought, “I don’t know about this engineering thing.”

When did you decide that you wanted to be a singersongwriter?

It happened when I was bumming around Europe. I went to North Africa, to Morocco, and I had a travel companion, a guy called Michael Jeffries. He and I met in London,

and he was from South Africa. He had hitchhiked all the way from South Africa to London. He was the expert and he’d never been to Morocco, so we said, “Let’s do that.” We hitchhiked to Morocco — we were only going there for Casablanca — and we were gonna be there for, I don’t know, a week or something. But they had the marijuana pipes, and we got so stoned. We kept thinking we were going to leave the next day, but we could never leave. (Laughs) So, I spent like, two or three months in Morocco. Then, on the way out, we were hitchhiking, and we crossed the border of southern Spain, heading to Portugal. We got a ride with a really crazy guy, his name was Jimmy Van Der Haag, he was a Dutch guy. He was in his 80s and he had a little handlebar mustache. We were hitchhiking in Spain, where you can’t get a ride because it’s Franco Spain, and here comes this 1930 Chevrolet pulling an Airstream trailer. Apparently, the car had been used in the movie Casablanca in Morocco. It was his car. He was gonna drive it all the way back to Holland and he picked us up.

He liked to drink a bit, so he’d stop at bars along the way and have a shot of slivovitz and then we’d get going again. At some point in the evening, we were on this dirt road with water on both sides, and I guess he got a little hammered and drove the car into the water. I remember this specifically; he gets out and he gets a fire extinguisher—he had a fire extinguisher—and he scorched the motor with it. Then gets back in and the car started right up. (Laugh) We drove out of there, but my knapsack was back in the Airstream trailer, and it floated, because everything got wet, and somehow my

passport was lost. Now, we get to the border of Portugal, and I have no passport, so they refused for me to enter without a passport. My South African partner went on and the driver went on and I hitchhiked back to Seville, Spain, to go to the embassy to get a new passport. I had no money, so I get to the passport office of the embassy at 4PM. It was Friday and they were about to close. I knocked on a door and said that I needed a passport. They asked if I had 20 bucks, I said, no, and they said, “Come back when you got 20 bucks,” and shut the door. Now, I wandered into town in Seville, and I played my harmonica.

I’m playing, and these students come and see me. They’re interested: I have real long hair, I come from San Francisco, and the hippie thing had just blown up and it was catching on in Europe. They had found a real hippie, and they were full of questions about San Francisco and the hippie stuff. I explained to them that I needed a passport, and they said, “No problem, we’ll throw you a concert.” So, we auditioned for a guitar player; we found an Australian kid who played a little blues. We [practiced] for about three or four days… these students put up posters all over town advertising “Los Blues: Huey and Michael.” It was really well marketed. Now, it comes time for the gig at the art center and we were the headliners, me and Michael, and the opening act was a Spanish band called Los Nuevos Tiempos, and they were fantastic. They were, at least, a nine-piece, maybe 11-piece group. They had the same wardrobe, dressed to the max, and choreographed. They were amazing. I thought, “We are going to die here!” (Laughs) They had the whole stage and then they put a little pod out in front for us, a little round

stage in front of the major stage, so we’re kind of in the audience a little bit. There were two chairs, a microphone for his guitar, and a microphone for my harmonica. So, two mics and two chairs. We follow this amazing band and now we walk out, receive an introduction applause, and then pin-drop silence. So, we start; I can’t remember what we played, but we start playing, and the place is super quiet, and I’m thinking, “Man, we are dying here.” (Laughs) “This is not going to be pretty.” But for some reason… we played the whole song, we finished the song, and the place goes crazy. They just went crazy, and that’s when a bell went off right there, and I said, “Bingo, this is what I want to do.” But it was years later before I joined my first professional band.

In 1971 you joined Clover. Were they already together when you joined?

Yeah, they were a four-piece band. They’d had two records out that hadn’t really done anything, but they were the most successful band in Marin County at the time.

I met them all because we had a moonlighting gig. We had an eight, almost 10-piece bluegrass band. We would go to Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco and busk. We had a stand-up bass, a couple of fiddles, a banjo dobro, harmonica, [and] a couple of guitar players. We did all this bluegrass stuff and we made $120 and split it. We each got like $15 apiece. We’d go and have a couple of drinks, and that was our evening. Three of the members of that band were members of Clover too, so they asked me and Sean Hopper, our keyboard player, to join Clover.

In 1976, the group finally found a bit more commercial success.

Yeah, Clover’s earlier albums had been released on Liberty Records in London because they had a licensing deal with Fantasy Records. There was an A&R guy called Andrew Lauder who loved this country rock thing that was happening. Clover was one of the very first country rock bands. The Byrds, The Flying Burrito Brothers, Clover, and Commander Cody were the very first hippie-country bands. We joined that band and we got signed to Phonogram Records (UK) because Andrew Lauder loved all of that. He believed that this would be the next thing, that country rock would take over.

It was called pub rock because nobody ever played in pubs before. There was a band from Marin County called Eggs over Easy that set up and played in a pub, and it started to take off in London. These two managers, Jake Riviera, who managed Elvis Costello, and Dave Robinson who managed Graham Parker and Nick Lowe, formed a company called Stiff Records. They also managed Clover, so their plan was to sign Clover, bring us over to Britain, and take Britain by storm. But the day we landed in Britain, Johnny Rotten [vocalist for the punk rock band the Sex Pistols] spit in the face of the first New Musical Express (NME) reporter, and the game was on: punk hit and we were out. We were a longhaired, country music band.

In 1978, Clover disbanded, and you went out on your own.

We disbanded. We had made two records, neither of which did anything, but both produced by Robert John “Mutt” Lange. They were the only records produced [by Mutt] that

Photograph by Paul Aphisit.

didn’t sell 18,000,000 records. (Laughs) But I had witnessed the punk movement firsthand because our management was in the Stiff Records office. The one thing I liked best about the punks was not the music necessarily, because I was into my own music, but I loved their stance. Clover had spent so much time grooming ourselves for the major labels and listening to their advice, which is always to be like the band that’s popular right now. The punks were just thumbing their noses at the music business and saying, “Hell no, we’re going to do our own thing, we don’t care.” I thought, “Wow, how liberating,” and I vowed that if this band ever broke up, that’s what I was going to do. I was going to go back to Marin County, find my favorite musicians, form a band, and sing all the songs myself.

Why did you choose the name Huey Lewis and American Express as your original name?

I think it was a great name; it was what we sounded like. We were very American; we had a kind of R&B foundation… it wasn’t heavy metal by any means; it was more of a Rhythm and Blues kind of rock’n’roll. I thought that’s what we sounded like, very American. We called ourselves Huey Lewis and American Express, and on the eve of the release of our first album, the label was afraid that we’d be sued by American Express, so we had 24 hours to come up with a new name, and we thought of “the news.” It was the only name we could come up with. It kind of rhymed a little, “Huey Lewis and the News,” it came off the tongue a little bit. It was all we could come up with, we were thinking of “the royals,” or “the fools,” but none of those were very good.

The first album didn’t perform great, and you realized that you needed to have a hit on the second album, or the label may end up dropping you.

You think about 1978: there was no Internet, no jam bands, and there’s no FM radios [or] contemporary hit radio (CHR) programs then, so the only avenue to success was a hit single. If you wanted to play your own music and make a living, you had to have a hit single. After our first album, we were no spring chickens. I was 29 years old and had been playing in bands for 15 years, cut two records with “Mutt” Lange already, and I knew something about the studio. We petitioned our manager and he agreed; we insisted on producing the next record ourselves. We knew we needed a hit; we knew that we had to make commercial choices, and we wanted to make those commercial choices ourselves so that we could live with them.

Our second record was pretty good, but we came to our own with our third album, Sports. In that record we aimed all those songs right at radio and if you listen to it today, it’s a collection of singles. They’re all from different genres, because we didn’t know what was gonna hit; here’s a rocker for you, here’s a kind of R&B one for you, here’s kind of a country flavored thing. All we knew was that we needed a hit and we thought that we may have five of them on Sports.

When you did crack the Top 10 with “Do You Believe in Love,” from the second album, how did your life change with that success?

