Des Moines, Iowa

           Setting off from Wisconsin, I was startled by the beauty of the southern half of the state. It was wondrously picturesque, more so than I expected. As soon as I passed over the state line into Iowa, the vivid vegetation and rolling hills were replaced with a flat landscape of endless rows of corn. My father, Jack Henneman, grew up in Iowa City, and he warned me of the visual monotony. I stopped in Iowa City to take a picture of his childhood home before hopping back in the car to drive the remaining two and half hours to the capital city of Des Moines. I arrived in the late evening to a high-rise style hotel near the hospital. I ate a simple dinner and exhausted from my day’s travel, I drifted into sweet oblivion.

            The next morning, I awoke to a shining sun and a fiercely rumbling stomach. I found satiation at the Waveland Café in West Des Moines. It was a small place, run like a New Jersey diner with a twist of Mid-Western charm. The waitress called me sweetie, and the food was hot and cooked to order. Stuffed with warm contentment, I paid for my meal, and drove toward the Capitol.

            Driving east on the highway, the Capitol glinted in the morning sun, its five domes protruding into the expansive blue sky. Upon arriving on the Capitol grounds, I parked my vehicle in the vast parking lot that provided space for the visitors and employees of several government buildings. Rushing to make the next available tour, I decided to take pictures of the exterior as I departed.

            I arrived in the center of the ground floor to the largest of tour groups I had been with thus far. All of the other eager intellectuals were seniors, as was usually the case in most of the Capitols. They were all very friendly, and interested to hear about my project. Though a few of them were not terribly mobile (one of the gentleman walked with a cane) they persevered to each of the far-flung rooms of the enormous edifice.

            Our first stop was the former Supreme Court Room, which is now used as a committee room. Our guide asked that we take a seat in the hard wooden chairs as he regaled us with the details of the building’s history. As with many Capitols, the Des Moines State House suffered a fire in the early 20th century. Luckily, the building was not entirely destroyed. A workman left his station to get a cup of coffee, absentmindedly forgetting to snuff out the candle by which he was working. It tipped over, ignited something, and soon the blaze had spread across the ceiling of the House Chamber. Being the largest room in the entire building, the damage was very extensive. Firefighters were able to put out the fire before it spread to the rest of the building, but an extensive renovation and restoration progress had to begin to make the building useable again. As the artist who had painted the original murals on the ceiling of the House Chamber had passed away, another artist with a very different style was commissioned in his stead.

            Walking down the hall, we were given a view of several different displays. The first was a very large model of the U.S.S Iowa battleship. It was incredibly intricate and detailed, and it almost seemed too large for me to envision it full size. The USS Iowa is the last lead ship of any class of United States battleships, and the only one in her class to have served in the Atlantic Ocean during WWII. Franklin Roosevelt traveled on Iowa to a crucial 1943 meeting in Tehran with British Prime Minister Winston Churchill and Soviet leader Josef Stalin. A bathtub and elevator was installed in Iowa for Roosevelt’s use during the voyage. The true Iowa is currently on display in California, and is open to the public. Our guide reported that if you visit the battleship and flash your Iowa license, admission is free.

            The other display was just outside of the Governor’s office. Much like the one in Kentucky, the display showed all of the first ladies in their inaugural gowns. When the practice was started, many dolls were made in the likeness of the first lady of the time, so they all have the same face. The only way to tell them apart is by their hair and their gown. Although Iowa has not yet had a female Governor, our guide surmised that they would do the same thing with the first gentlemen, and make them all in the first one’s likeness. The only trouble would be then that there would be no way to tell them apart, because the men wear black tuxedos to the inaugural ball.

