Day 14

This morning I got up early and was hiking before 7 o’clock. G3 did not want to come, so he stayed behind at the campsite. I was a little disappointed. I enjoy hiking more when I have company. But I was not going to force him to come because then he would have been miserable and neither one of us would have had any fun. I walked the Oretel Trail. it’s convenient having the hiking trails at the campsite. This way, I didn’t have to drive to get there and leave G3 alone for a longer period of time. At such an early hour, it was really quiet on the trail, just me and the birds. There was nothing special to see. The hike was the same as yesterday, and short—only about an hour and a half. Enough to get me saturated with sweat and feel like I got some exercise. I didn’t want to be gone long because G3 was waiting for me and we had other things planned for today.

As I walked, all I could think about was how much I dread going back home—more so than any other summer. When we moved out of the condo, we were supposed to be moving forward, eventually finding ourselves in something better. This house is not much bigger than the condo—the living space might actually be smaller—and once again, I find myself trapped. It’s not where I want to be. How can you possibly be happy in a place that makes you everything but happy? I’m stuck again, and I know that’s not going to be good for my mental health. So what do I have this year to look forward to: a house I don’t want, one that makes me feel trapped, and a job where I get no respect and they won’t let me teach the subject I am mast passionate about. What do I have to look forward to that’s actually going to be good? I’d say, just being with G3 would be enough to make me happy, but he’s at that age where he wants to spend less and less time with me. And there’s my writing group, but we only meet once a month. Being on the road and traveling—learning new things, seeing different places—makes me happy. I don’t want the trip to end, because when it ends, my happiness will go with it.

I am a murderer. I killed a bird—accidentally. When we stopped for breakfast, G3 pointed out the bird corpse stuck in the front of my car. I had to yank it out with my hand. Yuck! I feel awful. This can’t be a good omen.

We visited Bill Clinton’s birth home in Hope, Arkansas. It was not terribly exciting—in fact, it was rather disappointing. There was a Ranger in the house, but the tour was self guided. There was very little information given about the house and the former president. I tried to engage the Ranger in a conversation, to extract more information, but she either didn’t know much or didn’t care to talk.

I didn’t remember ever hearing that Clinton had a brother. The one bit of information I was able to extract from the Ranger was the fact that Clinton’s brother had several run-ins with the law for selling drugs. Each time, Clinton pardoned him. That sounds like an abuse of power. I know—they all do that. But it doesn’t make it right. It must have been in the news at the time, but I have no recollection of it. All I remember regarding Clinton and drugs was Clinton’s absurd response, “I didn’t inhale.” Yeah, I was an adult when Clinton was president, but that doesn’t mean anything. I wasn’t politically aware—not even a little. G3 probably knows more at 13 than I knew at 21.

Clinton was born three months after his biological father was killed in a car accident. His mother named him William Jefferson Blythe III after him. He only changed his name when his younger half-brother—-who was a decade younger— started school. He wanted them to have the same name.

Since his father was dead, Clinton and his mother moved in with her parents. For the first year of his life, he hardly saw his mother. She was in New Orleans finishing up her degree in nursing. Clinton’s grandmother taught him how to read. When he was four, his mother remarried and they moved out—first to another house in Hope, then to Hot Springs.

In the house, on the table in Clinton’s room, was a picture of him as a real young kid dressed in a cowboy outfit, complete with a cowboy hat. I did a double-take because there is a picture of my Dad around the same age dressed similarly. (They were contemporaries—Clinton was born two years earlier than Dad). I looked on my phone and social media because I wanted to see how similar they really were or if my memory was inaccurate, but I couldn’t find it. I even messaged my cousin to see if it was in her file-it wasn’t. I will have to check my computer when I get home. Anyway, both Dad and Clinton loved Hapalong Cassidy. It was a favorite show for them during their childhoods, Dad didn’t care for Clinton much. In those days he was still a Republican. So I’m not really sure why this matters. Maybe it’s just that the picture reminded me of Dad and that was enough. It also reminded me that Dad died while Clinton still lives. Life isn’t fair. It never was and never will be.i’m

Clinton remembers his grandparents being in favor of integrating the schools, and angry when the Governor shut them down in an attempt to prevent it. I guess it was fitting that he—also a former Governor of Arkansas—signed the legislation that designated Little Rock Central High School a National Historic Site. That was the only thing regarding his presidency that was present anywhere at the site.

