Mary and I know lots of neat married couples through an organization called United Marriage Encounter. We met Jesse and Jeannie Bragg at a marriage encounter weekend nearly 6 months ago, saw them again at an encounter reunion, and then, in response to their kind invitation, drove over to their rural home north of Beason for a Fourth of July shindig: lots of good people and some really fine food.
The Braggs knew of my foolhardy plan to walk across Illinois, and they told me I was welcome to spend the night at their place. Then, when I was in Lincoln, Jeannie also asked her sister whether I could take a shower at her place while I was in Clinton (she said yes), and tonight was my second night presuming on the hospitality of the Braggs: a shower, a delicious supper, great fellowship, and a real bed to sleep in. It just doesn’t get any better than that.
Jesse and his son Jacob run Bragg Electric. Both are skilled electricians, who specialize in rural electrical applications. This morning Jesse was up and brewing coffee pretty early, and I sure didn’t turn down a cup of his special brew. Jacob arrived to start his work day, and he and his dad prepared to go to their place of work for the day.
I had accepted a ride back to my pickup only once on the trip, and for some obtuse reason, I had turned down several such offers. But when Jeannie offered to follow me to park my pickup in the heart of downtown Beason (well, by the post office) and drive me back to my start point, just west of a one-lane bridge, I took her up on the kind offer.
By my dead reckoning, I walked at the rate of 3.5 miles per hour from there into Beason (6 miles in an hour and 40 minutes: you can check my math if you like).
Beason
Beason was founded by Silas Beason in 1872. It was on the Havana, Lincoln, and Eastern Railroad, now part of the Illinois Central. Berryman H. Pendleton opened the first store in town and would later become the first postmaster.
Last year tragedy struck this little prairie town, and most members of an entire family were brutally murdered. I had not known of that atrocity when I drove through on my route survey some weeks ago, and I remember thinking that this was small town America at its best. The town park has horseshoe pits. The Methodist church building is beautiful.
Beason Methodist Church, Built in 1904
During my stop on my route survey, two small boys were coming down the street, right in front of the Methodist Church building, one pulling the other in a little wagon. They were having a great time, and in general just being boys.
Just down the street from the Methodist Church there is a lovely home with a beautiful fallen warrior cutout (silhouette) in the front yard. Genia runs the D & E Graphics shop from her garage. She made the cutout, and she’s making an even nicer one. She also makes “Support Our Troops” signs, and she has some lovely military decorations on her window. She pointed out the signs she’d made for her neighbor, who has 2 nephews serving overseas in the military. The nephews’ names and places of deployment are on two of the signs.
Fallen Warrior Cutout
Service Branch Window Decals
You might say that Genia’s family is deeply involved with the U.S. military. Her grandpa served in the Army in World War I. Her dad served in the Navy in World War II. Her husband is a Viet Nam era Navy vet. Her son is a Marine and a Desert Storm veteran. Her niece is a Navy Lieutenant Commander.
Back at my pickup after my first 6 miles, while I was enjoying my first chew of beef jerky and a big swig of water in front of the post office, Jeannie Brag drove up to check on me. She said had to run home with the ice cream she had just purchased in Lincoln, and she offered to let me ride along to use the restroom. In the Army I learned that, when you see a restroom, you use it. When you see water, you drink it. When there’s a shower, you take it. When there’s a bed, you sleep in it. When there’s hot food, you eat it. So of course I took her up on her offer. Then she followed me as I drove my pickup yet another 6 miles east, and hauled my bike, flag, and me back to Beason to start walking east again. Thank you, Jeannie!
As I was walking toward Hallsville and my pickup, an older man in a small pickup stopped on the other side of the highway. “Trouble?”
I walked over and told him I was walking across Illinois to support our troops. He was Russell Coil, veteran who was wounded while serving in World War II. Here’s how he put it: “I took one in my side.” He says he’s bent over and can’t walk or stand for long periods of time, But he says he gets around well enough to do what he needs to do. He also mentioned that he had just sent off a check to the disabled veterans, something he does every year without fail.
I thanked Mr. Coil for his service to our country, and we parted with a handshake and a wave. Another member of that greatest generation Tom Brokaw wrote about.