We moved on to the Governor’s Office, which is only used for ceremonial purposes so that it may be viewed by public tours. The Governor prefers to keep his working office on the ground floor, where most of the rest of the employees have their offices. It struck me as a mark of his character that he was willing to sacrifice such history and aesthetically appealing surroundings so that the public may see it, but also that he preferred to work on the same level as the rest of the staff, perhaps not only literally, but figuratively as well. It was as if he was asserting that he was no more important to the entire system then all of them were. This mentality is very “Iowa.”  Then governor Robert Ray called my 16 year-old father at home to discuss a letter Dad had written him to protest an increase in the drinking age. As my father described, they had a very intellectual discussion that ended in them respectfully agreeing to disagree on the subject. Regardless, the Governor’s Office was unbelievably beautiful, with many different kinds of marble, paintings, and rich, wooden furniture. It was hard to imagine giving up being surrounded by this beauty, day in and day out.

            After seeing the House and Senate Chambers, which contained several murals but were otherwise unremarkable, we were shown the law library. It was positively enchanting. There are few settings more pleasant than a comfortable library, and this one was perhaps the nicest I had ever set foot in. It had three levels with enormous windows and curved, white banisters. It almost felt like the library from Beauty and the Beast, like I could spend the rest of my life there and not get tired of it. Out of respect for the employees, our guide waited for us to take a peek and come back into the hallway before he told us about the room. One interesting tidbit was that it was often the backdrop of choice for media during the beginning of the race for the presidency.

            Finally, we were taken up in to the Capitol dome for the first time on my journey. At the base of each dome in almost every Capitol, there is a ledge where people can look down through the stories at the distant floor below. The view is supposed to be spectacular, but most Capitols no longer allow the public up there unless accompanied by a representative or a senator. Iowa, on the other hand, includes it as part of their tour. Our guide did warn us that it was a long way up many stairs, and if there were health concerns, not to push it. Despite my fear of heights, I could not forego such an opportunity, as I may never have it again. We entered the spiral staircase and began to climb. About half way up, it began to get very warm and stuffy, and just as I felt my legs begin to ache, we arrived at the opening. The perspective was staggering and my stomach lurched for just a moment before I grasped the railing to remind myself how solid and sturdy it was. Three members of our group had declined the climb, and we waved to them as we all tried not to be a little nervous. It was a wondrous feeling, like standing proudly on the summit of a mountain. We walked around the entire circumference and then made our way back down. Along the way, we made a pit stop in the galleries of the house and senate, while also taking a look at three murals that were actually mosaics. It was difficult to tell from the floor because they were so precisely done, but it was remarkable how meticulously they were put together. After two hours of tour, I was getting a little worn, but the schedule demanded that I visit the museum. I left the Capitol and basked for a moment in its glory, beaming at my experience. It had been one of my favorite buildings and tours so far, and I was in good spirits.

            The museum is run completely on donations, and is not very large. Additionally, many of the exhibits were undergoing construction. To be perfectly honest, I was not blown away by the displays, and they seemed rather anticlimactic after such an illustrious Capitol tour. I wandered my way through the galleries for another two hours before returning to the main floor to figure out where I was going to find dinner. As I approached the door, I realized that it was storming. It was sunny when I went inside, and it was shocking how quickly the winds had changed. The rain was pouring torrentially, and I prepared to make a dash for my car when a older lady standing near the front said, “If you’re inside when the sirens are going, it’s best to stay inside.” Sure enough, I noticed for the first time that a waling sound that was not the wind was coming from outside. Similar to the alarm in the fire departments of small towns used to alert the firefighters of an emergency, the alarm was sounding off over the flat expanse, signaling that there might be danger. Luckily, there wasn’t a tornado, and the rain soon subsided.

            Having picked a Mexican restaurant online, I went inside to discover a small building with only four tables run by a family of four. Well, only the parents truly worked there, as the children were no older than 10, sitting at one of the tables doing their homework. I was welcomed in with a warm smile and the promise of delicious food, which was certainly lived up to. The meal was delectable, and just what I needed in the cold, rainy weather. I thanked the owner graciously and departed for my hotel room.

            It is one of the greatest gifts that I have gotten on this trip is to visit the home states of my relatives and my idols. My father grew up in Iowa, as well as my favorite author, Bill Bryson. It was interesting to be able to explore the city and imagine what it must be like to call it home, let alone the place one grew up. I felt extremely positive about my trip to Iowa, especially the Capitol building and the contagiously zealous tour guide. I felt that out of many states in the Mid West that I could appreciate for their charm and culture, Iowa held a particular closeness to my heart. The next morning, I packed up my things, and hit the road toward Minneapolis, some family, and two close friends.

