A New Diversion

As our eight-day, five-state voyage rolled into Canton, Ohio, on Sunday, we had but two priorities:

1.) Watch the Chicago Bears at Damon's preferably while munching ribs and playing NTN.Com's QB1.

2.) Visit the Pro Football Hall of Fame to pay reverent homage to the great Bears enshrined within.

Payton At The Hall

Actually, looking at the entire odyssey, there were just two MUST objectives, in addition to all of the visiting: The now-documented pilgrimage to the Thurber House in Columbus, Ohio, on the way to New York and the Damon's excursion on the return.

We arrived Sunday at 11:30 a.m. EST in Canton at our first destination, the downtown Marriott McKinley Grand Hotel, where we had Pricelined a room for $50. Now, I was originally not happy with Priceline.com because I was seeking one of the 2 or 2-and-a-half star hotels nearer the Hall of Fame and Damon's but was greeted with the "good news" that my bid was "upgraded" to a 3-star venue.

Uhm, but I didn't want to be downtown, I wanted to be near my destination, I complained when I called Priceline. A guy there uttered that he had never had anyone complain about an upgrade before. Priceline deals are final he said as he essentially hung up on me to laugh with his coworkers about this nut who got a $129 room for $50 AND called to bitch...

We settled into our room and at about noon - with an hour to spare before kickoff. I called over to Damon's to make sure they were getting the Bears-Buccaneers game. I was a little surprised that the phone rang at the other end so long... 11...12...13...

"Good, uhm, morning. Damon's," a voice said from the other end, clearly unaware it was no longer morning.

"Hi, can you give me directions? We're downtown at the Marriott and we're coming over to watch the Bears game."

"Uhm, yeah, well, sorry but we are closed. We had a water pump break and we won't be able to open."

Now, of course, I am waiting for the joke to end. I mean, pro football fans and rib-lovers arrive by the busloads to Damon's and I am sure this is just a funny joke the manager tells every time he answers the phone...

I wait another beat.

Seriously, after the mess at the Thurber House, what are the odds that we could pick two places on a map that would have completely independent crises upon our arrival?

"You ARE kidding, right?"

"Uhm, no, sorry. There is no way we can open today. There are some other sports bars near us if you would like I could give you some directions..."

Other? Please...

So, I bid the submerging manager farewell and called the Marriott front desk. They assured me they had a sports bar and it was named, appropriately, "Thorpe's Lounge."

That was good enough for us. We headed downstairs to find a nice bar with one older, roughly 40-inch television and we commandeered the corner closest to the TV. We were the only patrons and the FOX pre-game show was under way and they were gushing about the Bears season so far (although lame Frank Caliendo picked the Bucs to win).

"Now, you are going to have to let us switch over to check on Cleveland once in a while," warned the bartender. "You're in Browns country."

I was in my Urlacher jersey. I just sneered at her: "We'll see. Right now, only Bears fans are here."

It turned out to be a delightful afternoon. The Marriott ribs were tasty. We had great seats and the run of the joint. No one asked to see the Browns after the Vikings began waxing the floor with them. Brother Eric called to share his excitement during as the Bears took the lead. I called and jeered my Florida parents who, sadly, converted from respectable Bears fans to Buccaneer backers when they headed south full-time in 1998. It is the shame of the family.

After the Bears' first touchdown, I called them and feigned confusion as if I was still traveling on the road...

"Any update on the game?" My Dad was not amused and suggested, instead, I make sure I view Carnell "Cadillac" Williams' shoes when I visit the hall the following day. I shot a picture of them (put on display after he broke the single-game rookie rushing record earlier this season) with my cell phone and emailed him just to prove I was a good sport. That was the only Buccaneer artifact in the hall, as far as I could tell.

We spent a few hours at the hall Monday and left Canton elated at our experiences. The Marriott staff was wonderful, the bar was terrific, the room was great and the hall is such a treat for football fanatics. I could watch those old NFL films all day. We grabbed some souvenirs and then headed toward the open turnpike.

Next stop: Home!

More later,


Mark

Our Annual Corning Visit

Corning, N.Y. always is a special place for Mary and I to visit.

She was born here in 19.. ... uhm ... many years ago! She has fond memories of her first 30 years in upstate New York including her collegiate career at Syracuse University. I first came to this town in 1988 as an eager news editor of a family owned, six-day, mostly P.M. newspaper. I left four years later as a hardened managing editor of a fully paginated, seven-day A.M. newspaper staffed by an incredible crew which took on an invading Gannett newspaper and stared the empire down.

The Leader is still the Corning newspaper though it has changed hands a few times and is now a corporate-owned product bereft of much personality - as well as staff-written news. The Star-Gazette of Elmira may have lost the battle way back then, but they appear to be winning the war now. That kinda hurts...

