This is a Long Story, like the Roads in it.
I always liked to walk. I grew up walking and may well die walking. While many people limit their walks to trips from the house to the car and back, I like to stretch my legs whenever the option arises. It’s like the difference between a phone call and a face-to-face conversation. I prefer the latter by far, and will even walk a mile or two to make it happen. I remember stories of young Abe Lincoln walking miles to borrow a book. I would walk miles for a book, to visit a friend, or for just a breath of air.
Walking was usual and normal in past times. Now, you have to be on a health kick or wheelless for one reason or another to cover mileage by foot. Sporting a pedometer makes walking a little more acceptable for some.
Well, a timely walk down Main Street Lavina spurred a much longer one. You see, the All School Reunion Committee set its 2000 event for the Independence Day weekend of that year. The Rocky Mountain Garage became the venue for the All School Dance on Saturday the 1st of July. To top things off, Mayor Scott Jensen let out the word that there would be a parade on Sunday the 2nd to liven up the town and school celebrations.
A Parade
That was too good an opportunity for this Yankee Doodle Boy to pass up. So, I set to work planning for the parade. My Toyota pickup was long past ready to go, having been spray-painted over basic white with Blue on the hood and Red on the doors. Ginger Allen got elected to be Lady Liberty. She went about getting a costume made of turquoise cloth along with a crown. It wasn’t hard to get Joe King to drive the RWB pickup. The McKeever brothers accepted jobs as flag bearers.
On the mayor’s cue at 11 am, the county sheriff’s crew blocked off Highway 12 for about 6 blocks. And, a small retinue set off from the north. King pulled the pickup into line. The McKeever boys followed, one with the Bennington flag and the other with a modern version of Old Glory. Lady Liberty, waving the Betsy Ross, joined me dressed as Uncle Sam a few steps behind the favorite Red White and Blue vehicle. For all we knew, our modest “float” may have been the hit of the parade.
The whole process went off smoothly while the entries passed quickly down the street/highway. A few more people viewed the parade from the sidewalk than marched down the avenue. Surely, the audience enjoyed the moment. Such are rare in small bergs and worth viewing and photographing. The Red White and Blue crew reveled in their march past the Adams Hotel, US Post Office, the Rocky Mountain Garage, Slayton Mercantile, the Lavina Crossing Cafe, the American Legion log cabin, the old Tea House and City Park.
Semis, trucks and cars were backed up for some blocks after we had passed by the two-blocks of Main Street, turned off the route and circled past the school and reversed our steps. By the time we hit Main again, the tail end of the caravan had passed from the main route allowing us to march back up to Cemetery Road.
I didn’t just enjoy the episode. I got juiced.
Just a couple days out from the parade, Jim and Ginger and I stretched our legs for another walk. This time just the three of us went up East Red Hill Road. I was still in the mood and wore my Uncle Sam hat to hang onto some of the flavor left over from the parade event. We had trekked up the gravel country road for some good distance talking about this, that and the other thing. Then out of my mouth came words something like, “You know, I been a lot of places, seen a lot of things and walked a lot of miles. I sure would like to take a LONG walk. Like maybe to New York. Yeah, New York sounds like a good, long walk.”
King kept silent. But, Ginger piped up. “If you go, I want to come along.” Fancy that! Then just two or three days later, one of those amazing, synchronistic events in life occurred. Ginger and I were fixing to walk out the south facing door of the Tea House – our abode – to attend to some chore or business. While she was closing up, I peeked out the sun porch window and saw Coach Grammens leading a fellow and his big stallion horse down the side street.
Grammens returned and told us, “It’s a fellow on a mission. Walking across the country. His horse threw a shoe. He needed some help, so I took him down to the Browns.”
A Traveling Man
Ginger and I were intrigued by the brief tale that the coach told us. So, we marched down the road and met the traveler and horse owner, Domenico Magistrale. Wherever the Browns were at the time, the olive-skinned, straw-hatted Magistrale seemed quite at home tending to his horse. He soon unrolled the story in brief of his walk of many thousands of miles across two continents, his mission, his horse’s needs and his own. He didn’t spell out the latter, but they became clear and Lavina’s citizenry were obliging. The Browns corralled his stallion, Zorro. Ginger and I housed Domenico for the weekend and our friend Lester Krause took care of Zorro’s shoeless hoof. Lester and Domenico seemed to have tall tales, musical talents, and eyes for women in common. A horse brought the two – one from New York, the other from Arizona – together for a moment. Domenico was the obvious beneficiary of that time.