            

Madison, Wisconsin

         The state of Wisconsin has a sentimental attachment for me, mainly because I wouldn’t exist if it didn’t. My grandfather, the late Tom Lodahl, was born in 1931 in his grandparent’s house, a hand-built log dwelling in Prairie Farm, Wisconsin. Tom wasn’t expected for 3 more weeks, and his parents had no baby clothes with them, so they dressed him in a doll’s clothes. He grew up about thirty miles from his birthplace in Rice Lake, Wisconsin, where his mother worked for the school district, which was quite unusual for the 1930s. It was the Great Depression, and the family survived on her salary of $100 a month. He graduated from Rice Lake High School in 1949 and enlisted in the army the following September. Tom was put in charge of evaluating draftees’ experience and skills for placement, and it was this duty that ignited his interest in social science. He was eligible for the GI Bill, and after two years of service, Tom went to the University of Wisconsin-Madison. There he met my grandmother, the late Janice Beyer, whom he married the September of her junior year.

It was a wonderful opportunity for me to be able to visit the city in which my grandparents met. Since they both passed away several years ago, I felt honored to be able to walk the streets of the city in which their beginning as a couple took place. After all, if they had never met, I would not be here to tell you all of this, let alone embark on this journey.

The morning after arriving in Wisconsin, I went for breakfast to Monty’s Blue Plate Diner. It was an unusual-looking building, mostly white with blue trim, and the one-way parking lot wrapped around three sides of it, with barely enough room to back out of the spots. When I walked in, I was happy to discover a classic diner interior, a familiar sight that the Jersey-girl in me will always adore. I drank my coffee cheerfully as I watched the people at the tables around me. To my left was a senior couple, talking quietly to each other about the plans for the rest of their day. In front of the window in the corner was a group of four, three of them adults and the other a young boy no older than five. His parents and grandmother were discussing something boring and grownup, but he was busy peering out the window at the cars and trucks driving down the street. Next to them, a woman sat alone, passing the time until her food arrived by reading a book. I could not spot the title, but she seemed so consumed by the story that had someone sat in the chair across from her, she wouldn’t have noticed. Just on the other side of her, an elderly pair of women animatedly discussed the recent flooding in Colorado, pausing for only a moment between exclamations to take a bite of their food.

            After leaving the diner, I drove toward downtown to begin my day’s work. As I entered one of the streets that runs diagonally across the city, I was greeted with an unobstructed view of the enormous dome of the Capitol. It soared far above the rest of the city, overseeing the day’s proceedings. I found parking only a few blocks away, and walked down the street toward the square. I planned on visiting the museum first, which was just across the street from the Capitol. It was a small, nondescript building, with a banner, reading, “Wisconsin Historical Museum” hanging from the outside. The museum is small and runs entirely on donations. The first floor was dedicated to different maps of the state of Wisconsin created throughout history that documented different things. I went upstairs to the second floor, where the majority of the open exhibits were; most of the third floor was undergoing renovation for a new display. I learned about the native people of the region, as well as the industries that grew Wisconsin’s economy and helped shape it into the state that it is today.

            Until about the 1830s, Wisconsin’s economy revolved around the fur trade. Europeans, most of them French explorers, would trade practically anything to the Native Americans for fur, including tools, weapons, and alcohol. By the early 19th century, many of the furry mammals with valuable pelts became over-hunted and almost extinct, so the fur trade moved further west along with the expansion of settled territory.

            The inhabitants of Wisconsin paid little attention to either the American Revolution, or the War of 1812. The Europeans in the region were mainly French-Canadian, and along with the natives they cared little about the squabbles between the English and the Americans. After the War of 1812, the Americans erected military forts in certain areas of Wisconsin. In response to a high demand for lead needed for ammunition, the federal government granted leases for mining in the southwestern part of the state.

