Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
I bought my ticket and quickly overtook the old people on the slope up to the Roosevelt
compound. The path led through a woods of tall pine trees that seemed to go up and up
forever and sealed out the sunlight so effectively that the ground at their feet was bare, as
if it had just been swept. The path was lined with large rocks from each state. Every gov-
ernorhadevidentlybeenaskedtocontributesomehunkofnativestoneandheretheywere,
lined up like a guard of honor. It's not often you see an idea that stupid brought to fruition.
Many had been cut in the shape of the state, then buffed to a glossy finish and engraved.
But others, clearly not catching the spirit of the enterprise, were just featureless hunks with
aterselittleplaquesayingDELAWARE.GRANITE.Iowa'scontributionwas,asexpected,
carefully middling. The stone had been cut to the shape of the state, but by someone who
had clearly never attempted such a thing before. I imagine he had impulsively put in the
lowestbidandwassurprisedtogetthecontract. Atleastthestatehadfoundarocktosend.
I had half feared it might be a clump of dirt.
Beyond this unusual diversion was a white bungalow, which had formerly been a neigh-
boring home and was now a museum. As always with these things in America, it was well
doneandinteresting.PhotographsofRooseveltatWarmSpringscoveredthewallsandlots
of his personal effects were on display in glass cases-his wheelchairs, crutches, leg braces
andothersuchimplements.Someoftheseweresurprisinglyelaborateandexertedamorbid
interest because FDR was always most careful not to let the public see him as the cripple
he was. And here we were viewing him with his trousers off, so to speak. I was partic-
ularly taken with a room full of all the handmade gifts that had been given to him when
he was president and then presumably stuck at the back of a very large cupboard. There
were carved walking sticks by the dozen and maps of America made of inlaid wood and
portraits of FDR scratched on walrus tusks and etched with acid into slate. The amazing
thing was how well done they all were. Every one of them represented hundreds of hours
ofdelicatecarvingandtirelesspolishing,andalltobegivenawaytoastrangerforwhomit
would be just one more item in a veritable cavalcade of personalized keepsakes. I became
so absorbed in these items that I scarcely noticed when the old people barged in, a trifle
breathless but nonetheless lively. A lady with a bluish tint to her hair pushed in front of me
at one of the display cases. She gave me a brief look that said, “I am an old person. I can
go where I want,” and then she dismissed me from her mind. “Say, Hazel,” she called in a
loud voice, “did you know you shared a birthday with Eleanor Roosevelt?”
“Is that so?” answered a grating voice from the next room. “I share a birthday with Eisen-
howermyself,”theladywiththebluishhairwenton,stillloudly,consolidatingherposition
infrontofmewithatwitchofheramplebutt.“AndI'vegotacousinwhosharesabirthday
with Harry Truman.”