Mr. Magistrale was a 60-year-old Italian-born American based in Long Island City, New York. He proclaimed clearly and emphatically that his mission was to help bring the Americas – North, Central and South – together. His odyssey encompassed 22 years and eventually over 20,000 miles – with a long break in the middle. On the road, he told a newspaper that, “This is for the unification of the Americas, Magistrale said of his trans-American trek. People are a great treasure. We should share the beautiful things of the world that were given to us freely. To believe something is to achieve something. I leave it all to nature, God and the people I meet along the way. I have no fear.”
Magistrale also had no money, or wanted people to think that to be the case. And they pitched in. Still, the word got around that he managed to find money for beer at the Mercantile on more than one occasion during his stay in Lavina.
Domenico found giving people to provide quite freely for him and his horse. He clearly thought he was deserving. “When somebody turns me down, they send me to a better place. A traveler like myself is a messenger of God.”
It didn’t take me long to get the – I think accurate – picture that his horse was not just his companion and pack animal. Actually, Zorro had but a few pounds to carry and Domenico never rode him. The creature was his meal ticket. Few people would deny such a beautiful specimen fodder and water. And if so for the animal, then its master certainly had to be treated somewhat equally.
Zorro’s ostensible job was to carry his violin, sleeping bag, camera, journal and personal effects and allow his master other more human chores and pursuits. Domenico intimated that he took his time slowly covering territory. “A lot of people go fast, and they miss everything in life. When you go slow, you make friends. The world is very small. I can show you. I’m walking through it.”
Mr. Magistrale carried his violin “to amuse people,” which he did one barbecue night at the Browns. He picked up violin and bow and produced a few short tunes to delight onloookers. Christine Brown had previously played some credible numbers on the family upright piano. But, a foreign-born violinist “performing” in Lavina was practically unheard of, at least in recent history. Magistrale made a hit in Lavina with the folks who saw him but briefly while he was “onstage.”
Domenico admitted that people all along the way made his trip possible and were to be the subject of Magistrale's to-be-documented travels. “Every day, people help me, little by little,” he said. “I receive $20 or $30, and with this – I can walk.”
At various venues in Lavina, Domenico told how he began his journey in 1978 in Buenos Aires, Argentina, with a horse called Ruby. He recounted that he walked to the southern tip of Argentina then turned back to the north. But, Ruby was killed in an accident in Panama. After a 20-year hiatus, Magistrale resumed his journey in Panama in 1999 with Zorro, a former racehorse, walking at his side.
Domenico featured himself as a historian, philosopher and linguist and said he spoke, read and wrote five languages. He claimed to “study everything along the way, and I meet a lot of beautiful people.” But Ginger and I found it quite revealing that during his entire stay with us, he never asked either of us the least probing question about what we were doing in Lavina, how we came to the town, or anything about our own interests and aspirations.
Magistrale told one reporter that, “I don’t miss anything. My home is under the skies.” Another writer apparently caught wind of little told parts of his story which Domenico laughed off, “having recently been dubbed a lovologist: ‘Women are what I call my “muses,” my inspiration,’ he said.”
Domenico told that he had authored four books including one of poetry. The only one visible on the Web was a Spanish volume called La naturaleza, Ruby y yo or Nature, Ruby and I, written about the first half of his pan-American travels with Ruby.
Domenico had grand dreams that further writings on his travels could be turned into an opera about world unification. “I'm hoping to intrigue Pavarotti, Domingo, Bocelli and Carreras,” he said. “It doesn't matter if it's a humorous opera. They will hear from me, especially Pavarotti and Bocelli.”
However, there is nothing grand to report on Magistrale’s journey beyond these recollections and snippets quoted from newspaper articles in The Mail Tribune, The Tracy Press, and The Idaho Spokesman-Review. News articles cease after his appearance in Idaho. No one in Lavina ever heard a word from him after his visit. Magistrale didn’t ask for names and addresses when Zorro and he headed down the road to spend more days under the skies and nights tended by generous fellow citizens.
What can be happily reported is that this “traveling man” took Mr. Magistrale’s visit as a sign and an affirmation that my idea to walk to New York was on target. How often does such a thing happen? A man walking through Lavina, MT, heading to New York City.