As the 1800s progressed, miners from other regions began flooding into the area, churning out 13 million pounds of lead per year. The economic boom prompted the US government to push the rest of the native people out of the area, leaving their lands open to white settlement. Soon, miners from the south along with businessman from New York and New England began to occupy the land that was emptied in the wake of the Native American’s removal. From 1820 to 1836 the population skyrocketed from 1,444 inhabitants to over 10,000 souls. Passing this landmark made Wisconsin eligible for its own territorial government. With the building of roads and canals along with other public improvements over the next ten years, Wisconsin experienced yet another boom in population, from 11,683 in 1836 to 155,277 in 1846.

In 1846, delegates gathered at a convention to draft a constitution for the rapidly growing territory.  At first, they wrote a constitution that was very progressive for its time, allowing married women to own land and leaving the issue of African American sovereignty up to the populous. The white male citizens of Wisconsin were not quite ready for that, and so they sent the delegates back to the drawing board. The delegates returned a year later with a constitution that did not mention women’s rights or that of African Americans, and the voters accepted it in March of 1848. That May, Wisconsin became the 30th state.

After learning about the history of the state of Wisconsin, I returned to the first floor of the museum, where I began to peruse the gift shop for souvenirs. I came upon a plain black bumper sticker that proclaimed in large, white letters, “Uff da.” It is a phrase of Norwegian origin used to express sensory overload, exhaustion, or the receipt of bad news, similar to the Yiddish phrase, “Oy vey.” My grandfather was 100% Norwegian, though he was born in America, and he was known for saying, “Uff da,” whenever rising from a chair or other resting place. I was thrilled to have discovered the sticker, and as I purchased it, a warm, reminiscent feeling welled up in my chest.

I crossed the street to the Capitol and stood for a moment in all of its glory. The unique aspect of the Wisconsin Capitol’s appearance is its shape. The building has four, equal armed wings that point the way to each of the four diagonal streets of the city. Although each wing has a grand entrance with several columns, it is hard to tell which is the front.

The current Capitol building is the fourth of Wisconsin Capitols. The first Capitol was for the territorial government in modern day Leslie, Wisconsin. The second is where the current Capitol stands, but its structural inadequacies and fire hazards soon became apparent, and legislature quickly signed off on the construction of a new building. The third Capitol was very grand and widely adored with an enormous dome similar to that of the United States Capitol building. In February of1904, only a few weeks after the legislature voted to cancel the fire insurance on the building, a gas jet ignited a newly varnished ceiling, setting the Capitol ablaze. Because it was the dead of winter, the lakes on either side of the city were frozen, and firefighters struggled futilely to quell the flames for 18 long hours. More firefighters from Milwaukee hurriedly boarded the only train that facilitated transportation between the two cities, but by the time they arrived, their equipment had frozen as well. Students from the University rushed courageously in and out of the building, saving whatever items them could, but soon, they could not reenter. Hundreds of people watched helplessly as their Capitol burned to ruin. The damage was estimated between $800,000 and $1,000,000, but luckily no lives were lost in the inferno.

I entered the current Capitol, which was completed in 1917 at a cost of $7,200,000. I proceeded to the tours and information desk, where a young man informed me that the next tour began in half an hour, but I was welcome to go up to the observation deck in the meantime. Thrilled at the opportunity, I hurried to the elevator and ascended to the highest floor. After climbing several stairs, I reached a landed where an older gentleman was sitting, presumably to oversee visitors such as myself who wished to go up. He pointed me up a precarious spiral staircase, which I climbed with some trepidation. I reached the summit and opened the narrow door to the most spectacular view I had witnessed thus far in my journey. The city was sprawled out before me, the waters of the lakes on either side glimmering in the afternoon sun. I snapped several pictures from every perspective, capturing many of the statues that stood above the doors inside.