Well, it certainly improved the hotel rooms we were staying in, and we kept our heads above. I’d toured Europe with

Clover — with Thin Lizzy — and Philip Lynott [lead vocalist, for Thin Lizzy], was a mentor to me. He taught me how to be a rock star. Phillip is an amazing guy, who is brilliant on stage, but he also knew how to be a star. He knew how to deal with fans, how to deal with promoters, the press, how to treat your other bandmates, and all this stuff. I learned so much from him. When our wave happened, I began to realize that we’re going to have a few hits here.

Our first single from Sports was “Heart and Soul” but the second one was “I Want A New Drug,” which isn’t a hit single, but it was. I thought, “If this one is a hit, we’ve got three or four more on here that are going to be hits,” and sure enough.

We were opening for different bands, like 38 Special, and our record [had] taken off. In some cases, there were as many people coming to see us as the headliners. I said to the guys, “It does not get any better than this. The way this is going we’ll be doing our own tours soon. Then, we’ll have all the responsibility and pressure.”

We were opening for these bands, and we would show up at 7PM, the show started at 8PM, and we had a great meal backstage, then got on stage for 45 or 50 minutes, and that’s it. We always got great reviews because nobody was expecting anything from us, so it was a wonderful place to be. I wanted to make sure that everybody understood that you can only go from nowhere to everywhere once in your life. You need to enjoy that rocket ship ride, otherwise it’s over before you begin to experience it. I think we honestly knew what was going on and enjoyed it as best we could.

The year 1983 was an interesting time for Sports to come out, because you had MTV at this point. You did videos for every one of these songs and it was constant radio rotation, but now video rotation as well. People were not just recognizing you from an album cover, but from the videos as well.

Well, it was a reality, here comes MTV, so you got to make a video; we had already embraced it. There was an outfit called Videowest in San Francisco, this was the advent of video for cable TV, which was brand new. This is late 1970s cable TV, it was the first time there was cable, and there were video cameras that could play back, film it, and then play it right back. Nobody could do that before the late ‘70s, it just wasn’t done. This girl called Kim Dempster said, “If you guys let me shoot a video of you and show it at our show at midnight on cable TV, we’ll give you the video.” I said, “Great.”

We did two videos: one out by the ocean on a sewage pier all dressed up in ties and stuff, and another one on Mount Tamalpais at the [Cushing Memorial] Amphitheatre. [Dempster] did them in video, they gave us the videotape, and those videotapes got us our record deal. It was a wonderful way to promote the band. [Chrysalis and EMI Records] saw it and they signed us. Our second album, [Picture This] has “Do You Believe in Love” as a single and the label says we’re going to do a professional video this time. They hired an advertising guy, a pro in advertising, and we shot all day long. He made the video— this is the video where we’re in the bed singing to the girl and all that. We shoot the video all day and then we go to see the rough cut.

We go to the record label, it was a week later, and we’re all in the room. We’re probably 12 people, six guys from the band, a manager, a road manager, a bunch of people from the label, and then a bunch of people from the video company. There were probably 30 people, and the guy gets up and goes, “It’s not colorized yet, and it’s going to look great when it’s colorized, but here you go, this is just a rough cut.” He shuts off the lights and shows the video. My heart sank, it was so bad. There was no direction, it was just terrible. When the video was over, he turned the lights on, everybody stood up and gave us a standing ovation. I remember thinking, “Clearly there’s no work to this at all, nobody knows anything, or what’s going on.”

We were writing our own songs, we were producing our own records, and we were going to do our own videos. It was a necessary evil. I was never afraid to be funny [in our videos] because it was a shame to do a video and retell the story that you had written, since the song tells the story. I avoided that, so when the song would zig, I would zag, and have fun, be silly.

Interestingly enough, your biggest hit was just down the line with “The Power of Love.” Steven Spielberg had approached you to write a song for Back to the Future. Had you known him before that?

No. Spielberg was the executive producer, and Bob Zemeckis was the director. They asked to have a meeting and they said,

“We wrote this movie, and our lead character’s favorite band would be Huey Lewis and the News. Would you write a song for the film?” I said, “I’m flattered, but I don’t know how to write for film necessarily.” They said, “We don’t care, we just want one of your songs,” so I said, “We’ll send you the next thing we work on.”

Had “The Power of Love” already been in the works?

Chris [Hayes—guitarist—] had the progression, and it was my turn to write the melody and the lyrics. I set to work on it, but I hadn’t seen the film, I hadn’t even read the script. It was a song. Actually, it was inspired by my kids. I had two young kids at the time. We wrote the song and sent it down. Sports had been really big, so this was an opportunity to not have to write a whole other record, but to still stay in the public eye. We gave them “The Power of Love,” and it went straight to #1, and it only took nine weeks. Nine weeks in those days, was like the fastest you could ever get to #1 from a released record.

Back to the Future holds the record for the shortest time between the end of principal photography and the release of the movie: nine weeks. At the end of principal photography, they edited and then released in nine weeks, and nobody has ever done that that quick. It was so short because our song, which was in the movie, was racing up the charts. The movie company was telling them to get this movie out. I remember

when the movie was released at the premiere, the song was number one that week. Zemeckis, to this day, says it’s the best kickoff any movie ever got. People forget but, in those days, we were the biggest thing in the country. Nobody had ever heard of Marty McFly or Back to the Future at that stage.

Did you enjoy the movie?

Yeah, it’s great, it’s amazing. It’s turned into The Wizard of Oz. Their 40th anniversary is coming up and I’m sure we’ll go do Good Morning America again, like we did [on] the 25th, 30th, and 35th. (Laughs) The movie keeps getting bigger and bigger; it’s amazing.

In 1985, you were approached by Lionel Richie and Quincy Jones about taking part in the “We Are the World” project? What memories do you have from that legendary night?

I remember that my manager sent me a cassette tape of the song. I was writing this song with Ry Cooder that day at my house and I remember, I got the tape and I put it in, and we played it. (Laughs) Cooder didn’t like it, but I said, “You may not like it, but it’s gonna be a hit.” So, they asked us to do it and it was unbelievable, there are so many memories from that night. I was probably 32 and I knew then that this was the career event of my life. The memories of that evening are still vivid. We would take breaks every couple of hours, like union breaks that you’re supposed to, and during one break, Willie Nelson comes over to me and says, “I hear you guys are playing golf on the road.” I said, “Yeah,” and he said, “We do too, we put the clubs on the bottom of the bus and on a day off it’s a good thing to do during the day.” I thought about how we’re doing the same thing and wow, that’s cool. Then Bob Dylan comes over and he says, “Are you guys talking about golf?” We said, “Yeah,” and he says, “Wow, that’s outrageous.” He wrote me a great, lovely little note saying how much he liked my records. I still have it; it was very sweet.

Almost everybody who was successful on pop radio at that time was in the room that night. Did you already have relationships with any of them, so was it getting together with friends to make the song?

I’d never met any of those people. I got to meet Stevie Wonder, Lionel Richie, Bob Dylan, and Bruce Springsteen. You’re lucky if you get to meet those people in a lifetime, let alone work with them for a whole evening; it was incredible. Bruce Springsteen is very funny, I don’t know if people realize that or not; but he’s sharp, he’s funny, and he’s a good joke teller. We had fun.

Lionel was amazing and Quincy Jones was amazing. I remember during one break; Ray Charles was there, and I was just so enamored by him, I couldn’t introduce myself. I followed him around and he starts playing this bluesy thing and he says, “Hey Quincy, remember this one?” Quincy says, “Yeah, Lionel was five years old when we cut that record.”

That must have been overwhelming to be in a room with so much talent and so much history.

No kidding. The idea that people got to check their ego at the door is crazy because nobody was gonna pull an ego trip on that group.

You took part in the recent documentary “The Greatest Night in Pop”. It showcased how by 3AM, Lionel and Quincy were getting frustrated because they want to get the track done, and they were trying to rein in everybody to stay focused.

Yeah, we were there all-night working, and they were a little worried about this kind of thing, but it was so well done, the vocal arrangements were great, and there were tons of talent. It was fun, [but] it was nerve-wracking because you need to sing your line in front of Stevie Wonder (Laughs) and some of the greatest singers in the world. When we did the documentary, we did the premiere and they invited me to go, which I did. The press was asking us questions and they asked Lionel, “Could this ever happen today?” And he said that he didn’t think so because the personalities aren’t there.

