Frankfort, Kentucky

           I arrived in Kentucky late at night and stayed in Lexington before traveling to Frankfort in the morning. I booked an inexpensive hotel room in the suburbs of the city. Unfortunately, I got what I paid for. At first, I didn’t notice anything too unpleasant about the room, but as soon as I pulled the blanket back, I was horrified to see hair, finger nails, and what looked like blood stains in between the sheets. It was already late and I was exhausted, so rather than try to find a different room, I crashed in my sleeping bag on top of the blanket. The next morning, I told the lady at the front desk about the situation, and asked for a refund. She immediately acquiesced, leaving me with the uneasy impression that I was not the first person to complain.

            Grateful to be moving on from the aforementioned fleabag, I set out for Frankfort, about an hour away. It was almost noon on a Thursday morning, and people were out and about. Children were playing in a fenced schoolyard under the watchful eyes of their teachers. Frankfort feels like the small town it is; at about 25,000 souls, it is the fifth smallest capital in the United States. 

When I turned the corner onto the Capitol grounds, the first thing I noticed were that several young men were attending to the flowers, pulling out weeds, and trimming the hedges. The landscaping was vividly beautiful, and the cloudless September sky illuminated the grounds in all their glory. As I approached the Capitol, I also noticed that the lawn itself was not treated with chemicals; it did not look artificially uniform and bright green with only one kind of grass, but rather was allowed to be somewhat left to its own devices. This gave me a very positive first impression, because I would rather see people working diligently pulling weeds out of flower beds, than see a chemically-treated, ‘perfect’ lawn. I appreciated the Commonwealth of Kentucky putting the health of the environment and its employees over convenience and aesthetics.

After taking a number of pictures of the outside, I climbed the steps to the front entrance. The outside looked very similar to other neoclassical Capitols. There was a large, grey dome in the middle, 6 columns in the front, the American Flag flying in front of the dome, and way too many steps leading up to it. Upon entering, I realized that a tour had just started, so I hurried into the rotunda to join the rest of the group. Our tour guide was a young woman not much older than I, and she spoke passionately about the history of her state and the Capitol. Throughout the tour, the sparkle rarely left her eyes and a smile remained on her face.

The rotunda was enormous. It soared several stories above my head, with skylights allowing the mid-day sun to shine through. There were also artificial lights above the windows that steadily changed through a spectrum of colors, giving the inside of the dome a little modern artsy flair. From the main floor, one could look up to the vast open space that dominated the wings of the building. It had a multi-story gallery surrounding two sweeping staircases, each wing a mirror image of the other. The open space allowed for someone to stand on the second or third floors, in front of either the House or Senate Chamber, and look across the building and through the rotunda to a person standing on the other side. In fact, if both Houses of the legislature were in session at the same time, and the doors to both chambers were left open, the Speaker of the House and the President of the Senate could make eye contact. The numerous columns and internal expanse facilitated a classically monolithic environment, like the Ben Franklin Institute in Philadelphia, or the Coliseum in Rome.

Just off of the rotunda, a display case held several figurines in ball gowns. Our guide explained that these are dolls of all of the first ladies of Kentucky, and the dresses they wore to the inaugural ball. In the case of the first female Governor of Kentucky, Martha Layne Collins who served from 1983 to 1987, her figurine was on display in the case instead of her husband’s. As our docent explained, few other Capitols have similar exhibits, and this is one of the aspects of the Kentucky Capitol that make it special.

We walked upstairs to the State Reception Room, where press conferences and other meetings take place. In the center of the room sat a large table with a marble top. It is immensely heavy, and takes a considerable effort to move it, which is why it remains exactly where it is, for the most part. From the State Reception Room, one can look out across the city and see Daniel Boone’s grave on a hilltop a ways away.

Daniel Boone was one of the most beloved and iconic American pioneers, primarily famous for blazing the ‘Wilderness Road’ through the Appalachian Mountains, and settling the land that is now Kentucky. There he founded Boonesborough, one of the first American settlements west of the Appalachians. By the turn of the 19th Century, hundreds of thousands of people had traveled his Wilderness Road, and due to an account of his adventures published in 1784, he gained widespread fame throughout America and Europe. The epic legend of Boone has lasted throughout the generations, and has grown larger than the man himself. The general public remembers him simply as the famous frontiersman, and the fantastic tales of his exploits often overshadow the factual details of his life.

We moved on to the House chamber, which was traditional and practical, and not much different from the Senate chamber across the building. It seems that in many of the Capitols, the Senate and House Chambers are not usually the most aesthetically pleasing, and most of them are set up in exactly the same way. Our next stop was the Supreme Court Chamber. Kentucky is one of the few states in which the Supreme Court occupies chambers in the Capitol building. This room was used as the Court of Appeals until 1976, when the Supreme Court took office there. The room is very dimly lit, but the ceiling is beautiful, made of “Old Dutch Metal” leafing hammered down to look like copper. Our guide told us that this room was her favorite, and I would have to agree. Although there wasn’t a vast array of ornate decoration, the room felt very calming and studious, similar to a library.

Going downstairs, we were given a look at a bust of one of the honorary Colonels of Kentucky. That’s right, you guessed it: Colonel Harland Sanders, founder of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Governor John Y. Brown Jr. dedicated the bust to honor Sanders for starting such a successful business in his retirement years, and also for making Kentucky a household name. I thought it was amusing that Kentucky made Sanders an official, honorary Colonel of Kentucky, as I had been under the impression that the title was simply a marketing tactic.

After leaving the Capitol, I went to a sandwich place called Penn Station. It was a chain, and sort of like Quiznos, but the young man behind the counter was very attentive. I asked him to make my fries crispy, and he followed up by asking if I would like them a little crispy, or very crispy because different people like different things. It was surprising to me, given that it was likely he wasn’t making much more than minimum wage, why would he care? He cared because I was in Kentucky, and southern hospitality is alive, well, and unwavering. He wanted my less-than $10 sandwich and fries to be delicious and satisfying, not because he was paid to care, but because he truly, genuinely cared. I ate my sandwich and left with a smile stretching ear-to-ear, much happier than I was when I entered.

Later in the evening, I went out in search of dinner. I ended up going to Bistro 241. My dinner of pesto chicken and pasta was incredibly delicious, but it wasn’t the strongest memory of the evening. While I was walking back to my car, I saw that a block of the street in front of the Old Capitol was blocked off. As I approached, I realized that two restaurants and two bars had pulled all of their tables out on to the street so that their customers could enjoy their meals and beverages while listening to two gentleman playing music at the end of the street. People were laughing and dancing, children were running around and playing with one another, and the musicians were playing at least two instruments each. Something like this would never happen in the northeast, at least without months of prior planning and the acquisition of several permits. To everyone here, it was just the average Friday night. Instead of one restaurant hiring a live band to boost their own revenue at the expense of their neighbors, they all took part in the food and entertainment. They shared the music and the street, and made it better for everyone. It was a wonderfully American thing to witness.

Kentucky gave me the impression that many of people there cared more about the enjoyment of the many rather than the personal benefit of the individual. In essence, the sense of community was compelling. From my experience at Penn Station to the enthusiasm of Capitol tour guide to witnessing the entertainment in the street Friday evening, many people in Kentucky showed me a generous and amicable side of the human race that I have rarely found elsewhere; at least, so far on this trip.

The next morning, Kentucky disappeared behind me as the sunburned landscape of Indiana appeared before me. Only a few states into my journey, I was gaining a new appreciation for the spirit of our nation, and the people that inhabit it. Already I’d experienced a broader rage of culture than I had come to know in my life so far. I was excited to see what Indiana would have to offer.