It had been common over the years for Harley Davidson bikers to caravan through the area every year en route to the huge annual cycle rally in Sturgis, SD. Other bikers pass through during the summer, usually just stopping for coffee or a meal. Then, there were bicycling groups passing through the area most every summer. Sometimes, they camped in the City Park. Others just took rest stops. The always slim, sleek, tightly clad riders did not slow down much, but kept to pretty close schedules. They most always seemed to be having a great experience. How much they were taking in the scenery and how much they touched base with the locals was another question.
But, it seems that Domenico was the first and last solo walker to pass through Lavina in my days in the little berg. Such was hardly a common occurrence. Magistrale was not only walking across country (and continents), but he was also heading back to home in Long Island City, which is considered the westernmost neighborhood of the Queens borough of New York City. And he passed through our fair town within days of our Red White and Blue parade. And it was just hours since my Uncle Sam-ish exclamation, “I sure would like to take a LONG walk. Like maybe to New York.” And so it would be. But, there was still much time and many passages to go through just to get out the gate.
You're a Grand Old Flag
It was far from smooth sailing to get ready for a cross-country trek. Six months down the road, I began having chest discomfort seemingly after a fall on the ice. Nothing helped and by Easter, I thought I was “gonna die.” I didn’t die, but at the same time my father was going through major ills. My younger brother called a day or two after Easter to say, “Dad is in the hospital.”
Dad at age 89 had been doctoring with his own ailments off and on for several years. I had known little about the current situation until the phone call which sounded ominous. Then even with my own oppressive chest ills, I managed to get back home at the exact moment Brother Tom was retrieving our father from the hospital. Dad’s discomfort was related to a tumor in the chest. I stayed on and sat with him for the last five weeks of his life.
Within days after the funeral and return to Montana, my own oppression lifted and I was able to “get real” about Walking to New York City. But, then 911 occurred to rivet America's attention for days, weeks and months. We all remember where we were on that fateful day. I was out walking the dogs on East Red Hill Road. Old Bill Lehfeldt stopped his pickup to say Hello and tell me the news.
Well, that stopped us all in our tracks for varying times. But, I persisted with the Grand Walk idea and gradually boosted the lengths of daily walks. Two dogs – Little Bear and Leo – were at my side. Bear was too old surely for a long haul. But, Leo was young and energetic enough to make the journey. Or so I thought.
While setting the Tea House in order, I asked a neighbor to keep an eye on it. Then, a new friend volunteered to take Little Bear out to his country property to live with him and his own dog.
Leo and I were ready, along with Fannie the flag and Kelty the backpack, for the road. Or so it seemed. We really don’t know those things until reality hits. In any case, the Trek began midmorning of 11 June 2002. Practically every day of the Trek to New York City was a wonder, a gift, an inspiration. To walk the country with Leo, to meet nature face to face and sleep out under the stars most nights, to carry my own version of the American flag, to meet all kinds of people, and to have all sorts of unexpected adventures – what magic.
The Walk to New York City was quite possibly the the best thing I have ever done in this lifetime. The beginning and the end of the Walkabout rank high on the list of its highlights. The first two weeks when Leo was at my side deserve special attention. Leo didn’t speak much, didn’t ask for much, and appeared relatively accepting of his lot. He seemed to understand his appointed task to accompany his master, wear his own backpack with his food and sundries.
Leo was, however, thrilled to take breaks away from the highway, to run and play at those times, and especially to jump into ditches, streams, and rivulets which we found most days along the route. Stops at watering holes slowed our pace, but we were in no hurry. I didn’t jump in with him. But, I did take my boots and socks off and cool my feet.
I made one exception to that policy after we passed through Melstone. We rounded a curve on the right-of-way. Tucked away from highway view was a wide stretch of ditch which had been laid on concrete for some reason. It almost looked like a big swimming pool.
I unsaddled Leo and let him splash in. Then, I said to myself, “Why don’t you join him. It looks fairly clean. It will be refreshing. And the whole area is hidden from the highway.”
So, I replied to myself, “I think that’s a good idea.” I didn’t just take my boots off. Rather, I stripped naked and wandered out into the “pool.” I watched Leo cavorting and having a big time. Wetting himself, bouncing around and then freeing himself from the water to wiggle and shake off the excess. Before long he was back in the ditch.
My intentions were for only a short rinse. But, the joint dip in the ditch was made even briefer. Out of nowhere, a truck rolled up over a small hill, around a corner, and right past the two of us. The owner stared a bit and then moved on.
Well, that was a clue for me to remove myself from the ditch and get dressed. I suppose that my whole body was blushing as I did so. Leo didn’t mind at all.
