Road Trip 2025: Day 2

This morning we dove two hours east to Dixon, Illinois to visit the childhood home of Ronald Reagan. As you know, G3 has been fascinated by presidential history for about eight years, ever since I took him to visit Grover Cleveland’s house in Caldwell, New Jersey. Somehow, his interest—and supporting it—seems more relevant now since he completed his Eagle project at Cleveland’s house.

Reagan was one of Dad’s favorite modern presidents. He’s the first president I remember running for office. I was too young to remember his first term, but I clearly remember when he ran for president the second time. In school, we had a mock election and we all had to support a candidate by making speeches or designing buttons and signs. I was all about how great Reagan was and I couldn’t understand why anyone would support Mondale. That was all Dad’s influence. When I grew up and studied history, I realized how naive I had been. There is much about Reagan’s policies I despise. His handling of the AIDS crisis was deplorable. The Trickle Down economic policy protected the rich and hurt everyone else. It still does. And the rise of the Christian right in politics is continuing to have a negative impact our democracy—as well as our rights and freedoms—today. One of my last arguments with Dad before COVID killed him was about government “handouts” and Reagan’s economic policies. If I knew Dad was going to get sick, I wouldn’t have wasted time on politics. It seems so pointless now, arguing about whether a president was good or bad and why you think what you do when you only have one or two conversations left with someone. Needless to say, Dad was very much in my thoughts today as we toured Reagan’s home.

I had no idea Reagan was born and raised in Illinois. I associated him with California and just assumed we wouldn’t be able to visit a house of his until we got there. It was G3, a couple of years back, who told me his childhood home was here. It was at that time that I promised the next time we passed through Illinois we’d stop. Hence, our visit today. The house is, allegedly, more authentic than most other presidents’ houses because both Reagan and his brother were consulted when it was being renovated and turned into a museum. It opened in February 1984 because Reagan requested that they open in time for him to spend his 73 birthday in his boyhood home.

As a child, Ronald Reagan and his older brother Moon lived in five different houses in Dixon. Every time a landlord raised the rent, Reagan’s father, Jack, moved. Jack was an alcoholic, a reality that angered and shamed Reagan. His mother, Nelly, knowing her husband could not be relied upon, made a living as a dress maker. She also taught elocution at a local business college, despite only having a sixth grade education. Nelly was extremely religious. She taught Sunday School and visited prisoners in the local jail. Each time Reagan was sworn in—as both Governor and President—he opened his’s Mother’s Bible to her favorite quote—Second Chronicles, Chapter 7, Verse 12–and placed his hand on the page. Every president before him placed their hand on the cover. More recently, when Pence was sworn in as Vice President, he also placed his hand on that same page using Reagan’s mother’s Bible.

Despite growing up relatively poor, as president, Reagan had no respect or sympathy for the poorer classes in America. His main interest was protecting the wealthy. Our tour guide stated that Reagan wanted to reform welfare by making welfare recipients work. He then went on to praise Trump for finally passing this legislation and stated that eighty percent of the prison population in America grew up on welfare. (I’ve no idea if this is accurate.) “All welfare does is create another generation of criminals,” he said, prompting me and Kati to exchange a critical look. Next, the tour guide felt compelled to lecture us on the value of a free market, going so far as to declare that the free market was the most crucial element to our democracy. It was then that I felt G3 willing me with his eyes to be quiet and not say anything out of fear that I might embarrass him. For G3, I bit my tongue, but it was not easy.

Next, we dove a half hour to Tampico to see the apartment in which Reagan was born. The tour guide was a sweet old lady who also gave us a brief history about what life was like in the town back when Reagan’s parents moved there. We saw the bank that was downstairs from Reagan’s apartment and she showed us how checks were canceled back a century ago. In the museum were pieces of the Berlin Wall, reminders of a moment from history I remember well. Reagan demanded in 1987, “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!" Two years later, I—and millions of others—watched on television the wall being dismantled as Germans on both sides freely climbed over it. Also in the museum were campaign buttons from both of Reagan’s presidential runs. On two buttons—one of Reagan alone and one with his VP, George Bush—were the words, “Let’s Make America Great Again.” Sound familiar? Yep, the felon stole it, put it on red hat, and claimed it as his own. When Reagan’s funeral plane flew from D.C. to California it flew over Tampico and dipped down briefly, paying homage to the town.

The tour guide took us upstairs into the apartment where Reagan spent his first few years. He was ten pounds when he was born and his size resulted in a difficult birth for his mother. After he was born, she was advised not to have more children. As a baby, he was passed through a window that separated his porch from the apartment next door so the woman next door, a friend of his mother, could babysit. The coolest part of the tour was walking through the Reagan window.

Following the tour, we were famished. We asked the tour guide for a recommendation on where to have lunch. She sent us across the street to The Break Room. Apparently, it was the only restaurant in town, but it ended up being an excellent choice because we all enjoyed our meal.

While driving through the cornfields of Iowa, Kati said, “Are there any wineries around?” Of course I pulled out my phone to search,

and sure enough, there were lots of them. “Yep,” I answered, and then remembered. For every president’s house G3 and I subject her to, she gets one winery. That means we owed her two and she was eager to cash in on one. The closest one from where we were was Fireside Winery, and according to Google it had 4.8 stars, so that’s where we went. It was a quaint winery that could have been anywhere. Kati said it didn’t feel much different than the wineries in Long Island. Not only did they offer wine flights, they also had cider flights, which definitely appealed to me. While Kati selected her wine, I selected cider. G3 got a soda and we sat outside to enjoy our tasting. As Kati sipped her wine, she said, “This gives Iowa purpose.” This after she was contemplating what Iowa might have to give it meaning, a reason to exist. Meanwhile, as I finished my last sample, G3 asked, “Have you ever wondered how many houses you may have driven past with people locked in the basement?” Hmmmm…honestly, it never crossed my mind, but now, I’m sure those big McMansions and creepy rundown antiques will have my imagination in overdrive. If you ever find yourself driving along route 80 in Iowa, and craving a taste of wine, do stop into Fireside and enjoy a glass on the outdoor patio.

We found a campsite in the middle of nowhere Iowa. Seriously, Littlefield Rec Area is surrounded by farmland. It is about a ten minute drive north of I-80 and roughly an hour drive from the Nebraska border. The campground is completely deserted. We saw not a single soul anywhere. There were no buildings, no people, and only the occasional car that drove by on the otherwise empty road.

But there were many lightning bugs. The field was teeming with them. I haven’t seen that many lightning bugs lighting up the night since I was a child. As I watched them dance across the grass, G3 said, “You know, I might be the last generation to see fireflies.” And what a disappointing thought that was. But he’s probably not wrong. I hardly ever see them any more back home. Seeing them here was a real pleasure.