The most amazing moment about the whole night happened after the chorus was cut. It was time to do the solo lines and I didn’t have any solo lines. I got Prince’s lines because Prince didn’t show up; somebody tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Quincy wants to see you.” I go to see Quincy at 8PM, and he said, “Huey and ‘Smelly,’ come here.” “Smelly” is what he called Michael Jackson. So, MJ, comes over, and Quincy says, “Sing the line for Huey.” He sings the line, and Quincy says, “Huey sing that,” so I sing it, and he says, “Great, you got it.”

Then the first thing we did was to gather around the piano, all of us lead singers. Stevie Wonder was playing. And we ran it. You could hear, for the first time, each personality.

Oh man, the hair just stood up on the back of my neck. It was that unbelievable.

Let’s talk about some of the hits. What was the inspiration behind “Stuck with You”?

It was a pop song, a love song, and I had the idea to make it funny. It’s meant to be funny: “We are bound by all the rest / Like the same phone number / All the same friends / And the same address.” The idea being that love is never perfect, it has imperfections and you got to bite the bullet every now and then.

What about “If This Is It” from the Sports album?

It was a progression that Johnny Colla had. I was supposed to write the lyrics, but I couldn’t get it. It was the hardest thing for me because it’s a complicated song; it’s not a happy song, and it’s not a sad song. It’s both of those things. I realized, “That’s it! It’s both of those things!” I got the idea on the tour bus. I was in my bunk, and I’d been grinding on this song forever, trying to figure out what the lyrics would be. I jumped out of my bunk, went to the back lounge, got a piece of paper, and wrote it down.

Do you still have the drive to stay relevant on today’s top 40 radio?

I stopped caring about it a while back. I had Kenny Loggins on my radio show recently, and he said a funny thing, he told me somebody said that you have a moment, it’s a bit like standing on the side of the train tracks, and the train goes by. As the window goes by in the lounge, they see you and you’re

all they see. You get them for that amount of time and then they go past you. Sometimes the train goes by slower, and you get a bit longer, but the train is still going, and you’re not going to be in their window forever.

These days you’ve left the busy California life and live in Montana on a serene ranch. Your town has under 2,000 residents. What made you retreat and call Montana your home?

It’s really simple. More cheese and less rats. I’ve always loved the outdoors. I’m a fly fisherman, I have horses on the ranch, which we can pleasure ride, and I love being with mother nature. It has served me well with my hearing loss, I’m not nearly as social as I used to be, and I can’t hear anything. (Laughs) But I’m fine out in nature. I’ve been here for 35 years, I’m a local guy now.

Have you watched the show Yellowstone?

Not really, I don’t watch TV much because I can’t hear it. But I know Kevin, and they film it right here in my valley. I love to flyfish, I have a raft and a boat, and all of that stuff. I guide people down the river sometimes and I’ve had Kevin in my boat a couple of times. My neighbor here is a house full of the Yellowstone people, we know some of them. The fastest growing state in the country is Idaho and the second fastest is Montana. Our county grew by 10% last year, there is 40,000 people in this little county, we had 3,700 new residents last year.

That is going to really change the culture of the county.

You’re almost 74 years old, but you have the lifestyle of a 50-year-old. What do you tribute that to?

Yeah, I guess. I’ve always had a high metabolism and I’ve always been a get-out-there-and-do-‘er guy. But I’m slowing down to be honest. Clint Eastwood said, “Don’t let the old man in.” Toby Keith wrote the song, but that was Clint’s mantra. Well, not only is the old man in, in me, he’s calling the shots now. (Laughs)

You told Rolling Stone some years ago that when you were first diagnosed with Ménière’s disease, you would lay in bed and despair. A lot of people don’t understand what Ménière’s is.

Yeah, it’s called Ménière’s disease but it’s not a disease, it’s a syndrome based on symptoms. If you have tinnitus, a feeling of fullness in your ears like you just got out of the swimming pool and you can’t clear it, hearing loss usually in one ear, and most importantly, bouts of vertigo that last longer than 20 minutes, but no longer than two hours. We call that Ménière’s. They don’t have any idea what it is. I’ve been to the House Ear Institute in California, Stanford, University of California San Francisco, Mayo Clinic, Massachusetts General Eye and Ear, and Harvard Medical School. Nobody knows anything.

When did this first start? I know it started in one ear.

Yeah, I lost my right ear in the late 1980s. My father was a doctor, and he suggested I go to see this legendary engineering and technology guy, the best Ear, Nose & Throat

guy he knew. I went to see him, and he said, “Get used to it.” I said, “What do you mean get used to it?” (Laughs) He said, “You only need one ear,” and I said, “I’m a musician and a singer.” He said, “Jimi Hendrix had one ear, Brian Wilson had one ear, I got one ear and I’m in a barbershop quartet.” I existed on one ear for 30 years, then six years and four months ago I lost my left ear. I’m really deaf, probably headed for a cochlear implant.

Will the implant potentially bring back more of the hearing?

Well, it’s different; it’s complicated. You’ve got to learn to hear again. It’s all very confusing and not very good. But, whaddya gonna do?

Are you frightened?

Yeah, a little bit because you don’t know. It works great for some people and not great for others.

On an exciting note, you have a new Broadway show, The Heart of Rock and Roll. That’s been a great adventure for you.

Yes, that’s been very exciting. We just got it up, it just opened, we got unexpectedly great reviews for a jukebox musical. The odds are stacked against you, and nobody really likes these jukebox musicals. (Laughs) But our show, I think, is a cut above, and that is what the reviews have said, so far so good. We still need to find a larger audience because there are 19 new shows out. So, we need to outperform them, and I think we will, we’ll see. The jury’s still out — you have to run for several months — so we’ll see.

What is the background and your connection?

My neighbor is a musical theatre buff. One day he took me to see Mamma Mia ; I wasn’t gonna like Mamma Mia cause I’m a rocker, but I loved it. Then, they asked me to play Billy Flynn in the musical Chicago, and I did that in 2006, two stints which was 222 performances, and I fell in love with everything that is Broadway. It’s amazing talent. So, the same neighbor who took me to see Mamma Mia , his son-in-law is a film producer and works for Imagine Entertainment with Brian Grazer and Ron Howard. He suggested to his son-in-law, you should do a musical of Huey’s music and they did. He and his pal Jonathan Abrams came up with a wonderful first draft. That was nine years ago, this is 20 drafts later. (Laughs)

You are an actor, musician, singer-songwriter, you have traveled extensively, done cameos in film and television, you’ve done a lot. You have grown children and are a grandfather. When people look back and remember Huey Lewis, what do you want them to remember the most?

That we carved our own path; the thing I’m most proud of is that we produced our own records, wrote, and produced them, stayed out of LA, and did our own thing. We were home grown and tried to find an original niche somehow.

SANTA FE’S

HIDDEN GEM

By Nick Gerlich

Photograph by Katy Pair

Some of the Mother Road’s greatest treasures are hiding in plain sight, yet go overlooked or unnoticed, if only because people don’t know to look there in the first place. The discovery process is complicated when those little gems are on old alignments of Route 66 that don’t always get the same attention that the later ones do.

For example, the so-called Santa Fe Loop, the 1926-1937 routing that saw Route 66 veer north from near Santa Rosa, make a beeline for the state capital, and then south through Albuquerque to Los Lunas. There is limited knowledge about the businesses that once lined this vestigial route, aside from a handful of establishments that have survived the passage of time.

A perfect example of a survivor, yet one that few know about, is the Old Santa Fe Inn on Galisteo, only a few blocks from the Plaza in Santa Fe. The charming venue went by a different name back then, and its appearance has evolved such that you would never know this was once a vintage motor court.

Route 66 exited Santa Fe’s central business district to the southwest, first on Galisteo, which bends slightly and becomes Cerrillos. This is the same route that the predecessor National Old Trails Road followed as well, a path that reflected early road building and the predilection for willfully bringing travelers through towns based on politics and commerce.

But political wrangling in New Mexico saw 66 get a completely new routing, finally come to paved fruition in 1937, pitting it straight across the 35th parallel without the bulges and dips the early routing had. This left Santa Fe out of the picture. But as it turns out, plans were already in place to build a new motor court to serve the needs of motorists who had been making their way west.