Before long, we were back on dry land and our visitor appeared without his truck. I explained our presence and introduced ourselves. He did the same. It was Mr. Bud Hjelvik at our service. “I’m the local ditch rider. Don’t mind me. Stay here as long as you want.”
A ditch rider’s job is a seasonal one. He keeps close tabs on of water flowing into and out of the ditch from the Musselshell River in the summer. Property owners along the way with water rights are allocated specific amounts of flow into their land during the summer months. The ditch rider makes sure they get what they are allotted and no more.
Leo got his photo taken with our ditch rider friend. And I had a cordial conversation with Bud. I found out a few things about him. The main one being that he was brother-in-law to Lois Boe back in Lavina. I also learned that he had been doing some musical work – sing-alongs in the area. “Great idea,” I thought. Bud’s main occupation was farming-ranching along the Musselshell Valley. [I got to watch Bud perform at the Jersey Lilly in Ingomar on my 2013 Walk. It was a treat to see him again and watch him in “entertainment mode.”]
Saying goodbyes to Mr. Hjelvik, we trundled farther down the road, ditch and right-of-way. If I remember rightly, that day was the first time we got offered a ride. Leo probably would have been glad to accept, but I wasn’t ready. I was fully intending to walk every mile of the way to the Statue of Liberty excepting watery obstructions.
I imagined my mission was to carry Fannie the Flag all those miles. By Melstone, I had the flag flying from time to time. Weather and wind permitting. But, I felt a need to keep close tabs on Leo as we were often not far from travelers flying by on the highway. Farther down the road, the Flag flew more and more frequently.
After walking many more miles, we made it to Ingomar – an old railroad town. Immediately on entering town via the old railroad bed, we ran into Eric Erickson. He was a recurring presence and help to us, giving useful information and acting like a good neighbor. We quickly made ourselves comfortable at the Jersey Lilly Bar. Actually, Leo wasn’t allowed in. But, he made friends with another dog, a Husky, who trailed around with Eric.
After my first round of Jersey Lilly beans and a few confabs with waitresses, Leo and I parked ourselves at the Bunk and Biscuit for three nights and two days. The Bunk and Biscuit was Ingomar’s version of a Bed and Breakfast. The building was the town’s old schoolhouse, a pretty good-sized one compared to what remained of Ingomar. I decided that tiny Ingomar was a neat place to visit.
By the time we made Miles City on our second week of travel, Leo began to “weave in traffic,” not once but a number of times. I might have thought, “It’s just the heat getting to him.” But things added up differently as I reviewed the overall picture including my losing his leash the previous day, when we found a resting spot at the KOA Campground.
We landed for a few days and a rest-up. The clues were adding up that Leo was nearly spent in just two weeks on the road. I slowly decided that he had to retire from the Walk. That might be good for him, if I could find him a home. But, I would be alone and without my dog buddy.
The KOA owner gave me the idea to take Leo to a woman veterinarian in town to help find him a new home. That was the plan for Monday. In the meantime, I decided to take Leo out for treats on Sunday. We hiked across town toward the Haynes Avenue commercial strip where we bought regular food. Leo got a McDonald’s hamburger and KFC chicken for our last big meal together. I got salad and fries.
The thought of saying Goodbye to Leo was weighing on me – maybe us – heavily as we headed back to the KOA. I wasn’t keen on handing Leo to just anyone through a vet I had never met. Who knows what kind of home he would land in? Still, my choices were more than limited.
We headed back the same way we came via Wibaux Park. And what luck we had. Pipes and drums were in action, marching up and down and around the park and playing tunes. It was like my last day at Fort Riley, Kansas, when I encountered the First Infantry Division Band performing while I crossed the campus getting my discharge papers signed. What a deal!
A Recent Version of the Miles City Caledonians
It was even more amazing because we got a private performance of the Caledonian Pipe Band playing while in their small formation. Loving march music and bagpipes as I do made the event alone worth the walk. Leo wasn’t noticing much. Just resting.
When the music concluded, we had to go up and thank the pipers and drummers. They were happy for the compliment and told us they were preparing for an Independence Day program in Wyoming. They were without their full contingent, but did the best they could in a small scale rehearsal.
The conversation went back and forth until they asked what we two were up to. I said, “Well, we were walking across the country on our way from Lavina to the Lady Liberty. But, my friend Leo is running out of oomph and I need to find him a home. I have been told to take him to the vet which I intend to do in the morning.”
The lone female in the group quickly came up with an option. She looked across the crew and said, “Morris?”