After a few minutes, I realized that I was about to miss the beginning of the tour. As quickly as I had come, I rushed back down to the ground floor, where a young woman began the tour. I was the only person in the group so we chatted at some length about my trip and the differences among the state Capitols. She showed me to the Supreme Court chamber and a few other noteworthy rooms, including the ornately decorated Governor's Reception Room. We went into the gallery of the Senate for just a moment, as the senators were in session. The proceedings were dry and somewhat monotonous, but it was interesting to see the process first hand. Next was the House Chamber, where I heard the amazing story of Old Abe.

Old Abe was a female bald eagle captured by Native American Ahgamahwegezhig, or “Chief Sky.” In 1861, she was traded to Daniel McCann in exchange for a bushel of corn, and McCann sold her for $2.50 to a company of volunteers from Eau Claire and Chippewa counties led by John C. Perkins. They were called the Eau Claire Badgers. Perkins named Old Abe after President Abraham Lincoln. The Badgers went to war and became the 8th Wisconsin Volunteer Infantry Regiment with Old Abe loyally as their mascot. Different people were in charge of Old Abe during the Civil War, and many accounts of her actions in battle seem to be exaggerated. During the Siege of Vicksburg, a southern girl witnessed the 8th Wisconsin Regiment approaching with Old Abe, and famously exclaimed, “Oh, see that Yankee Buzzard!” This enraged the men, who verbally responded so passionately that she withdrew back into her house. This was the insulting name that the Confederate troops knew Old Abe by, and there were numerous attempts to capture or kill her, but none were ever successful. Old Abe was an icon of the Union army, and a beloved mascot of Wisconsin. She returned from battle, greeted with love and honor, and lived in the Capitol until the end of her days. After her death, she was stuffed and displayed in the Capitol. Unfortunately, her preserved form was destroyed in the Capitol fire of 1904, but years later, another eagle that had died and been stuffed was donated to honor her contribution to the state of Wisconsin, and to the United States of America. That eagle now stands resolutely above the Speaker of House, presiding over the members as the true Old Abe once did over the 8th Wisconsin Volunteer Infantry Regiment.

Hearing about Old Abe prompted a warm pride that consumed me as I left the Capitol. I felt extremely sentimental about Madison, the rest of Wisconsin, and the contribution the State has given to the rest of the nation. From my grandparents to Old Abe, Wisconsin has had its place in enriching the great melting pot we all call home. The next morning, I packed up my belongings, filled up my gas tank, and set out for the state my father grew up in, Iowa.

Lansing, Michigan

           After several exhausting hours of driving, I arrived at Cottonwood Campground in Lansing, Michigan with only an hour of daylight to spare. I hurriedly paid for my site, which was in between the camp store and the lake, and began to set up my tent. Michigan had experienced record high temperatures for the past three days, and the bugs were viciously unrelenting so close to the water. I slapped at the fiercely biting mosquitos, cursed, and yanked up my hood, struggling to cook a few skinny pieces of chicken before the sky went completely dark. I ate my simple meal by the ghostly light of a flashlight resting in the grass next to me. After a little while, the bugs began to die down, and I decided to get some rest. I tried desperately to get comfortable, but in the sweltering heat, it was utterly futile. An hour of sweaty tossing and turning later, I blearily stumbled toward the vending machine outside the camp store. With two less than crisp dollar bills in my hand, I was hopeful that the vending machine would not be too finicky. I fed in each bill multiple times, but no matter how I smoothed each bill flat or propelled it into the stubborn slot, the machine refused my petty tender. Irritated, I trudged back to my car, snatched several quarters out of my center console, and marched back to the machine, confidant that now it would see defeat. I fed in 5 coins, all of which slid into the cash box with a satisfying clatter. I selected a bottle of water, but to my utter dismay, it was sold out. I hit the return button, but nothing happened. I pushed the button feverishly several more times, and watched, enraged, as the little screen switched back to its original message. Now thirsty, tired, and annoyed beyond description, I slunk back to my tent, where I spent the hours until morning lying awake in parched, sweaty discontentment.

            At about 4 in the morning, the temperature finally eased up, and I drifted in to that twilight state between consciousness and sleep. Not half an hour later it seemed, a loud clanging noise began from somewhere off in the distance. The campsite was in a wooded area relatively close to a few commercial shipping sites, and apparently several semis had to fill up their tanks just before dawn. The pumps knocked repeatedly, feeling as though they were right upon my aching head, before a glorious moment of silence would bring a precious few seconds of relief. Two minutes later, it would start all over again.

