No matter how many times I visit South Bend, surprisingly I never run out of things to see in the Michiana region.  I find this probably holds true for any region of the USA if you look hard enough, as there are interesting things to see in just about every corner of the country.  This most recent jaunt proved better than most, so I thought I’d share a few of the newfound discoveries.

When I left South bend on a dreary gray Sunday afternoon, I headed north with my destination the next significant city…Kalamazoo, Michigan.  My first stop on the way was the small hamlet of Cassopolis.  Like many Midwest towns, the cool old-fashioned Main Street was lined with half-vacant stores that had no doubt seen better days many years ago.  But one of them was perfectly restored to its 1960’s glory, the local Sinclair Station.  Like stepping back in time, someone went to great efforts to restore what once was; the office seemed right out of my earliest childhood memories.

My next stop was a small graveyard on the outskirts of town which houses the Iven C. Kincheloe Memorial.  Who is Iven C. Kincheloe, you ask?  Only the first human being ever to visit space, a pretty darn big bragging right, even if he is long forgotten to most.  In a nutshell, Iven was a Southern Michigan farm boy fascinated by flight, who went on to study Aeronautical Engineering at Purdue University in the late 1940’s.  One of his good friends and classmate there was none other than Neil Armstrong, he of the first-man-on-the-moon fame.  Both men followed similar career paths, becoming test pilots after graduating.  Iven also went on to earn many honors and attained Ace status after flying more than one hundred successful missions during the Korean War.

In 1956, Kincheloe flew the Bell X-2 rocket-powered aircraft to an altitude never before attained by a human being, shattering the then-record altitude of 90,000’ by climbing to more than 126,000’, well past the established barrier of our atmosphere and into the regime of Space.  At that height, the Earth’s curvature is clearly evident, the sky above is nearly black, and Iven was even weightless for nearly a minute, although he later said he barely perceived it, being so tightly restrained in the confining aircraft.  After his successful flight, he was dubbed by the media as the First Spaceman.  It is very likely that Iven would have become one of America’s first astronauts and that he would have continued on to further similar accomplishments like his moon-landing friend Neil, had his life not been tragically taken in a horrific crash of another jet aircraft he was test piloting just two years later in 1958.  Iven C. Kincheloe had just turned thirty years old and left behind a wife, a son and a daughter born two months after his passing.  Forgotten by most, Cassopolis, Michigan has remembered her loyal son.

Spending that night in Kalamazoo, I awoke the next morning excited to visit my long-awaited destination of the Gilmore Auto Museum.  It is located in Hickory Corners, which really is little more than a small intersection in Southern Michigan farm country, or more aptly put, it is in the proverbial middle of nowhere.  The museum complex sits on 90-acres that form one of the corners at the lone intersection and is composed of a collection of old barns reconstructed on the site, as well as newer buildings built to resemble vintage showrooms, fifteen structures housing cars in all.  The actual collection of automobiles housed on the property is downright mind-boggling.  I will keep it short on superlatives, but simply stress that if you are a fan of automobiles in any capacity, immediately add this place to your bucket list.  It is that kind of good.

To my surprise, the Gilmore Auto Museum has existed for five decades, this year being the 50^th anniversary of the collection being opened to the public, yet it remains off the radar to most.  It was founded by Mr. Donald Gilmore, the retired CEO of drug-maker Upjohn Pharmaceutical, developers of the familiar Xanax, Motrin, and Rogaine.  The Gilmore Auto Museum has grown substantially over the years and is now considered America’s Signature Collection, their advertising tagline that really does fit the bill.  Bucket List.  I’ll simply leave it at that.

The next day, I headed in Battle Creek, Michigan, the home of the Kellogg’s cereal empire.  I stopped first at the arboretum on the outskirts of town and found an interesting collection of art in an area where a new amphitheater had recently been installed.  Rather than simply clear the necessary trees, local artists were allowed to turn them into artworks,  a neat idea.  Later upon reaching town, I dined at Clara’s on the River in the re-purposed 1888 Michigan Central Depot that still sports the magnificent woodworking and stained glass that graced train travelers over a century ago.  The train tracks along the river have long been removed, but walkways overlooking the river and the downtown district are the new favored mode of transport.

Battle Creek was also an important stop on the Underground Railroad and the town celebrates that legacy with a massive statue of Sojourner Truth, probably the 19^th century’s most famous American woman of color.  She lived out her remaining years in the area and is buried nearby.  (I stepped into the second photo so you have a sense of the massive statue’s scale.)