Before long, it was, “Morris, do you think maybe you would have room for the dog at your place?”
Morris, a good looking dark-bearded drummer stared over at two of us. He couldn’t say no. “Well, I suppose so.”
In a matter of minutes, our problems were solved and Leo had a new home as well as a release from active duty. We all walked over to Morris’s pickup. He let down the tailgate. I released Leo’s makeshift leash and gave him a nod. The dog was up and in the bed of the truck in a moment. I could almost feel his relief, or was it my own? Maybe both.
A Leo Sequel
I was quite sure Leo was living happily outside of Miles City, Montana, on the Bartholomew acres. But, I eventually got my own personal evidence on a stopover I made during a driving trip to South Dakota to see my younger brother in late 2004. That followed on occasional calls over the previous two years to Mr. Bartholomew to say Hello and ask about our dog.
Appearing at the 9-mile marker south of town, I noticed a small caravan turning down that gravel road. Two trucks, one pulling a load of firewood and another pickup with two recently harvested deer in its bed. When they pulled off the road, I followed, parked my own pickup, and asked for the Bartholomews. As they directed me towards Morris, a small dog appeared. Not Leo. Then, there he was. My old travel mate. He caught a glimpse of me but started to turn toward the action. But then, he looked back as if to say, “I should say hello to this person. Oh, now, maybe I know him.”
I waited for just a moment and Leo came of over to say, “Hello.” He stopped in front of me and then jumped up and put his paws on my chest. I gave him a hug and rubbed his head. “Hello, to you, Leo.”
We joined the crowd which was getting ready to unload the firewood. Morris recognized me, too. But, he was more reserved than Leo in expressing his, “Hello.” His son Josh figured out who I was and came over to me to ask, “Are you going to take Leo with you?”
“No,” I said, “Leo is in the right place, here with you.”
So, the Walk to New York City proceeded onward while I tried to recruit company in some manner to “replace” Leo. It didn’t succeed and for the better. Walking solo allowed for a wide range of experiences which would have changed or not even occurred otherwise had a human replaced Leo. As said before, there were almost daily bright spots on the trail. Then, there were especial high points related to certain people and places along the way. To choose a few, let’s begin with my few days in Medora, North Dakota.
Teddy Roosevelt
Medora was populated by the “descendants” of Teddy Roosevelt and the businessman Marquis de Mores who named the town for his wife in 1883. De Mores business venture dissolved in 1886. But, TR became synonymous with the Badlands of North Dakota where he spent three years and rebuilt his life after the deaths of his mother and wife on the same day in 1884.
I joined in some of the patriotic fare in Medora. Independence Day had just passed. Yet, the holiday got extended over the weekend and a colorful parade including TR on horseback filled the street on Saturday. On my last night in Medora, I marched up the hill past the Medora Cemetery to the Burning Hills Amphitheater where the Medora Musical was performed. That year’s version was called “Bully” and was entirely worth the hike up the hill and the price of admission. The amphitheater (capacity of 2800) was probably only half full, but that was still a lot of folks for a small town venue.
The Musical, prepared and rehearsed in Minneapolis, was carried every summer to Medora. It was an Up-With-People wholesome, family sort of entertainment which includes a mix of music to suits all tastes. The opening and closing of the show were most memorable. To start things off, the entertainers sang and stomped and eventually watched as the wings spread wide for riders to go onstage carrying Old Glory. The audience then joined in the National Anthem.
The closing was even more dazzling. As the program wound to a climax, a lone rider rode off into the distance to a ridge above the theater. He was spotlighted from hundreds of yards as he stretched his flag and staff to the heavens while fireworks rushed into the night around him. Woosh! Woosh! Wow!
The Abbey
Assumption Abbey in Richardton, North Dakota, became a point for me to rendezvous with Ginger Allen and her friend Leslie who drove out from New York City. Leslie had a Big Apple friend from 20 years past then living in Richardton. He had somehow found his way west to become Brother Elias as well as the monastery’s IT man, EMT and nurse. So the two of them took off in my direction to meet at the Abbey. As life would have it, the meeting was brief for Ginger and me. Her son was involved in a serious accident on Long Island Sound which prompted Ginger to reverse course the day after her arrival. Leslie stayed on for a few days. We three – Leslie, Elias, and I – got to know each other a bit.