Conceived and started in 1937, when 66 still twisted and turned through the central business district, La Villa Motor Court opened on January 21, 1939. Information is scant and incomplete, other than occasional newspaper mentions, and recollections of descendants of those involved with the property, but that makes the destination all the more mysterious.

“It had no more than 10-12 rooms. Of course, more units may have been added in later years,” said local historian Allen Steele. “La Villa had garages so that patrons could shelter their cars.” “Motor courts” was commonly used to describe what we call motels today.

“By studying aerial view maps up into the 1930s, I concluded that the land was vacant until La Villa was built,” Steele continued. “Previous to 1939, the maps indicated that it was a corral where domestic animals were kept by homeowners.”

Once open, La Villa Motor Court continued to operate quietly for the next several decades, not attracting any major attention until the mid-1970s when the property was sold and subsequently converted to office space. By then, the motel had become primarily residential, with apartments to lease. Efforts to liquidate furnishings had begun a few years earlier.

“It was purchased from Ted Otero, by business partners Walter Keesing and Tom Cherry, owners of Cherry Motors, an auto dealership in downtown Santa Fe. At that time, according to a newspaper report, there were 15 tenants in the office complex,” said Steele. “A major one was the Albuquerque Journal until 1987 when the Journal moved into its own building next door.”

In 2002, under new ownership — Barker Realty and Barker Management — the building returned to its lodging roots. Laughlin Barker and his sons, David and John, renovated and expanded it with significant building additions. The last office tenant departed in 2000, and construction commenced in August 2001. Modifications included second-floor additions on two sides of the building.

Now with 43 rooms, the Barkers christened it the Old Santa Fe Inn. They subsequently added on even more, until there were 58 rooms. The Barkers’ vision for the motel was to offer a more affordable lodging option for visitors, yet not keep them from being able to access on foot all that Santa Fe has to offer. For example, its location is only minutes from the Palace of the Governors and many other historic attractions.

Ownership changed once more in February 2022, when La Fonda Hospitality Group, which operates La Fonda Hotel on the Plaza, purchased it. The company owns boutique hotels in several U.S. destinations and found the Old Santa Fe Inn to be to their liking. Shortly after the acquisitions, the Inn was added to the Historic Hotels of America, the official program of the National Trust for Historic Preservation, joining only three other Santa Fe hotels on the prestigious program.

“We knew a lot of our group guests — weddings, state associations, etc. — were staying at mid-market motels on Cerrillos. We love small, independent motels. It fits in really well with what La Fonda does,” said Rik Blyth, President of La Fonda.

In short order, La Fonda has invested heavily in its new property. “We have gone in and done some renovations on the 58 rooms. We renovated the lobby, the restaurant, and the kitchen. We’re going to open a little bistro. After we finish the lobby and restaurant, we’re going to move into the guest rooms and refresh them too.”

Just like the demographics of the typical Santa Fe visitor, guests at the Old Santa Fe Inn skew a little older. “It’s the 40-65 crowd. They’re not looking for luxury or pampering. They’re going to have a cocktail in the evening, hit the breakfast buffet in the morning, and then visit the museums,” Blyth expounded.

The Old Santa Fe Inn may well be one of Route 66’s best-kept secrets, if only because so little is known about it, and it has changed so much in the 85 years since it first opened. But that is also the beauty, something that must be found within. Somewhere in those 58 rooms is a 10–12-unit motor court that served many an early traveler, and still houses many of the ghosts of yesteryear. That is a very Route 66 story.

BIRDS OF

A FEATHER

Photograph by Efren Lopez/Route66Images

Known as common pests and mess makers, to many, the pigeon is little more than an urban annoyance that lives to make a mess and steal stray pieces of food when no one is looking. However, there is a fascinating history behind pigeons and their connection to humans that goes back throughout the centuries. A history that few think is there and fewer think to look out for.

A history that the American Pigeon Museum proudly espouses in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.

Founded in 1973, the American Homing Pigeon Institute, as it was originally called, owes its beginnings to the generous donations of a lesser-known pigeon enthusiast, breeder, and racer by the name of Edna Scrifes. A passionate pigeon fancier, Scrifes knew that these social birds had too great of a story to let it be overshadowed by the more pestlike qualities that people tended to focus on, so her generous donation, along with the help of a few other pigeon fanciers joining her pigeon-loving mission, saw the birth of an institute dedicated to gathering, housing, and preserving the fascinating history of pigeons. Not to mention also being a center that provided insight and support to American pigeon racers. Yes, you read that right: pigeon racers.

While something like racing pigeons may seem odd or even impossible to track and make sense of to the uninitiated, it is actually fairly simple in practice. Racers take their avian athletes to an agreed-upon release point away from their home coop and simply release them. The pigeons can fly up to hundreds of miles to get home, using nothing but their keen instincts and sense for the familiar at their disposal to get them there. But how can they track the individual birds accurately, ensuring that it’s the pigeon a breeder released and not a random pigeon that flew by or even another racer’s bird? In days past, they painted pigeons in order to differentiate them, but that practice gave way to the use of rings placed on the pigeons’ legs and specially designed pigeon racing clocks. These then have, in turn, been replaced by an even more advanced method of radio-frequency identification tracking rings and antennas set up at their home coops to track the racers and their times.

Still seem odd? This practice stretches back throughout recorded and unrecorded history, all thanks to a natural inclination among pigeons to easily find their way home across any distance, making pigeons skillful messengers across the ages, forging stories and myths about how these winged couriers have played vital roles not only in a number of wars but also in economics as the facilitators of massive monetary deals.

“The Rothschilds had pigeons that they would send back and forth daily between London and Brussels,” said Rick Barker, a member of the museum’s board of directors. “Napoleon was fighting the English, and the English were losing. By the time couriers on horseback could relay their messages, the Rothschilds had already heard and sold all of their stock holdings, which by today’s value would be millions and millions of dollars. This was before London finally heard that the English were losing, and the stock market plummeted by 75% overnight. Then miraculously, the

English defeated Napoleon at Waterloo, and the Rothschilds [also] heard about that very early, long before anyone in London heard, so they sent their pigeons to London reportedly to buy all the stock they possibly could at reduced rates. The following day, the market jumped up 150%. And all of a sudden, people began understanding, ‘Man, there’s some great emphasis on using pigeons as messengers.’”

Pigeons also have a long legacy of being messengers during human conflicts throughout history. Historical texts make note of the use of pigeons from all the way back to ancient Roman times over 2,000 years ago to the world wars that rocked the globe in the first half of the 20 th Century. The United States Army even maintained pigeons as part of their Army Signal Corps through to the later half of the 1950s, finally decommissioning their pigeon-based projects and auctioning off the last of their homing pigeon messengers in 1957 as evolving technology rendered them obsolete.

Fast forward to 1993, where we witness a change in the focus of the American Homing Pigeon Institute. Observing changes in the pigeon racing community, the institute decided to focus more on the history of pigeons and less on the sport of racing birds. They rebranded as the American Pigeon Museum, a name they have held onto over the past 30 years, highlighting a new focus via their small collection of exhibits. From there, the American Pigeon Museum’s story is a quaint and quiet one they are happy to have as they play their part to help keep the history of the onceloved hobby alive.

“It’s not big; you can see everything within 30 minutes, and that’s if you read all of the historical information, but you definitely walk away with a different attitude toward pigeons,” continued Barker, who himself is an avid pigeon collector and breeder. And the pigeon-loving attitude is far more prevalent than many people may realize, especially throughout history. “Pigeon racing started to become a rage in the early 1800s. This was just a hobby that people had. Maybe next-door neighbors had some pigeons and wanted to see which ones were the best,” said Barker. “All of a sudden, a sport of homing pigeons and racing pigeons started up. By the 1950s, homing pigeons and racing pigeons started having clubs all over the country. Even today, there are over 250 clubs in the U.S. alone.”

Certainly, one of the smaller attractions you will find along Route 66 and smack dab in one of the largest Mother Road towns, the American Pigeon Museum is often — and easily — overshadowed by the many other notable attractions in Oklahoma City. This curious museum’s love for pigeons though resonates far beyond their walls as those who come through their doors gain a new outlook on the history of pigeons and the roles that the birds have played in humanity’s own story. So, whether you are enjoying a road trip adventure across America or just enjoying a ride down your own local streets, remember to not only keep an eye open for the hidden away gems and storied landmarks but also for the pigeons, too. You might be witnessing a star athlete at work, winding their way home.