Leaving Battle Creek brought me back to Kalamazoo’s Air Zoo, the state of Michigan’s largest aviation museum.  This attraction was built in 2004, subsequent to my last visit to Kalamazoo.  Being an avid aviation buff, I was incredibly impressed with the substantial museum.  The main gallery is a massive room ringed by the largest single mural in the world, measuring 28’ high by more than 800’ long, nearly three football fields.  It was painted by a famed aviation artist local to the area, Rick Herter, and was finished in an incredible 18-months.  The mural features some of the finest large-scale aviation renderings I have ever seen.

The museum’s collection of aircraft is top notch, ranging from the world’s fastest plane, the SR-71 Blackbird, to an airplane I used to work on, the F-14 Tomcat, to my personal favorite, an F-2 Grumman Wildcat.  It is my favorite simply because that plane design was famously assembled in the converted General Motors Plant in my hometown of Linden, New Jersey.

 

In 2012, an F-2 Grumman Wildcat was fished out of Lake Michigan after crashing during a 1944 training flight from Chicago’s Navy Pier.  It spent the next 68 years two hundred feet below the surface of the great lake.  A team of volunteers is painstakingly restoring the remains of that plane to make it museum-worthy.  One of the older volunteers working on the project was confused when I explained to him the direct lineage of my own Aerospace Engineering degree to that very plane he was restoring.  Growing up hearing my father’s exciting boyhood tales of watching the newly assembled Wildcats as they rolled off the assembly line to fly for the first time at Linden Airport across the street, inspired my interest in flight that continues to this very day.  I was even more excited when shown the recovered smashed fuel tank from the Wildcat that still sports the stenciled Linden Plant designation.

Finally, it was back to Chicago, a city hoping to be joyfully abuzz with October World Series baseball for the first time in more than a century, but alas, for as much as I wish I could catch a game at Wrigley, it was time for me to head home and start researching my next road trip.

There are occasions when each of us make decisions against our better judgment.  It’s not a very elite club, almost everyone’s done it at some point in time.  Like speeding along a seemingly deserted road only to discover a police car pull out of nowhere, and as it shrinks in your rear-view mirror you notice the flashers turn on, and despite your better judgment, you’re just not in the mood, so you punch the accelerator pedal to the floor, right?  (I’ll share that story when I finally get around to penning my promised book.)  Anyway, after witnessing Notre Dame’s recent performance during the near unplayable conditions imposed by Hurricane Matthew two weeks ago, I became so incensed at Notre Dame Head Football Coach Brian Kelly’s lack of better judgment that I decided to design a t-shirt to voice my opinion against his continued employment.  My old roommate and I planned the project and we each looked forward to financing our trip back to campus the following weekend with the profits generated by our predicted inevitable t-shirt sales.

Thinking the t-shirt would sell itself, we capitalized on a few current catch phrases and envisioned three hundred others proudly wearing one just as we would.  “Blue & Gold Lives Matter,” followed by “Make Notre Dame Great Again,” and then simply “Fire Kelly!”  Granting our play on words might be a bit edgy to some in today’s politically correct society, we certainly meant no offense other than to one head football coach and surely the shirt conveyed the feelings of countless suffering Notre Dame Football fans this season.

But whereas thanks to the assistance of his wife’s better judgment, my old roommate stepped back and let calmer heads prevail, opting against splitting a near $2,000 investment for the gold-on-navy t-shirts.  Lacking that secondary perspective, I wound up putting pedal-to-the-metal once again, solo be damned.  A few short days later, I found myself in South Bend with more than a hundred pounds of brand new heavyweight cotton t-shirts in four large boxes that were rush shipped overnight.  Staring at a pile of boxes stacked as high as I am tall, revealed the humbling logistics of my one-man business model, but I was all in, and frankly more inspired just to share my voice with other similarly minded frustrated Irish fans.

That Saturday morning, my good friend’s wife offered to lend me a large backpack to assist my effort, which I managed to fill with an impressive thirty-some-odd t-shirts as I set off to the tailgating parking lots surrounding Notre Dame Stadium.  I hung a t-shirt out the back window on each side of my rental car as I drove towards campus; thumbs up and honking horns were elicited at each and every red light I hit.  Proudly modeling one of my shirts in the unusually warm Indiana afternoon, I parked near the Eddy Street Commons and started my trek towards campus carrying my bulging stuffed sack.  The reaction was swift and positive; lots of smiles as eyes scanned my chest and then the verbal compliments such as “great shirt, man.”