Leslie and Elias
Besides attending services three or four times a day with the Assumption Monks. I also got to know Brothers Jacob and Michael, in particular, and Fathers Odo and Robert. My favorite was 88-year-old Father Robert, who had been the abbot in his younger years. Regardless of age, he was still active and trying to stay that way. He recruited me one day to help prune trees in the Abbey Cemetery. On my departure from the Abbey, Brother Jacob handed me an OSB (Order of Saint Benedict) lapel pin which the good Father Robert had blessed. I wear it whenever I put on a sport coat or suit, which isn’t often these days.
The Family
Friends and Family: A detour to South Dakota allowed me a few days to spend with my younger brother Tom. And I spent several more with my elder brother Norm north of the Twin Cities, Minnesota. [Norman and wife Mary Kay pictured below.] It was time to catch up in their worlds and resting moments for me. Then back on the road.
Old friends and new friends popped up along the way. BeBe’s friend Kathleen in Wisconsin invited me to stay a few days with her in Wisconsin before I took the ferry across Lake Michigan. Then near the end of the walkabout, I spent most of a week with her other friends the Walshes who lived off the grid outside of Hancock, New York. We had a grand time together on their property and at the donut shop in town.
The Ladies
Lady Liberty came in sight on November 3, 2002, which seemed to be the best day of the trip and in others far from it. I found that the off roads I took to Liberty Park were filthy and ill kept. It looked like they had not been tended to for years. “Littered Roads to Liberty Park.” I couldn’t help but wonder about the significance thereof.
Passing through downtown Jersey City, I walked across a major intersection as an older fellow (older than I) in a car yelled out an unwelcoming profanity and added something like, “If you don’t like our flag, get out of here.” Fortunately, we were moving in opposite directions. Nothing faintly derogatory about Fannie the Flag had reached my ears over the past 2100 miles.
As if to make up for the obscenity, we soon encountered St. Aloysius Catholic Church and discovered a wonderful copper tablet erected long past on its front lawn. The Liberty-like figure held a cornucopia on one arm and a torch in the other. Surrounding her was a notation of tribute to those churchmen who fought and died in the World War (must have been the first). Fannie was pleased to have her photo taken next to the image adorning St. Aloysius.
Before long, we were within view of Liberty Island in the distance. It was just a year past 911 and security was paramount even for a lone traveler from Montana. To get onto the ferry boat from the Liberty Park to Liberty Island, I had to pass through airport-like detectors. When my backpack went through the scanning device, the attendant found metal objects which needed to be accounted. I took my gear apart and showed him that they were just coat hangers I had turned into makeshift tent pegs.
While I was going through that process, a husky and talkative young African-American worker started a brief conversation. “You walked all the way from Montana! Imagine that! Did you ever get scared on the trip?”
I was being flip, but it just came out, “Well, no. Not until I got to Jersey City.” I suspect he understood.
The brief ride on the ferry boat swung by Ellis Island where millions of immigrants entered America over past generations. And then there was the Lady on Liberty Island, and my old friend Ginger and new friend Leslie. Lots of hugs and smiles. Moments of relief and opportunities for photos.
The Great Lady was her usual magnificent self towering all alone in New York Harbor and still trying to welcome all comers. But, times changed with 911. If not before. Security was heightened as I had noticed when accessing the ferry boat. The innards of the Lady were closed to the public for the time being. People can no longer climb to the top to look out through her crown.
Nonetheless, the Lady Liberty like the USA itself will remain as magnets and beacons for years to come. Circling the Statue with Ginger and Leslie, I was delighted to see that the ideals of the nation still attract young and old, citizens and visitors. The three of us took a number of photos with the Flag and the Lady. Ginger got hold of a giant Forest Service man who went by name of Tall Tree and asked him to join in the photo shoot. Fannie the Flag garnered special attention as well. Some young people invited us to join them in for pictures. I felt for a time like I caught up on a few moments I missed in the 60s.
The arrival festivities were short-lived. We ferried back to Battery Park at the very southern tip of Manhattan Island. Ginger and I eventually boarded the Long Island Railroad to Queens. Signs in the LIRR car attested that, though it was certainly not part of my plan, I had reached my destination on November 3, 2002, Marathon Day. The New York City event was a pretty big deal and continues to be since it was begun in 1970. The annual race covers 26+ miles through the five boroughs of the City and finishes in Manhattan at Central Park. Over 30,000 runners finished their marathon that day with two Kenyans winning the men’s and women’s open division.
Well, I didn’t win anything that day. But, I had covered 26+ miles on many days over the preceding months. Regardless, I arrived safely and wearily at the end of my own cross-country marathon to spend time with friends.