            Completely fed up and drained beyond frustration, I arose and began to blearily pack up my tent. I plugged in my phone at the electrical socket, which along with a water spigot was the only meager comforts I was provided with, and allowed it to charge while I slowly and painstakingly collected my belongings. I found a place on Yelp to eat breakfast not too far away, and with a considerable amount of relief, I left Cottonwood Campground behind.

            The Golden Harvest sounded interesting, with rave reviews online. When I arrived, I was surprised to see that it was just a little place on the corner in an otherwise residential neighborhood. There were several tables outside, and from the view of the street, I could see that the inside was packed. As I approached, I began to hear the familiar sounds of electronic music blasting from the entrance, and a smile crept onto my face for the first time in 12 hours. I walked in or more accurately, waded through the densely packed tables, and took a seat at the counter. The music, the diverse crowd of people, and the vintage memorabilia that decorated the walls overwhelmed my worn senses. The kitchen was right in front of the counter, with a young man training a new girl as a cook. When the server squeezed past them and asked if I would like some coffee. Before he even finished his sentence, I replied, “Yes!” with a more desperate tone than I initially intended. He chuckled and immediately turned to retrieve a mug and the steaming pot. After taking a magnificent first sip, I ordered an omelet with bacon, avocado, and cheddar cheese, with some home fries, and watched eagerly as the pair prepared my meal right in front of me. It was unbelievably good, the best breakfast that I had eaten so far on the trip. As I left the restaurant, I realized that I was miraculously in a good mood, recovered from the unpleasantness of the night before. It is amazing how a fluffy can change the day!

            I journeyed toward the Capitol to begin my day’s research. It was 9/11 and I expected things to be a little more somber than they had been at other Capitols. Indeed, when I arrived, I discovered that a luncheon was being held for the first responders and their families, followed by a ceremony of some sort. Classes of third graders from a local elementary school filled up the tours for that day, so I walked around on my own, occasionally stopping to listen to a guide if my path crossed that of the group’s.  The thing that struck me about the Michigan State House was the intricacy of the painted designs on the walls and ceilings. Each hallway and room was decorated in a slightly different way, and none were left bare. The House and Senate chamber, much to my delight, were no plainer than the rest of the building. Each room was very similar in style, with stenciled paintwork out lining the architecture, and an enormous skylight with each of the seals of the 50 states emblazoned on a pane of frosted glass. The rooms each had large galleries, which were open to the public. They were very pleasant rooms to be in; the sunlight shining through the skylight and the decoration along with aura of history made me feel peaceful.

            The fourth floor provided visitors the opportunity to get a higher perspective of the rotunda, but the balconies up in the dome were closed off to the public, most likely for safety reasons. Having struggled with a fear of heights since a young age, I got a bit of a thrill peering down at the ant-sized people below. My phobia is no longer overwhelming, but I still feel a bit uneasy when I am so far up. Standing at the railing, it felt satisfying to once again look my fear in the face, and let it pass without pulling away.

As a result of my restless night, my energy was fading fast, and I wanted to get to the State Museum while I was still able to retain information. I walked the four blocks to the building slowly, my legs sore and throbbing from my lack of sleep. Upon arriving at the museum, I paid the small entrance fee, and traveled to the second floor to begin perusing the exhibits. One of the same groups of children and their chaperones from the Capitol were just starting a tour in the museum, so I waited patiently for the group to move on before beginning my journey through history and time.