Hallsville
Hallsville is about 6 miles east of Beason on the south side of Route 10. There used to be a nursing home on the north side, but it has been completely torn down. I explored the town just a bit. Harvest Street runs north and south, and it intersects with Elevator Street, perhaps symbolic during this abundant fall harvest. Today for the first time on my walk I saw combine heads switched, with some farmers combining beans instead of corn.
Because tomorrow is another day, and I had hoped to meet Mary in Clinton, I pushed on as hard as I could. Jeannie’s forward assist helped me time wise, and I might have walked as much as 14 miles. I now hope to get to Clinton by 10 a.m., on Saturday and go walk around the downtown area, especially around the square. Then I hope to go home for what remains of the weekend.
Clinton Sneak Preview
Clinton, Illinois, is a town with lots of history, an award-winning newspaper (the Journal), an Abe Lincoln connection, a really great public library, and some other pleasant surprises. I drove into Clinton, bike strapped to the front of the pickup, and stopped at McDonalds. As far as I know, all McDonalds restaurants in the United States now have free wireless Internet access, but I have yet to see one that provides conveniently placed outlets for computer users. Thus the battery is the limiting factor for how long one can work on a laptop at McDonalds.
I had forgotten to take off my yellow-green reflective vest, and a sweet lady in her 80s, who was also going into the restaurant, asked me whether I worked on the road. I told her what I was doing, and gave her a flyer from my walk. She told me she had been near Farmer City that morning, visiting her late husband’s grave.
As I finished my crispy chicken sandwich, she passed me on her way out, stopped, and told me more about her family. Her dad came to Illinois from Kentucky, where he’d never had the opportunity to learn to read. He went to work on a farm, and he worked for the same farmer for 35 years.
Her husband, Arnold Johnson, served in the U.S. Navy during much of World War II, and her grandson Jeff is a Persian Gulf War veteran. To make matters more interesting, she’s a near neighbor of the journalist who interviewed me in Mason City, where she also lives.
As she left the restaurant, a man in a nearby booth said to me, “You’re a very patient man, sir,” no doubt referring to the fact that I had listened to this dear lady for about half an hour. I told him about my walk, and that part of the purpose is to meet people and hear their stories. He asked whether I had any spare time and said he’d like to show me the Clinton Legion Hall. I said I had plenty of time and would like to see it. He was Jerry Drake, who served in the U.S. Army during the Cuban missile crisis. Once that crisis wound down, he was stationed in Germany during the balance of his service time.
The Legion hall in Clinton is a real success story. They American Legion’s membership had been declining, and they realized that, if they didn’t do something soon, they wouldn’t have a Legion in Clinton. Some of the members decided to conduct an ambitious membership drive, and they added lots of members to their rolls.
The old Legion hall was in pretty bad shape, and a building became available for them to bid on. They bought the building for a dollar bid from Richland Community College, who no longer needed it. They renovated the building with volunteer labor and lots of donated material. Sweat equity, Jerry called it. Some doors and other fixtures, and some kitchen equipment, came from a local school building that was being demolished. The place is functional and beautiful. They’ve done a great job.
American Legion Post 103, Named for Two Early WWII Casualties
Outside, Jerry asked me again whether I still had time. I said yes. He said he wanted to show me something else, and he drove me out to Weldon Springs, just outside of Clinton. He grew up in a house that used to stand right where the entrance to the park is now. What he took me to see is something I believe every area veteran would really appreciate. It’s called Veterans Point, and it’s a monument to our service members.
It started out with marble bricks with the names of 1300 veterans inscribed, but people keep adding their own names and those of loved ones, so there are certainly more names there now than were envisioned originally. The memorial is located on a lovely lake, and it’s well worth the visit. I will always be very grateful to Jerry for showing me that memorial.
Veterans Point Sign
While we were there at Veteran’s Point, a man and his daughter walked down to the monument. It was Scott Haugh from Freeport with his daughter Elizabeth. Scott is a disabled Army veteran who served in the Gulf War. He’s also the creator of two Web sites, the second of them still under construction, but accessible from the bottom left-hand corner of the home screen of the first site. They are vets4vets.com and vetsthunder.com. I was proud to shake Scott’s hand and thank him for his sacrifice for our nation.