Words

Aaron Garza.

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DEVILS ELBOW, MO

Route 66

MOTHER NATURE’S HAPPY PLACE

When two famous moms come together, you know it’s going to be something special. And that’s just what the Mother Road and Mother Nature have done by creating one of the most beautiful and memorable drives through the heart of the Ozarks. As you make your way along the 33 winding miles of Route 66 in Pulaski County, you’ll be greeted and amazed by the never-ending natural beauty. Plus, there are historical and new stops to make and enjoy. And talk about photo opps. Selfie aficionados won’t be able to control themselves.

Come Say “Hi” to our favorite moms. Plan your trip at pulaskicountyusa.com.

AMONG THE

REDWOODS

Opening photograph by JD Mahoney

Long before the name “Avenue of the Giants” lured motorists into the 500-mile redwood belt in what became northern California, the colossal trees stood for hundreds of years in a narrow band along the Pacific Coast.

But in 1923, the Redwood Highway was completed to facilitate commerce and provide a land bridge between the San Francisco Bay area and Eureka to the north. Soon lined with kitschy tourist attractions such as the One Log House, Confusion Hill, and drive-through trees, the new road piqued the curiosity of the newly created motoring public and transported visitors through the largest, untouched, continuous coastal redwood forest in the world.

Within this setting, located along one of the many bends of the south fork of the Eel River, was a sleepy ranch. This storybook setting, nestled amidst the magnificent forest of Humboldt County, California, became the site of a stately three-story English Tudor hideaway in the summer of 1926. The Benbow Inn is the legacy — and the almost unbelievable story — of nine siblings who used their ingenuity and tenacity to create an old-world hotel and a multi-faceted family empire, right in the heart of the mystical redwood forests.

They had a Dream

It started as a dream for nine Benbow siblings. A dream for something that would not only be a family project, but one that would financially support the entire family and put into use their diverse individual talents. The idea of a dude ranch was pitched with the goal of creating a country retreat for the wealthy patrons of San Francisco. With an age range spanning a decade and a half, but rooted in a strong family bond, the siblings — Joseph, Evangeline, Burtis, Clara, Helen and Jesse who were the eldest, plus the three youngest, Loleta, Walter, and Robert — began the hunt for the right piece of property. This search, which began right after World War I and lasted for almost two years, would lead them all across California and finally to Linser Ranch in southern Humboldt.

“The nine brothers and sisters lost their mom in the 1918 [influenza] epidemic, and they still had school-age siblings at home. They wanted to do something as a family to keep everyone together, and to help with the younger ones. They had this idea for a big ranch,” former co-owner Teresa Porter explained. “Searching all through the northern California counties of Sonoma, Mendocino, and Humboldt, they kept coming back to the place where they had camped years before.” Located in the area was a 1,288-acre sheep ranch owned by prominent rancher Ernest Linser.

The Linser Ranch was perfect. It was along the newly minted Redwood Highway, the Eel River crossed through the property, and it nestled amidst stunning natural beauty — lush greenery and the majestic canopies of the redwoods. The family used up all their savings to place a down payment.

However, in order to bring their dream to fruition, they needed capital. Luckily, the family had a driving force in Joseph. As the eldest, Joseph “Joe” had stepped into his — absentee — father’s shoes very early on, taking up several jobs, including as a book salesman, a schoolteacher, and a principal in Eureka, all by the young age of 18. He then went on to become a lawyer and prominent businessman. Around this period, he was also involved with the financing effort of the construction of a large hotel in Eureka.

“Using his knowledge of leveraged financing, Joe copied the idea to sell shares. Joe was an incredible salesman. He believed wholeheartedly that [sales] was the greatest profession anyone could have if they truly believed in their product,” Teresa emphasized. “It allowed them to use their powers of persuasion. They were all so brilliant and inventive, but I think that came from them being so impoverished.” Brother Burtis traveled the state with Joe to sell shares, while sister Evangeline, an accomplished artist, created conceptual drawings of the property to interest investors in the project.

“Meeting with potential funding sources, including investors from as far away as Yosemite’s Ahwahnee Hotel, they got people to invest $1,000 and $5,000 [apiece],” said Teresa. “There were well over 100 people that bought land around the inn. There is a whole sub-division of homes built by the Benbows. They’d run out of money, and they would sell land to another investor.”

Somewhere along the way, the idea of a dude ranch was shelved for an even better plan: a hotel. So, in addition to building vacation homes for the investors, they would also construct a luxury wilderness retreat with all the lavish trappings that a wealthy discerning traveler could imagine, including a golf course and riding stables. As the funding came together, the siblings sought out San Francisco architect Albert Farr — known for the rustic Wolf House he designed for author Jack London in a wooded natural setting in the Bay Area, and for his revivalist architectural styles, such as Tudor Revival, which would characterize Hotel Benbow.

Overcoming the obstacles of the then-remote location proved to be a challenge, but the Benbows — relying on their own combined ingenuity and tenacity — commenced construction of the hotel on New Year’s Day 1924. All the lumber for the hotel construction came from a company in Carlotta, a 100-mile round trip, and brother Walter hauled every load of it himself on an REO Speed Wagon flat-bed truck.

“It’s just an amazing story that they were able to pull it off — this really great building in a place that had no electricity, no hardware stores, no skilled labor,” Teresa

continued. “It was Helen and her brothers that built the hotel. She oversaw every bit of construction. She and her sister, Clara, would sit up at night and color code the rebar to be installed the next day, because some of the workers didn’t speak English.” In addition, Helen, whose education was in construction, supervised the building of the dam and the 40 homes near the golf course. Intended as summer getaways for the Bay Area affluent, the homes did not have kitchens, an encouragement for residents to eat at the hotel restaurant.

Joe became the chief surveyor for the hotel, dam, and golf course. Burtis, the fourth sibling and a watchmaker by trade, designed the dam across the Eel River. Considered a mechanical genius, Burtis relied on the library at the Mechanics’ Institute in San Francisco to educate himself on engineering solutions. Not only responsible for building an on-site mill, Burtis also succeeded in diverting water from the dam to establish the Benbow Water Company, and to install a hydroelectric generator to create the Benbow Power Company.

Circle the Hotel Three Times

Enticed by vivid articles with photographs of enormous trees, the motoring public soon began to explore the mysterious forests containing the tallest and oldest trees in the world, and those motorists needed lodging. And, in July of 1926, Hotel Benbow officially opened its doors to guests with just

17 terrace rooms completed, plus an attic and basement. The striking façade, featuring stucco walls highlighted with dark brown timbering, bay windows with multi-paned casements, and French doors, all added to the whimsical appeal of the hotel. The interior was equally impressive, with rich wood columns, pendants, arches, and ornate furnishings, all of which created an atmosphere of refined luxury. Word spread quickly, and the property’s elegance made it an instant popular destination.

“When the Benbows opened in 1926, the hotel was very successful,” said John Porter, Teresa’s husband, and former co-owner of Benbow Inn. “A lot of industrialists and Hollywood elites would come up here and stay.” Hotel Benbow attracted early Hollywood screen icons seeking privacy and solitude. Clark Gable, Alan Ladd, Nelson Eddy, Jeanette MacDonald, Joan Fontaine, Basil Rathbone, and Spencer Tracy were among the entertainment luminaries of their time to visit the secluded lodge. With ample outdoor amenities, it was a perfect retreat for Eleanor Roosevelt, Herbert Hoover, and England’s Lord Edward Halifax as well.

Two years later, the second-phase completion of the threestory main building added another 48 rooms, and a ninehole golf course was finished the following year. Fronting the hotel, the ninth fairway doubled as a landing strip for wealthy guests. “When people wanted to fly their planes in, the trick was to circle the hotel three times,” said Teresa. “The Benbow kids had to get on their bikes and pop off the

Avenue of the Giants. Photograph by Michelle Chaplow / Hotel Essence.

sprinkler heads so they wouldn’t catch in the landing gear.”