As I crossed the street and walked onto campus towards the crowded parking lot tailgaters, I was immediately the hit of the party.  Some revelers read my shirt and promptly invited me over for a beer and a brat, eager to bond over the unexpected shared pain of being an Irish fan this season.  A few others uttered owl-like oooh’s as they read my shirt, almost implying that I was an extraordinarily bold sort to defiantly wear such a cutting message on sacred ground.  Nonetheless, I proudly sported my creation and either commiserated with other fans or challenged them in debate on the topic, as the shirt evoked conversation with nearly everyone who read it.  But alas, being the hit of the party didn’t last long.

Confirming my suspicions that I initially chalked up as nervous paranoia, I was quickly swarmed by a small group of radio-wielding, golf-cart driving Notre Dame security guards and a police officer.  I would probably have been officially accused of selling unlicensed items on private property, but it was delivered in a gruffer, “you can’t sell those shirts.”  Next I was informed more directly that my t-shirt was deemed “highly offensive.”  At first I resented that complaint and began to debate the charge, but when it was repeated louder and from a much closer proximity to my face, better judgment did prevail and I shut up.  (Later a friend suggested how I might have wittily replied that the Notre Dame Football product that I’ve witnessed each weekend this season is what is highly offensive.)

After revealing my ID and the fact that I was an alum, I was threatened with the loss of future ticket privileges, of having all of my t-shirts confiscated, and of possibly even being arrested.  I luckily was able to persuade an option of promising not to sell any shirts and to basically never be seen trying to do so again.  The golf cart subtly followed me all the way back to my car to assure said agreement.

Having not promised to not WEAR my t-shirt, I laid low for a few minutes and then re-emerged at the tailgaters proudly donning my shirt once more.  I remained the hit of the afternoon and continued to be treated as a special guest wherever I went.  By 7pm though, I was depressed when I still could not even find a pair of takers interested in my extra pair of $125 face-value tickets that by this point I was literally offering for free.  Imagine that highly offensive reality, Notre Dame versus Stanford tickets that would have resold for $400 each just two months prior when it appeared to be a potential match-up of unbeaten preseason Top Ten’s, were now relegated to being literally worthless, an insignificant game that was little more than a battle for who was the bigger loser.

The fact that Coach Kelly managed to earn yet another loss would no doubt have amplified my t-shirt sales tenfold as I walked out of the dejected stadium, but instead I was merely the recipient of more thumbs up’s, compliments and high-five’s, but still stuck with a car-load of t-shirts and no way to realistically get them home to New Jersey.  I had flown on Frontier Airlines, the low budget carrier who earns most of their income by adding seat and baggage fees and four large boxes would have set me back another few hundred bucks.  So Plan B kicked in the next morning, as I roamed a rainy Notre Dame Bookstore parking lot in search of random New Jersey license plates with the hopes that I might explain my plight to a driver willing to transport my shirts gratis.  After three hours of unsuccessful persuasion, a gallant appreciator of the t-shirt said he would drive them home in exchange for three of the garments for himself and two friends.  The deal was gladly struck.

Which takes me to my current dilemma; I no longer view the t-shirts as a means of funding anything, but rather as a short-lived window of opportunity for Irish fans to collectively voice their frustration, while hopefully allowing my lack of better judgment to financially break even.  With that in mind, if you or any Irish fan you know, are interested in sharing my passion, please buy a t-shirt and wear it to a game or with your Irish Faithful friends.

(Author’s addendum;  I have removed the t-shirt for sale on account of the offense that many have taken to it.  This was never my intent, I was strictly motivated by my passion for the Notre Dame Football program, but I suppose the shirt went too far.  My apologies to those offended.)

Since Notre Dame Athletic Director Jack Swarbrick has pledged his continued support to Coach Kelly, the t-shirt should remain relevant through the remainder of this season.  Sadly, the demand for the t-shirt only grows as the Irish won-loss record continues to slide, a likely scenario I fear, especially as I envision the remaining month of the season.  So help the cause, spread the word, buy a t-shirt and join the effort to make Notre Dame great again.

Having planned my recent long-weekend trip to South Bend as part-Notre Dame game and part-road trip, I have split this blog entry into two parts as well.  So I wrap up the Notre Dame portion here, but if you’re interested in the rest of my road trip, be sure to read Part 2.