Mary's mom, Grace, is as delightful as always. We have a running battle about which channel is worst: QVC vs. Home Shopping Club. I maintain HSN is the best and we flip back and forth between channels extolling the virtues of whatever crap is on the screen to ridiculous heights. She is an extraordinary cook - it is clear where Mary gets her skills and love of cooking - and she is continually following us about with tantalizing food. I caught something of a cold earlier this week and on Friday night she made the most wonderful tortellini soup with leftover turkey.

I was told it was a turkey. It may have been a 11.5-pound rooster.

When not eating or coughing, we have been visiting. On Tuesday night, we visited the home of Mary's best friend from Corning Darcy, her husband Dave and their three great kids Rob, Mike and Jonathon. They are always great to visit and the reunion of Mary's mom with Darcy's dog Spot always sparks a funny memory.

When Spot was just a puppy, some nine years ago, Darcy and family visited Mary's mom. Knowing the dog would not be allowed inside the house, Dave had attached its leash to the first thing that caught his eye.

After a short visit, they all headed outside and Grace decided to open the garage door with the remote from inside the house. Arriving outside, they discovered the poor puppy swinging from its leash with Dave desperately trying to hold him higher and higher as the door raised so that Spot wouldn't choke!

Dave had attached poor, unsuspecting Spot to the garage door handle.

Spot was uninjured, but we always theorize he's just waiting for his chance to get even...

Wednesday we walked the length of downtown Market Street, now marketed as the Gaffer District. It always amazes us how you can tell the current state of this company town by the relative health of Market Street during our annual visits. Alas, there were about a dozen empty storefronts and a couple of stores en route to closing. Still, we love the street and the local atmosphere and I rank the Market Street Brewing Co. as one of my all-time favorite brew pubs - and I've been to a few from coast to coast.

Wednesday night we spent with our old friends Neil and Linda Hopp at the home of their daughter, Kelly, and husband, Todd. Neil first hired me in 1988 and I returned the favor and hired him to help take the Northwest Herald to new levels of greatness in 1996. Today, Neil is student media director at Central Michigan University hence we probably spent far too much time boring everyone discussing the current state of the media. He brings a great perspective in his role of challenging young minds.

Neil is just one of my all-time favorite people; one of those people you meet and instantly know he's authentic and classy and intelligent. He's that odd combination of mentor and friend. It was so good to see all of them again.

We gobbled down way too much turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes, etc. on Thursday. Of course, dinner was followed by three - THREE! - pies. Yes, we each got our own pie... Our annual trip to see wonderful relatives in Pennsylvania was postponed by some freakishly ugly winter weather, Grace's ending and my emerging colds and the fact that three people each had his/her own pie.

This was also the first year that I didn't coerce everyone to head out to the stores before 5 a.m. mostly because of the above reasons, but also because Mary and I are already done with our Christmas shopping. We've made our lists and checked them twice, so be good for goodness sakes! You know who you are!

Saturday will feature another check on Market Street and a visit to Mary's godmother's house for dinner. It is an annual post-Thanksgiving feast of uber-gigantic proportions...

Sunday's stop: Canton, Ohio.

More later,


Mark

Our Tour and Good Times

An update to yesterday's post: Chuck the maintenance guy for the Jefferson Center, which manages the Thurber House and neighboring properties, is a terrific tour guide. He met us again at the Thurber House at 4:15 p.m. EST - shortly after my brother called to confirm the Chicago Bear's commanding victory over the Carolina Panthers.

Go Bears!

Chuck took the time to make our tour special and I was as much impressed with his generosity as I was with the Thurber facilities. The restored Victorian was reopened to the public in 1984 and was redecorated with the help of James' younger brother Robert as well as a Sears Roebuck catalog from 1913 to demonstrate the typical middle-class furnishings from that period. The piano in the parlor had a music sheet from one of James' favorite songs, "Bye, Bye Blackbird," which I noticed immediately. It was a nice touch.

One upstairs room is now a museum of Thurber mementos including pictures and letters as well as examples of his elegantly simple, gracefully funny cartoons. I was also impressed with a collection of his books translated into the many languages of the world. That James Thurber's body of work is so regarded worldwide is especially impressive when you step into his old, sparse bedroom with its second-floor view of Columbus and an approximation of the world as he knew it way back then.

The refurbished Thurber House is a fine tribute to the man and his family, and the Thurber Center next door is impressive as well. Both, though, seem to call out for more utilization. The gift shop had some nice goodies (we spent $60+) but, frankly, my collection of James Thurber books at home is more in-depth. I was hoping to buy a new copy of my favorite book, "Thurber Country," to no avail.