The Benbow “project” became a well-oiled family-run machine with everyone in the family pitching in and pulling their weight. Building and stocking the riding stable was left to the youngest sibling, Robert, the cowboy of the family. At the Ridgewood Ranch in the Mendocino County town of Willits, Robert bought most of the quality stable horses from Charles Howard, well-known as the owner of the legendary racehorse Seabiscuit, and as the riding instructor who taught horsemanship to Hollywood actor Alan Ladd.

Day-to-day hotel business operations were primarily handled by Clara and Loleta, with Jesse filling in where needed. Housekeeping and culinary duties were also shared. Walter ran the water company and was the on-call fix-it man. Useful for screwing, hammering, or prying, the silver butter knife he was known to carry in his pocket was his tool of choice for most repairs.

A Succession of Owners

The Benbows’ resort, like the rest of the U.S., was carried along during the 1920s on a wave of prosperity, bolstered by the popularity of operating on credit. On the day after the 1929 stock market collapse, the hotel was nearly empty, signifying a new phase — a seasonal hotel, with the hopes of paying all the bills from the tourist season’s income. In the early ‘30s, the family scraped together every penny they could to seize control from the investors, accomplished after Burtis Benbow furtively created the Benbow Bondholders Association. But after surviving the Depression years, World War II-era rationing of gasoline and tires added another problem for the resort — and, sadly, sister Clara passed away. The family began to look for a new owner.

George Thompson purchased the property in 1951, installed a bar, and renamed the resort the Benbow Inn, but did little else to maintain or improve the property. By then in

a state of neglect, the property was reassumed by the Benbow family in 1961. With the hotel “very close to the wrecking ball,” the Benbows agreed to sell their legacy once more in 1962, this time to Arthur and Claudia Stadler. Reviving the faded glory of the landmark, the Stadlers proved to be good custodians over the next 14 years.

Next, interim owners Dennis Levette and Cornelius Corbett only owned the hotel for two years, using it as a trading chip to acquire other property. But, in 1978, experienced innkeepers Chuck and Patsy Watts began their Benbow tenure and embarked on an extensive renovation. Having been flooded in 1964, the original Phase I terrace rooms had simply been closed off and left to deteriorate. After a complete gutting and rebuilding, those 17 rooms comprised the Terrace Wing. Through the Watts’ efforts, the property was named to the National Register of Historic Places in 1983. After 15 years at Benbow, the Watts were ready to retire to Eugene, Oregon.

In 1994, John and Teresa Porter, along with business partner Jack Macdonald, purchased the hotel, bringing with them a half-century of inn-keeping experience. For the last 29 years, they have been loving stewards of the Benbow legacy. “We feel fortunate that we are the people who have been given the opportunity to be the caretakers of this building,” John said. “Guests love staying in a property like this because of its historical significance. We are fortunate that the area has this jewel.”

Into the Future, Honoring the Past

Eager to know the full story of the Benbow siblings and their amazing feats, Teresa Porter tirelessly combed through hundreds of family letters, provided by Benbow descendant Carol Benbow Bickler, in order to construct a fascinating profile of each of the siblings. For her meticulous efforts, the Historic Hotels of America organization awarded Teresa their Historian of the Year award in 2018. But it’s clear from Teresa’s proud and clear storytelling what the real reward has been: knowing and sharing the Benbow siblings’ tale.

Successfully completing what the founding Benbows and no other prior owner could accomplish in the previous 92 years, the Porters finished construction of Phase III in 2018. After struggling through compliance with endless regulations from numerous federal, state, and local agencies, the modernized addition is not only ADA compliant, but blends seamlessly with the historic structure. “We have made the hotel accessible to people that couldn’t have stayed here before,” John added. “We are going to be able to accommodate people that have a history with the hotel and other people that didn’t [previously] have accessibility.”

Benbow-Historic-Inn 1931 Arch Bridge. Photograph by Michelle Chaplow / Hotel Essence.

Adding 10 new suites to the building, the Porters were careful to honor the history of its creators. “I came up with the idea of naming each of the new suites after the original founders of the hotel,” Teresa recalled. “Once the Benbow family found out that I was researching and honoring their past, they opened up trunks and treasure troves. I literally cataloged thousands of letters, photographs, blueprints, and ephemera. Thank God they were pack rats!”

With attention to every detail, Teresa designed and accessorized each suite with artifacts reflecting the contribution of its namesake. A carved Tudor rose on each headboard acknowledges the femininity of the five founding sisters that tackled tasks normally relegated to men during the era. Framed botanical pressings from the area’s diverse flora — created by the sisters 100 years ago — are displayed in the rooms.

The Benbow Experience

While it has received acclaim and awards over the years, the Benbow Inn is more than a remarkable place — it is a state of mind. Often referred to as the Benbow experience, the charm and elegance of an enchanted old-world hotel has a tranquility that seems to make time stand still. A marvelous old tradition, guests still congregate in the great room for tea and scones each afternoon.

But it isn’t just the hotel that defines the Benbow experience. The redwood forest itself is a significant part of the experience here. Justin Legge, lead naturalist and tour director, interprets for guests the amazing legacy of the redwood forest.

“Re-named Avenue of the Giants, old Highway 101 is the pathway through the largest, unbroken, interconnected, old-growth redwood forest on earth,” Legge proclaimed. “By the time they are 300 to 400 years old, they are pretty much done growing vertically, and then they grow out. They are the widest trees on earth, the tallest trees on earth, and the most complex trees on earth.” Like the tentacles of a giant octopus, the roots of the Sequoia sempervirens wander through the forest floor supporting the massive trunks.

“My absolute favorite thing about this property, is that it is basically a living organism: part of the forest itself,” Legge exclaimed. “With their root systems still intact, clones of the trees they built the hotel with are still living on the land.”

Like the energy of the towering sequoias garnering strength through an interconnected root system, the nine Benbow siblings, through their collaborative efforts, constructed a monumental property that will soon complete its first century.

“It’s a one-of-a-kind place to visit,” said John. “It’s a step back in history. There’s no other place like Benbow!”

No other place like Benbow. And no other century-old luxury hotel constructed from the dream of nine siblings — by the nine siblings. And today, the iconic inn is in the hands of another set of siblings, daughters of Jack Macdonald, co-owner with the Porters. When Macdonald passed away in 2020, his ownership of the property was left to his three daughters, Jill, Polly and Sally. And in May 2024, the Macdonald siblings acquired the Porter’s interest, opening a new chapter for the historic landmark.

It may be just as amazing a legacy as the redwood forest surrounding it.

AMARILLO’S WORST KEPT SECRET

A'mericans have always loved a good time, and for many folks, enjoying an alcoholic beverage has always come part and parcel of that experience. We love our drinks. However, a century ago, the only way someone in the U.S. could enjoy an adult beverage in public was to discreetly visit a “speakeasy.” Between 1920 and 1933, these establishments operated in the shadows and underground — often, quite literally — to bypass the law of Prohibition. Route 66 had its fair share of speakeasies and other illicit ventures, but their time in the sun vanished once the repeal went into effect, but their romantic image still lingers.

Today, one of those speakeasies — the Paramount Recreation Club — is alive and well along Amarillo’s Route 66, down in the basement of the upscale Barfield Hotel. Located on the southwest corner of Polk Street and 6th Avenue Southwest (Route 66), the Paramount is, of course, a novelty now, and there is no fear of visits by law enforcement, but the whole experience is alluring with its mystery and glamor. You just have to know how to get in.

But as it turns out, this is perhaps Amarillo’s worst-kept secret. “We want people to be able to experience it, and if you ask any of the staff here, they will give you hints,” said Chloe Shelton, sales manager at the Barfield. “It’s definitely a highlight for a lot of people. It’s one of the favorite places that we get to show people.”

help businessmen be receptive to new deals. She thus opened the original Paramount Recreation Club at the same time, in the same subterranean space occupied by its successor today. It is accessed by the same narrow marble-lined stairway descending from the lobby as it was then, and it’s easy to imagine cattle barons and oil men hammering out deals over a few glasses of the smuggler’s finest.

“She was a very smart businesswomen. She knew where the money was, and that if she got a couple of drinks in someone, she might be a little more able to persuade them one way or another. When she came to Amarillo, she had more money than all the banks combined,” Shelton continued.