It seems when presidents are alive—we’ve now been to the homes of two living presidents—there is less the museums are willing to say about their terms in office. Perhaps it’s because they want to avoid controversy, or maybe simply honor them quietly in their latter years.

After Clinton’s house, we returned to Hot Springs. Since it was incredibly hot—104 degrees—we stopped along the way for an ice. Once we got back we went to the Gangster Museum. We thought it might be fun to take a tour and learn about Hot Springs’ shady past. Boy were we wrong. The tour was an hour and a half and while we learned a few interesting things along the way, the tour as a whole was dreadfully boring. We were ushered into a series of rooms—each with some pictures and other cool memorabilia—to watch dull videos about different segments and aspects of the city’s history. And the guide wouldn’t even take any questions. How can you give a tour and not have time for questions. That’s my favorite part.

Starting in the 1920s and continuing for four decades, Hot Springs was a gaming paradise. Illegal gambling was so big and influential that lawmakers and police closed their eyes to it. Rich and famous people flocked to the area and it became America’s first resort. Allegedly, the Strip in Vegas was modeled on Hot Springs. Gambling continued to bring in a great deal of money until 1967 when Governor Winthrop Rockefeller finally took it down.

My mother often mentioned that John Kennedy’s father, Joe Kennedy, got his money in the bootlegging business. It always troubled her that the family was so well respected and well regarded when the patriarch was nothing more than a criminal. It is ironic, maybe even hypocritical, that a man who made his fortune flouting Federal Law should use that money to help seat his son in the White House. Anyway, Joe Kennedy and Al Capone were business partners in Hot Springs. They discovered that by using the thermal water to produce moonshine it came out as clear as water. They set up an operation at Belvedere Dairy and named their product Mountain Valley Spring Water. At the time, Mountain Valley Spring Water was a favorite of President Coolidge and Congress. To differentiate their product from the real thing, Kennedy and Capone affixed the labels upside down.

Capone wasn’t the only person of ill repute in Hot Springs. John Dillanger, Bonnie and Clyde, Alvin Karpis, Pretty Boy Floyd, and Lucky Luciano all spent time there. Many were able to hide and evade arrest with the assistance of the Hot Spring’s police. In order to travel unseen, they utilized tunnels that ran underground.

Criminals weren’t the only ones who made use of Hot Springs. It was home to the original Spring Training for baseball. I wonder if Dad knew that. Dad knew everything about baseball so he probably did, but I find it odd that he had never mentioned it. Or did he and I don’t remember? In the middle of the baseball part of the tour, I could feel tears seeping into my eyes because what I wanted to do most was pick up the phone and say, “Hey Dad, did you know…” But of course, I can’t do that anymore. Yet, I really really wanted to hear his response.

In 1886, Cap Anson from the Chicago White Stockings—now the Cubs—thought it would be a brilliant place to train because the hot spring water would be therapeutic and help get the athletes in shape. He took his team to prepare for the upcoming season and soon the other teams followed. Babe Ruth trained there as did the Negro League players. While there, the ball players also partook of the vices in town, such as gambling and drinking. Hot Springs stopped playing host to Spring Training when teams moved to states with better weather and more room.

As far back as I can remember, G3 has wanted a cane that conceals a sword. And he found it in one of the shops along the main street. Hot Springs was once home to some of Americas toughest gangsters. Where else would you find an old-school concealed weapon? I am either the coolest mom or the worst because I bought it for him. I did, however, tell him that I will keep it until he gets a bit older.

G3 has been looking for the perfect Indiana Jones type hat. And he found it in the same store as the cane. He also found about a dozen other dress hats—tops hats, fedoras, bowlers, etc.—that he really liked and wanted to own so he could start dressing up again for school. But they were all expensive and he could only afford one. He ended up going with the hat he wanted initially. I told him to make a mental note of the others and perhaps ask Santa for one—or two—when Christmas rolls around.