A Real Walker
The most extraordinary moment-meeting of the whole trek occurred when I took a ferry boat across Lake Michigan. Toward the end of the four-hour cruise, I met Andy Horujko who had quite a story even though he only shared modest amounts of it with me at the time.
The little, fuzzy-bearded Horujko was pushing 80 at the time, but still chopped wood on his property at Chase, MI, most every morning. That was just a beginning. Andy revealed that he had two “claims to fame.” He had worked as an aeronautical engineer with one of the Wright brothers. And Andy also walked a large part of Latin America when he was near my age – when in his late 40s. So, we had a few things to discuss.
Andy was also a bit of a philosopher and skeptic. Philosophy and politics became the center of our conversation on the boat. As we disembarked, Andy pointed us to a pub where he treated me to fish and chips in Ludington. Mr. Horujko and I exchanged letters for a time, but I lost touch with him. Years later, I consulted the Internet to discover that Andy had left out big and very impressive parts of his life story.
My investigation revealed a number of fascinating things. First, Horujko is pronounced as Eureka which is Greek for “I found it.” Second, Andy was a champion woodcutter. After leaving the engineering profession, he lived as a hermit on 80 acres and made a living cutting pulp wood. Third, he was a member of the Michigan Mensa Society for many years. (Mensa’s mission is “to identify and to foster human intelligence for the benefit of humanity; to encourage research into the nature, characteristics, and uses of intelligence; and to provide a stimulating intellectual and social environment for its members.” To join, your IQ has to be above 149 – genius level.)
Fourth, Andy didn’t just “walk around South America” as he had told me. His accomplishment was far beyond my modest excursion from Montana to New York City. Mr. Horujko, weighing in at 130 lbs., had trekked from Anchorage, Alaska, to Tierra del Fuego – the southern tip of Argentina. He began what he thought would be the world’s longest hike on March 31, 1970, when he was 48 years old. Andy started his trip covering 30 miles a day, about a thousand miles a month, and expected to complete his venture in about a year.
He admitted his reason for his journey was mainly because “it’s the challenge.” But, he also considered his hike as a protest against air pollution from automobile exhausts. “That's why I can't accept any rides, no matter what the weather. You can't protest against cars then hop into one, can you?” Andy hadn’t driven a car since 1936.
Mr. Horujko made his destination at Ushaia, Tierra del Fuego, on December 23, 1971. Along the way, he went through twelve pairs of boots. The latter ones were self-made from kangaroo hide with rocker shaped soles which he first developed in Arizona. He encountered “the worst coffee in the world in Colombia” and fought off a bat and thieves in the Chilean desert. When his brother-in-law in Michigan was asked on completion of the journey how Andy would get back home, he replied, “No one knows.”
Serendipity or Synchronicity brought Andy and me together, 30 years later. What are the odds? We shared the boat and dinner at a local pub, conversation and correspondence regarding our similar paths and adventures. Andy died in 2008 at the age of 87. It seems that Mr. Eureka had quite a walk and quite a life.
Andy Horujko was unusual, unique, and surely One-of-a-Kind. The flag I carried from Lavina, Montana, to New York City was also One-of-a-Kind while fitting in with dozens of versions of Old Glory which have appeared over the last 250 years.
Fannie the Flag:
My Salute
I walked the road many miles day after day with a lady on the journey to meet The Lady Liberty. She’s just a wisp of a thing but still turned many heads – heads of men and women, young and old alike. My lady friend is the quietest, calmest female I’ve ever known. She speaks boldly without words. And, she can’t help but show her true colors and thus makes people pay attention. At the same time, the stares and hollers of admiration she attracts made my tired feet ache a little less over the stretches of those long walks.
Strangely, even though she was at my side for many months, her real name is yet unknown to me. So, I simply call my friend, Fannie.
Fannie is the flag I carried for miles and miles across America during the summer of 2002. Fannie was my partner on a 2100-mile journey from Lavina, Montana, to Liberty Island in New York Harbor.
Fannie and I started down the road on June 11, 2002, and completed our journey at the feet of the Lady Liberty on November 3. We took some photos with Her and conferred quietly on the symbolic state of America. After riding the ferry to Manhattan and taking the train to Queens, we were guests at a welcoming party in Douglaston.
Along the many miles of our route across the country, Fannie suggested to onlookers and visitors a new edition of Old Glory: The STAR and Stripes. Maybe the one large white star on her blue field hints that it’s time for us to become the United STATE of America. That One Star may remind us of our long held motto, E Pluribus Unum (From Many One) as well as the currently popular one, United We Stand.