Like speakeasies of lore, the Paramount is dimly lit, and features translucent skylights over the bar that provide filtered light through embedded panels in the sidewalk above. It adds a mysterious vibe to a room that has been shrouded in mystery from its inception. Bookshelves, barstools, and hightop tables make for an intimate setting; stir in live music on weekends, and it is understandable why the venue has become one of Amarillo’s premier night spots. But behind one of those book cases is another hidden room. The hinged case pulls back to reveal another secret spot — complete with full bar — that has space for up to 30 patrons. This hideway can be reserved for private events. It’s a speakeasy within a speakeasy.

It all started in 1926, when the wealthy philanthropist and known supporter of the temperance movement, Melissa Dora Oliver-Eakle — also known as “The Duchess” — commissioned the construction of what then was Amarillo’s first skyscraper, all 10-stories of it, housing a variety of professional services. The building opened in 1927, but it was not until the building’s two-year renovations — starting in 2019 — were completed, that it became a hotel. Sadly, the Barfield had been gutted and vacant for decades. In spite of her inclinations, Oliver-Eakle also recognized how alcohol works as a social lubricant, and how it could

But back to the secret of entry. After strolling the somewhat labyrinthian hallway, visitors face a door in front of them with no handle. A vintage cigarette machine sits on a small table to the left. Look closely at the cigarette brands that are seemingly available, and you’ll find the answer staring you in the face. Pull that lever, and the door opens to a magical place that Oliver-Eakle no doubt created with a grin on her face. Today it has been re-created with the same kind of temerity of which Oliver-Eakle would approve. “The whole idea down there is that we want it to be an experience,” Shelton remarked. “If only these walls could talk, the stories they would tell.”

Words by Nick Gerlich. Photograph by Katy Pair.

ADVENTURES IN TINKERTOWN

Most people traveling through the Land of Enchantment are drawn to the majestic beauty of the land, keen to absorb a diversity of culture and history that is unique to this region of the Southwest. What they are probably not expecting is to discover a tiny, quirky stop that offers a level of oddity and whimsy that is found in few other places. But it is there — waiting.

You can wander the main thoroughfare of this town, marveling at the sculpted townspeople lining its streets, forever frozen in a bygone era. Then, when you have tired of the Old West, you can step over to a high top, three ring circus and watch the coordinated chaos of the animals and tumblers, trapeze walkers and acrobats, all set to the tune of a calliope. Then hop over to marvel at a ship that sailed the whole world, helmed by a free spirit who needed to explore this big, blue marble for an entire decade. Amazingly only 25 miles east of Albuquerque, just off New Mexico’s Turquoise Trail, this destination is home to a world born from one man’s imagination. Welcome to the one and only Tinkertown. However, the story of Tinkertown begins far from New Mexico and way back in the youthful days of one Ross Ward.

“He was inspired by Knott’s Berry Farm when he was nine years old,” said Carla Ward, Ward’s wife and current caretaker of Tinkertown. “His parents took him from South Dakota to Knott’s Berry Farm in California and he loved the Old West town. He knew that he probably couldn’t have one as big in size, so he built one in miniature. Add to that his love for the circus and he started carving. [After he] had it all created, he wanted to have a place to display it.”

Larger-than-life, yet all done in miniature form, Tinkertown contains the fruits of Wards’s years of labor traveling across the U.S. as part of the traveling carnivals where he worked as a painter, creating the fantastical banners and advertisements that are synonymous with traveling side-shows; creations that showcase caricatured entertainers, intimidating beasts of myth and folklore, and proud performing animals. The first figures and

buildings of what would become Tinkertown’s main attraction, the miniature ghost town of Buzzard Gulch, were carved during these travels, adding his work to the sideshows as it grew to over 60 feet in length, carefully detailed and cleverly animated to make this late19 th Century Old West town stand out apart from any other miniature art piece. The wooden townsfolk came to life for carnival goers to look upon in amazement thanks to Ward’s technical prowess. With his ghost town growing larger and more ideas and pieces filling his personal collection, the decision came to settle down somewhere more permanent.

“In the 1960s, he was looking around for a property and this one came up, right at the base of the Sandia Mountains,” continued Carla. “It just felt like a place where he could build without somebody looking over his shoulder and bothering him.” However, the paving of the road up to the peak of Sandia Crest in 1960 brought a little more life to Sandia Park than they expected, and soon nature enthusiasts were regularly passing through their tiny town and up Sandia Crest Road. However, with their little home right off of that vital road up to Sandia Crest, Ward was in the perfect position to display his work and become a draw, just like the Old West towns and roadside attractions that amazed him in his youth. In response, he threw open the doors of his bottled walled, maze-like gallery in 1983.

“He had a vision of how this whole place would come together with the bottles and the rockwork and the sculptures and carvings and animations and everything. I think he really stepped back while he was still alive, and really appreciated his whole creation, the entire body of work,” remarked Carla. In 1998, Ward was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. He was only 57 years old. Still, he continued his work until his passing in 2002, leaving decades of spectacular creations and a loving wife to watch over it all.

Today, Tinkertown has become a destination in its own right, a whimsical place filled with paintings, sculptures, memorabilia and intricate, colorful, hand-carved dioramas that are a testament to the heartfelt magic behind one man’s dream. Truly, there is no place quite like Tinkertown.

Photograph by David J. Schwartz –Pics On Route 66.

ABANDONED

Photographs by Billy Brewer

TO TIME

The history of the great American deserts is filled with stories of hope, desperation, and derring-do. After all, the most inhospitable climate of the country can be found here, with scorchingly hot summer days, surprisingly cool — even cold — winter nights, and scarcely enough rainfall to water a garden, much less sustain much economic activity.

But that hasn’t stopped dreamers and desert rats — the people who don’t mind life on the fringes, where few otherwise sane people would drop anchor — from trying anyway. From prospectors and miners in the 1800s, to developers and business wannabes of more recent days, a certain type of hardy, rugged souls have tried to eke out a living here. And that included a married couple in the middle of the 20th Century who set their sights on the far western Mojave, the driest desert in North America. But it was not to last. Today, in the legacy of their long-discarded dreams, taggers and UrbEx fans have taken great delight in painting their farm turned waterpark far more brightly than the couple could have ever imagined, but that too is a reality in the abandoned places of the Southwest.

Down on the Farm

In 1953, Bob Byers, a painting contractor, and his wife, Dolores, ditched their family business in Barstow, and purchased 320 acres — one-half of a square mile — in the desert just outside of town. This was before the coming of the Interstate Highway System and I-15 in those parts. US 91, the Arrowhead Highway, was still the two-lane thoroughfare connecting Los Angeles with Las Vegas, Salt Lake City, and points beyond.

The property sat atop the Mojave Aquifer, and there was abundant water from springs that allowed them to pursue farming and ranching as their livelihood. The region typically receives only four inches of rainfall each year, but the numerous springs made it possible for the seemingly impossible to happen in this high desert region. They grew alfalfa, which they then fed to their beef cattle. It was their hope to have a sustainable business.

Neither farming nor ranching yielded much profit, though, and the costs of maintaining farming equipment perpetually kept them on the verge of bankruptcy, to the point that they were both forced to take on second jobs. And to make matters more difficult, it looked like national policy was shifting toward cheap beef imports, which would cause prices to plunge. Bob and Dolores had to look for something else to do.

Build It and They Will Come… Hopefully

By then, I-15 had claimed 50 acres of their land, but the couple noticed a steady increase in automobile traffic zooming right past their remaining acreage, and Bob had

already started pondering using his land for other things, including a lake. “He wanted to do something for his family to enjoy the desert,” said Joe Beyers, author and travel writer. “He built Lake Dolores — named for his wife — for his family and friends to come out and swim.” Beyers recounted that travelers along I-15 would randomly stop and ask to be able to join the fun, which provided the impetus to consider a new business venture.

So, always ready to pivot, they quit farming, and quickly hatched a plan to build what would arguably be the nation’s first waterpark. Lake Dolores Waterpark opened in 1962 near the highway midpoint between Los Angeles and Las Vegas, roughly 150 miles in either direction from the two.

With only a portion of the requested loans they sought from banks, they plowed ahead — quite literally — digging a large hole for what would eventually be the first of multiple lakes, borrowing the dirt to build tall hills for waterslides. The natural spring and nearby wells they had originally hoped would nourish their farm were siphoned off to create these unnatural water features that were visible from the freeway, from which they hoped they could lure recreationminded customers.