Veterans Point Has a Lovely Location
He’s established these Web sites in his personal time. He’s also a federal Veterans Outreach Program Specialist and Veterans Employment Representative. He was on his way to Springfield to take some training that he thought would help him understand and work better with his fellow disabled vets, and he stopped off to visit his daughter, who lives in Clinton. She in turn took him out and showed him Veterans Point. While they were there, she located the names of several of their veteran relatives.
A Row of Flags Leads along the Path
As we turned to leave the Point, we met another veteran, Ron, who was also visiting the memorial. I got to shake his hand and thank him for his service too.
Jerry drove me back to the McDonalds, where I got him another of my flyers (he had already given away the first one I had given him at the restaurant. I asked for directions to the business district, and Jerry got me on the right track. Once downtown, I saw the beautiful town square, formerly the site of the historic Dewitt county courthouse. Of course Dewitt County is named for Dewitt Clinton, as is Clinton itself.
There are still some hard feelings about the demolition of that old courthouse, but the town square is a lovely place. I parked and asked directions to the Clinton Journal office, got them, and walked the few blocks to the office. When I walked into the office, the receptionist said, “This is for you. You’re to call this phone number,” and handed me a sticky note with a phone number on it. “This number is for a man from the VFW,” she said. That seemed mysterious enough, but how had she known who I was or that I was coming to the office?
She hooked me up with general manager and editor Gordon Wards, who just then walked in, right while I was admiring the large number of awards the Journal had won during 2009. He told me that most of those awards were earned for the paper by Jean, who had worked for the Journal for some time, but who had just accepted a job at the Lincoln Courier. Hmm. Jean Ann Miller of the Courier, who interviewed me had told me they were waiting for a new writer to show up. Clinton’s loss is Lincoln’s gain.
After putting up with my random remarks about my walk, Gordon and I walked to the square, where I posed for a picture with bike and flag in front of a statue of the Great Emancipator. Gordon suggested that I try to visit the public library, and I did. He’s right. It’s a really great library for a town the size of Clinton. Unfortunately I had less than half an hour to tour it because closing time was coming up fast.
I got back in the pickup and called the phone number on the mysterious yellow sticky note. A man named Chad answered, and I identified myself. He asked what my Saturday (the following day) looked like, and I told him I planned to arrive in Clinton on my walk at about 10:00 a.m. He asked what else I had planned, and I told him that Mary planned to drive over and have lunch with me at Ted’s Garage, about which she had heard from her therapist.
Chad didn’t say anything for a minute. Then he said, “Well, you might want to consider changing your plans. I’m with the Clinton VFW, and we’re planning a big dinner for you at noon. The VFW is right along your route, just before Anderson Ford, on the right-hand side of the road.”
I expressed my gratitude and assured him that Mary and I could drive to Clinton another time to eat at Ted’s Garage. I told him I’d be honored to come to a dinner (I’m usually fairly excited when food is concerned.)
I started back to my host family’s place north of Beason, thinking that the day just couldn’t get any better. I was wrong. When I arrived, Jesse was just getting out of his work truck. The landlord was driving a 4-wheel-drive John Deere across the field right behind the house, with an enormous tiling machine attached. A big roll of field tile stood at the far end of the field.
Jesse told me they were having some folks over that night, but he didn’t tell me everyone who was coming to supper. Guests included his sons Jason and Jacob, Jacob’s lovely wife Hannah, and Jeannie’s sister Liz, who had so graciously let a sweaty old guy come to her house for a shower. Jesse fired up the grill and produced some gourmet steaks, and Jeannie fixed a multilayered salad that made me wish I were younger and could still do justice to a meal like that.
After the guests had left, Jesse, Jeannie, and I sat up till midnight, talking and enjoying each other’s company. Well, I enjoyed theirs, at any rate, and they were polite and treated me with wonderful hospitality and great courtesy. I have been blessed by the Christian atmosphere in their home, and I hope I am as gracious to guests in my home as they have been to me in theirs.
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