Fannie and I expectantly and happily walked across many state lines. We noticed distinct differences from state to state in terrain, in architecture, in temperament. We saw the sagebrush prairies of Montana blend into the wheat fields of North Dakota and those into the Land of Lakes in Minnesota and the Dairyland of Wisconsin, and later into the manufacturing areas of Michigan, eventually blending with neighboring Canada and finally culminating in the original coastal colonies of New York, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey.
Glowing in the midst of Fannie’s single star is a golden heart. This heart element is as yet unknown to national flags. But, it may be time for a true birthing of heart in the great land of America. This flag can easily bring to mind the Golden Rule, that “God is Love,” and that we are intended to be "One Nation Under God."
Fannie and I often recognized both the material abundance and human benevolence of this country in the course of our journey. We received gifts of food and lodging, transportation and conversation, encouragement and prayers from many. The heart of America and Americans is so strong and vibrant; why shouldn't it be allowed greater respect and even be exhibited on our national banner!
The fabric of Fannie's golden heart has 13 little stars woven into it. The many states and parts and people of our nation are not lost in the greater unit but retain their individuality and diversity within the Whole.
While the states and peoples of America have much in common, a walk across this country revealed so many aspects of what I call our “uniquity.” This was never more apparent than when we trekked through small towns, sat in their memorial parks, attended celebrations, ate in their cozy cafes, listened to people’s concerns and aspirations. We saw the work of hands and hearts in the arts and crafts, paintings and photography, design and sculpture that decorate houses and businesses and farms everywhere.
Although this walk across America may have appeared to be one of worldly exploration, it was also an inner quest for meaning exemplified by Fannie the Flag.
Her identity may be made somewhat more recognizable by reviewing her ancestry as well as her construction. To really get to know Fannie, you have to meet her elders.
Fannie's ancestry dates from the appearance of her elder sister on the second story wall of the old county garage in Lavina, Montana. With help from my family, I purchased that 6000-square-foot building in 1997 and proceeded to repair and refurbish the subsequently renamed Rocky Mountain Garage. Our first project was a Red White and Blue paint job (what else?) on the wooden surfaces of the largely brick structure. As the upgrade continued, I colored the original flag – 20 by 12 feet – onto the second story south facing wall. This flag had a pink and later golden heart which rests over the single white star on the field of blue.
Fannie's second sister is a quilt which I designed and sewed with the help of Jeanne Meyer, Janet Ecord and Karen Murnion. It has bright lively colors and a border which reads “God Bless America.” The quilted flag found its major use as a backdrop to the Rocky Mountain Garage's stage constructed in 1998 to hold the first annual and subsequent Red White and Blue Celebrations.
Fannie is a mere lightweight compared to her sisters. She only measures 3 by 5 feet, but took many hours to construct: to cut out, piece together, sew, and create a protective sheath. Fannie is composed of Red White and Blue nylon cut with a soldering iron to prevent fraying and sewed together on an inexpensive machine. Her two golden hearts (one on each side) were ironed onto her white stars using Wonder-Under. Finally, Fannie’s fabric was attached to the 5-foot wooden staff which I carried across America.
Down the road, I periodically used a match to seal minor nylon frays. I also purchased a needle and thread in North Dakota to keep the hearts from falling off their stars. This may well have symbolized my own need to be re-energized and re-inspired at different times along the way.
The dream/project/task of walking America was WORK, but it was also magical. Walking with Fannie the Flag was a timely event, a reminder of the goodness of America, and a confirmation that Love is at work and alive in the hearts of our people.
I had many sources of inspiration in this journey. Supported by a deep sense of the Divine in all things, an awareness of the spirit of the Founding Fathers at large in the land, the remembrance of prayers sent our way from Lavina to New York City, and the waves and salutes along the road, I was assured that this Walk Across America had merit and meaning.
Still, I now see that my greatest inspiration for this passage was none other than Lady Fannie. At the Statue of Liberty, as Fannie and I had our pictures taken with friends, we attracted the attention of visitors and park rangers alike. In a final touching moment of the trip, a young Asian-American man wearing a Yankee baseball jacket asked to borrow the Flag for his own personal photo session with this lively, lovely national emblem.
Fannie the Flag not only recalls America's past grandeur but also hints at many of our greater possibilities which remain to be fulfilled.
Fannie, thanks for walking the road with me.