The first lake didn’t attract many people though, but this ultimately expanded to seven lakes — including ones dedicated for fishing, swimming, and boating; then customers started to trickle in. Admission was $.50 a day to begin but was soon raised to $1.50.

Interestingly, the 1960s were hardly the decade of consumer safety; a time when few cars had seat belts, no one wore bicycle helmets, and backyard warriors hurled Lawn Darts with reckless impunity. It was thus no surprise to find Lake Dolores with its tall stand-up waterslides, the object of which was to somehow be able to remain upright for 220 feet at speeds of up to 50 mph, before being launched airborne 15 feet over the lake. Other attractions featured ziplines running to a drop-off over water and swinging trapezes.

What could possibly go wrong?

Bob and Dolores relished the attention that they were getting from local media, and by 1971, attendance had swelled to 30,000. The couple went on to spend $20,000 a month on advertising alone to try and attract even more customers from the LA area — from which they drew nearly all of their business.

The early years of the park found only portable toilets, but by 1972 the couple had saved enough for permanent facilities. “He built a campground,” Beyers continued, “and more and more people came. He added slides, and it did very well. There are not many places in the Mojave Desert where you can go to cool off.”

Eventually, though, the park became known as a teen hangout, with drinking, partying, and other youthful indiscretions, which proved to be a turn-off for families and older patrons. However, Bob and Dolores were seeing far more dollar signs than when they were trying to farm and ranch on the same land. Yet, the dollar signs that Bob and Dolores saw were swimming in red ink, not pure spring waters. It was not a viable revenue model, especially with such a large ad spend.

Meanwhile, waterparks had caught on nationwide in a big way, and there were numerous competitors in LA, Las Vegas, and elsewhere, leaving Bob and Dolores to struggle to make ends meet. On top of this, there were increasing safety standards for these waterparks, and this

Words

Joseph L. Roberts.

meant a substantial investment in upgraded facilities. For the aging couple, it was time to think about retiring.

In hindsight, the park’s ultimate demise is clear, one that Joe Oesterle, graphic artist and co-author of Weird California , cynically referred to as a “built-in doomsday for every waterpark.” By allowing Lake Dolores to become a teen hangout, the Byers courted their own decline. By the late 1980s, the park was shuttered.

Second and Third Chances

Byers sold the park in 1990 to Lake Dolores Group LLC, an investment group that envisioned a 1950s-themed waterpark. In 1995, the new owners replaced the original slides with fiberglass ones deemed to be safer. One of the attractions was “The Big Bopper,” which they claimed was the world’s largest family raft ride. Sadly, Bob Byers passed away in 1996.

In 1998, management of the park was contracted to Beachport Entertainment Corporation, who reopened it as Rock-A-Hoola and broadcasted 1950s and ‘60s music throughout it to reinforce the theme.

However, Rock-A-Hoola did not pan out as expected, and financial difficulties ensued. Again. One of the three investors faced financial hardships, the park fell $3 million in debt, and a park employee who was paralyzed in a 1999 accident was awarded $4.4 million in damages. By February 2000, the park filed for bankruptcy.

No buyer could be found, and the property was returned to Dolores Byers, with all debts expunged. She then sold the property to S.L. Investment Group LLC in September 2001, and she passed away the following month.

The third owner reopened under the name Discovery Waterpark in 2002 and spent $400,000 on improvements,

but it only survived until 2004. Operating hours were limited to weekends, and even sporadically, so in 2004, it enjoyed its last season of operation.

Another long period of dormancy set in, and the lure of an abandoned property was too much for some. In spite of being gated and fenced, there were always ways in to be found. What was left of the park after the last owner liquidated slides and anything that had cash value, was quickly treated as a canvas for spray paint.

The park now stands as a creepy reminder of a faded past. Standing on the hill, high above the empty pools, there is an eerie sense of foreboding, like the place is haunted.

But Wait, There’s More

Not to be discouraged by three failures, the property changed hands twice more in the last decade, last selling for $1.5 million in 2013. The new owner remained optimistic for many years, intent on overcoming all of the previous problems, not the least of which was a location several miles from the nearest interchange on I-15. By August 2021, though, it was put up once more for sale, this time with an asking price of $11 million, in spite of the county tax assessor only valuing it at $1.25 million. Even this is generous, but it’s California.

“I feel all water parks have an eventual built in expiration date,” said Oesterle. While the site is still very visible from I-15, it often goes unnoticed aside from those more intent on mischief and exploration. “It does look cool, though, very post-apocalyptic.”

The desert has a way of building up hope and then dashing those dreams. Lake Dolores Water Park is just one more vivid example of this reality in the tapestry of roadside America.

Once welcoming entry into the water park.

Gallup’s Home of History

In the city of Gallup, New Mexico — a community known for both hosting the Red Rock Balloon Rally, and its heritage (often referred to as “The Indian Capital of the World” thanks in part to its creation of Native American jewelry and being in the heart of Native lands) — there lies a building that has stood its ground for well over a century: the Rex Museum. Resting comfortably on the historic Mother Road and being within eye line of both another Route 66 favorite, “The Dude Man” muffler man, and the rolling hills of the New Mexico landscape, the Rex has served many purposes in its life, and has passed along through many owners, but stands as a reminder of the history of the ville that’s been granted the title of “America’s Most Patriotic Small Town.”

Built around 1900 on the original Gallup townsite, the Rex Museum was surveyed and platted by Alex Bowie, a surveyor for the Calcedonia Coal Company. Italian stonemasons would construct it out of locally quarried sandstone.

While it’s believed that the original purpose of the building was to be used as a hotel, early Sanborn Maps (circa January 1893) shows a building on the plot that stated it would be a drygoods store, and then by April 1893, it was open for business. It wasn’t until 1902 that the building as we know it today had a second floor added that would be used for lodgings. When it comes to the original owners of the location, that’s also something of a blind spot. “We don’t know who the original proprietor of the hotel was,” said Alaina Noland, Exhibitions and Public Programming Curator of the Historic Rex Museum and Red Rock Park Museum. “The farthest back we can trace records is the early ‘20s. Fred Cavaggia was that owner. His parents were immigrants from Italy who opened a mine nearby. He owned a variety of businesses around Gallup between his World War services.”

as the Angelus Hotel, the Angelus Club, the Rex Hotel, LaCopota Liquors, and by around 1958, Tom’s Variety Store & Hobby Shop. This closed in the late 1970s. While there isn’t a definitive answer on why it changed owners so frequently — though the Great Depression and World War II were more than likely to blame for causing havoc on Gallup’s local economy — Noland believes that it was still a prosperous location for most of its life. “Lodging has always been at a premium in Gallup, and I can’t imagine people would have continued operating as a hotel if it wasn’t viable. The 1947 directory states that the property was vacant, and that’s the first time that I can find it was.”

The location eventually went derelict and was donated to the City of Gallup on December 16, 1986, by C.P.S Associates (the Caviggia, Petranovich, and Smith families) to become a police substation (after $600,000 worth of renovations). On November 30 th , 1987, it was inducted into the National Register of Historic Places. By November 5th , 1993, there were discussions about the building being used as the offices for the New Mexico Council of Governments but for one reason or another, nothing ever came of it. While there’s no definitive date on when the location opened as the Rex Museum proper, it’s estimated to be around 1995 because the Gallup Historical Society inventories state that items were transferred to the Rex in August 1995.

Cavaggia would run the lower level of the hotel, the Angelus Billiard Parlor, while the upper level, the Angelus Rooms, was run by George Manoplovich. Over the decades, and especially throughout the ‘30s and ‘40s, the hotel changed hands and had many different titles, such

As of today, the museum isn’t currently open to the public, but plans are in motion for an art installation in collaboration with Silver Stallion Bicycle and Coffee (a local non-profit) that’s planned to be open by April 2024. It’s a trying effort, but one that Noland believes to be worthwhile. “The Rex building and the Rex Museum are long-lasting parts of the community. We’re looking forward to pursuing funding to restore the exterior of the building and establishing it as a first-rate museum that provides compelling stories about the area’s history and engaging programming for the community.” Though it may be over a century old, the sun still shines brightly on the sandstone structure, just as it does over Gallup.

Photograph by David J. Schwartz –Pics On Route 66.

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