When you rely on volunteers to run the house who both forget to lock when they leave one day and forget to show up the next, that's a clue that other problems are in play. Though it was less than a mile from the hotel, the desk staff at the Renaissance seemingly had not heard of the Thurber House and it was not listed in the in-room guide to area activities (though the staff did look up the home and print out directions for us). The bell captain volunteered he did live on Thurber Street, however.

The Thurber House neighborhood reflects the inner city challenges that many other communities the size of Columbus face. However, the Jefferson Center concept of taking a historic neighborhood, refurbishing the homes and then opening doors to non-profit groups is both novel and spectacular.

All in all, it was a wonderful experience - and yielded new stories for me to tell for ages. That's what a literary hero's home should do for those who visit. My thanks to Chuck for the tour - and everyone responsible for establishing this wonderful landmark. My hope for the Thurber House is a revitalized presence in Columbus - and beyond!

Next stop: Corning, N.Y.

More later,


Mark

Alarms and Diversions: A Visit to the Thurber House

(In which the would-be author visits the home of his literary hero only to be confronted by chaos, confusion and comedic results.)

We are currently at the Renaissance in Columbus, Ohio awaiting a private tour of the James Thurber House. Of course, this was all the result of a curious and chaotic course of events that I will blog now that my computer is fixed...

Needless to say, the police were involved.

Over the river and through the woods to Mary's mother's house in upstate New York we're going (for Thanksgiving!). I know the way to ferry the, er, Chevy Cavalier through the bright and, uhm, open roads. Oh!

Once you start one of those songs it can be hard to make reality fit...

We departed Crystal Lake at 5:28 a.m. with two destinations in mind: The Columbus Renaissance Hotel and the James Thurber House at 77 Jefferson Street, the boyhood home of my literary hero. This was to be the culmination of a life-long dream I've had since the home opened in 1984.

We were at the hotel by 1 p.m. EST and to Thurber's house by 1:35 p.m.

Now, I had traded emails with Marlaine from the Thurber House earlier in the week who assured me: "Sundays are a good day to visit since we have tour guides available."

In addition, she told me: "Safely assume we're open unless I email you again."

She didn't. Hence, we were all goose-pimply with anticipation upon our arrival. We parked right in front of 77 Jefferson St. because the parking lot was locked shut. That should have been an omen. A cynic would have already begun to panic.

Us? We took up the offer on the front door sign and walked right in...

Nice foyer. Now, at first, we mistook the loud alarm as some sort of signal to someone, maybe an employee in the back, that guests had arrived. Then we heard a robotic voice warn us to "Exit the building immediately. The police have been notified."

Not quite the welcome we had been promised... Confused, we exited back to the front porch. Why would the door at this national landmark (a plaque assures us it is a landmark right there on the front porch) be unlocked if the house was closed? Why would the house be closed when a sign clearly says it is open Sunday? Why would I be emailed that the house was open to visitors only to be rudely threatened with arrest? Was this not an alarm but, perhaps, the voice of the infamous ghost from "My Life and Hard Times"?

"The DAY the Ghost Got In" perhaps!

Our minds whirled. That whirling coincided with the arrival of the first set of officers in a police van. The alarm had stopped, apparently convinced of our retreat, only to be started up again when the officers entered. By then, two more visitors arrived, convinced, too, by Thurber House employees, that volunteers would be running tours from 1-4 p.m. They were locals and could easily reschedule. We had driven 413 miles and I had Griswolded this stop into an unbreakable schedule calling for our departure at 6 a.m. the following morning, some seven hours before the house would allegedly be open again.

A squad car now joined the police van at the scene, alerted by the new set of alarms set off by the first set of officers. I am convinced Jefferson Street had not seen so much commotion since "The Day the Dam Broke." Certainly, it had not seen so much confusion.

The new officer joined his fellow officers inside. Mary and I amused ourselves by taking a set of pictures that appear to show me stealing Thurber's pumpkins. For that, I received a Thurber sliver from Thurber's porch. I was about to turn a little surely...

"That's a great house. I have never been in Thurber's house before," one of the officers said as he exited. The officers declined to have their pictures taken. "Nothing good ever comes out of having our pictures taken," another officer said, smiling. They DID contact the alarm company and "Jeff" was either going to show up to disable the alarm or call Thurber House employees to alert them that the door was unlocked and visitors, now numbering four, were threatening to get unruly. Or, at least, threatening to take a pumpkin home as a souvenir.

Within 20 minutes, Chuck arrived. He is in charge of maintenance for the Jefferson Center which oversees the Thurber House property. He let the four of us in, disabled the alarm, apologized for the missing volunteers, but explained his mother was stuck outside in his car. We agreed he'd call us at 4 p.m. back at the Renaissance and arrange the full-private-tour treatment!

Optimistically speaking, the worst we can expect are "More Alarms at Night."

More later,


Mark