I began at the settlement of native peoples in the region, and made it all the way to the representation of a copper mine during the industrial age. Turning from a plaque I had been reading on the opposite wall, I jumped about a foot in the air and let out a startled gasp when I saw a gentleman in a miner’s uniform standing right behind me. He apologized earnestly for surprising me, and I assured him that it was no trouble at all, still trying to regain composure with my heart beating as though I was being chased by a grizzly bear. It was then that I noticed his nametag, identifying him as a docent, and he asked me if I would be interested in hearing a little about the history of mining in Michigan, as he came from five generations of miners. I responded that I certainly would, and he launched into a detailed story about the labor of the copper mines. He told me that all of the equipment he was wearing was authentic, from his headlamp to his jacket, passed down to him from his family members. He described to me the toil that these workers had to endure for such meager pay, and that some of them would be climbing the ladder out of the mine at the end of the day, pass out from exhaustion, and fall to their death. Not only we they overworked and underpaid, but the mining companies also owned their houses. This came about because when the mines formed, there were no nearby towns in Michigan’s upper peninsula, so the mining companies provided housing, school, medical care, and other necessary supplies to the mining families. Unfortunately, this meant that corporations reached deeply into the lives of the miners and their families, and soon the workers were completely controlled by their employers. For instance, should the man of the household die in a mining accident, which was all too common in the days of no safety regulations, his widow had thirty days to vacate the premises with the rest of their family, or to find another miner to marry.

The miners soon became fed up, and a mass strike rippled across the state a decade after the turn of the 20th century. It was the first official strike of the region, and the stand off between the miners and the corporations that lasted 9 months would be known thereafter as the Copper Country Strike of 1913-1914. The Western Federation of Miners (WFM) was the organization that called for the strike, and with limited funds and the corporations unwilling to budge, many mining families were sent into poverty. Some left the region all together, seeking employment in the rapidly growing economies of Detroit and Chicago. As the winter of 1913 approached, the strike began to weaken.

In December of 1913, the Women’s Auxiliary of the WFM organized a Christmas party for the miner’s families. Citizens of the town and the union contributed funds and gifts for the children, and the function was held on the second floor of the Italian Hall in Calumet. A steep staircase was the only clear way of getting to the second floor. At the height of the party, with 400 people packed into the building, an unidentified man ran into the room and shouted, “Fire!” A panicked stampede ensued, and 73 people were trampled to death in the stairwell, 59 of them children. The worst part of the whole ordeal was that there was no fire in the building at all.

There was never a definitive answer as to who would do such a thing, but when members of the Supreme Court came to the region to retrieve testimony, as many as eight witnesses swore they saw a Citizens’ Alliance button on the man’s jacket. The Citizen’s Alliance was an organization that openly opposed a strike, and to this day there is speculation that it was a tactic staged by the Alliance to disrupt the party. The incident is known today as the ‘Italian Hall Disaster.’ Some believe that Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. was influenced by the incident just 6 years later in 1919 during the United States Supreme Court Case Schenck v. The United States, when he famously proclaimed, “The most stringent protection of free speech would not protect a man falsely shouting fire in a theater and causing a panic.” Although Holmes was probably not referring to the incident directly, he had definitely heard about it, as it was reported extensively in newspapers across the country after it occurred.

After spending a good deal of time informing me about the history of the mining industry in Michigan, the tour guide left me to explore the rest of the museum. Drained, I left in the late afternoon to the hot sun and the soundtrack of rush hour downtown. I went to a Mexican restaurant by the name of Pablo’s Panaderia a little ways outside of downtown. There I enjoyed an amazing burrito, and left feeling a better than I did when I entered. Unwilling to return to the dreaded campsite, I found a relatively inexpensive hotel in Grand Rapids, where I stayed for the night before driving to Chicago for the weekend.

Overall, my experience in Michigan was a conglomeration of different impressions. Although I had an unpleasant experience camping, many of my discomforts were due to a lack of planning on my part and plain bad luck. I thoroughly enjoyed my breakfast at the Golden Harvest, and felt welcomed by the accepting, tolerant, quirky vibe that generally accompanies college towns. It was amazing how stepping into that restaurant turned around my entire attitude for the day. The museum was interesting, but was made even more enjoyable and worthwhile by the kind and enthusiastic tour guide that spent close to an hour telling me about all of the details of the copper mines. Overall, I wasn’t quite sure what to make of the Great Lakes State, but I knew without a doubt that I would like to return.