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PHOTOS BY FRANK HAMRICK
On The Road To America
In Which Our Intrepid Photographer Frank Hamrick Makes It To The Badlands And Back
This second part concludes Flagpole photogra
pher Frank Hamricks travel journal from a recent
trip he took to New York and then back across the
country as far as South Dakota.
Ohio Blues
On Monday, Memorial Day, I stopped in Shelby,
Ohio, for a parade. Snelby is the type of place
where there are more people in the parade than
there arc people watching it. The people on the
sidewalk followed the parade route so that there
was always somebody to perform in front of.
I stopped for a couple of days at my friend
Christine's house in Indiana. It was right on the
edge of suburbia. If you looked in front of the
house, you saw a Sears department store off in
the distance. Behind the house were fields of corn
and wheat.
I asked Christine what she was doing to keep
busy. She said she spent some time each week as
a counselor at an abortion clinic. I asked if it was
a tough job. She said the most difficult time was
when she sat in on the counseling of a pregnant
11-year-old whose 21 year-old boyfriend wouldn't
pay for the abortion. Christine doodled on a piece
of paper as she told the story. I noticed she drew
a heart with a Band-Aid on it.
Before I left Christine's house, I went out into
the fields to take some pictures. As I wondered
back to her house, the man who owned those
fields was waiting for me at the end of the road
with a rifle in his hand. Two dogs barked at a
ground nog they had cornered ayainst the barn.
"Hey there."
"What are you doing?"
"Oh, just taking pictures of the fields and the
river."
"Well, don't you know that this is private prop
erty? Don't you see that sign? Can't you read?''
"Yes sir. I can read, but I didn't come through
here, so I didn't see that sign."
"Who are you?"
"I'm Frank Hamrick. I'm visiting with
Christine."
"Well, her family got me arrested for burning,
and I don't want you in my fields."
"All right."
As I walked away, he shot the ground hog.
Christine said her family didn't have him
arrested but threatened to. He had people burning
carpet and other materials in the back of the
fields, and often left the fires unattended.
Random Notes
• Along the way to Chicago I stopped at a run
down motel to take pictures of a boy shooting
basketball. His parents watched me curiously from
the window of their room. I tiiink they live there.
I asked the boy where they were headed. He said,
"Nowhere."
• In Chicago, I visited with my friend Mel. Mel
is a six-foot-two-inch redhead who has the curse
of attracting every weird person in the city She
was approached by a pimp with a speech impedi
ment the day before I showed up.
• When I stopped in Austin, Minnesota, for
dinner, I found myself in Spam Town, USA, the
home of Hormel. I asked the waitress if she ever
listened to Garrison Kiellor hrom "A Prairie Home
Companion." She replied, "I don't know. What
songs does he sing?"
• A radio tower lit up the night sky with its
neon sermon: "Jesus is Lord." In South Dakota,
billboards lined the interstate with messages
against abortion and animal rights activists.
• All along my trip, I was asking people where
the legendary Wall Drug is located. Everyone knew
it was in South Dakota, but no one knew the
name of the town. Well, Wall Drug is in the town
of Wall, which is just outside of Badlands National
Park. Once I reached South Dakota, I saw signs
every mile or so pointing me in
the direction of Wall Drug. Wall
Drug is more highly promoted
than Rock City.
• Badlands National Park is
full of prairie dogs and "scenic
views." Part of the Badlands is a
former military shelling site. I
found this out while traveling
down one of the side roads. A
sign announced that active
rounds may still be on the
grounds and warned against
straying from the road. At that
point, I turned around and
headed back to the main road.
• Ine Badlands National Park
is surrounded by The Pine Ridge
Indian Reservation. I had
planned on visiting some reser
vations on my trip but didn't
even think about Wounded Knee
being in Pine Ridge. I visited
the site where over 150 Native
Americans were massacred by
the U.S. government on Decamber 29, 1890. This
is the same place where Leonard Peltier allegedly
killed two FBI agents. Wounded Knee turned out
to be a depressing place. It lies within the poorest
county in the United States.
• Later that day, I met a park ranger named
Greg who told me more about the Indians. Greg
was originally from Pennsylvania, but came to
South Dakota for a Harley Davidson convention six
years ago and never left. Freedom is a big deal to
people out there. Gieg said that freedom is just a
word back east. "They say they want freedom, but
they also want to be able to tell their neighbor
how tall their grass can be."
Greg told me how General Custer broke a treaty
with the Sioux nation. The Black Hills had been
left to the Sioux as long as the grass grew and the
water flowed. In the book Black Elk Speaks
appears the quote, "You can see that it is not the
grass and the water that has forgotten." The
treaty lost all value when General Custer and some
miners found "the yellow metal that makes them
crazy." If you go to the Black Hills to see Mount
Rushmore, you'll notice you're in Custer State
Park.
Heading Home
At this point in the trip I was running low on
money and decided to head south toward Georgia.
The South Dakota State Patrol got me before I was
able to get out of the state.
"How's your trip been?"
"Pretty good till now."
"Are you carrying any weapons, contraband or
large amounts of money?"
"I've got $120 and a Swiss Army Knife."
After a $68 speeding ticket. I made it out of
South Dakota into Nebraska, where I kept passing
signs about nuclear dump sites. I stopped for
dinner in Spencer, Nebraska. The waitress said a
couple of years earlier a company wanted to put a
"low grade" nuclear waste dump in Nebraska. The
proposed site was in the middle of a wetland area
that migrating birds use every year as a stop on
their flight. Thanks to the local resistance, the
dump was never built.
Later that evening a deer ran out into the road
and we collided. I pulled into the town of
Newcastle to get a good look at my car and use
the phone. A husky fellow came bouncing out of a
saloon and asked me what happened.
"I ran into a deer."
"Holy shit that's fucked up."
Luckily, his drinking buddy, John, was a
mechanic and was willing to look at my car.
Nothing was mechanically wrong with the car. My
headlight was pointing up at the trees, though.
John pounded the iieadlight back -nto place with
his fist and wandered back into the saloon. After
this, I was ready to get home. The next day I got
on the interstate and drove over a thousand miles
straight home. C
Don't look too hard for anything. You won't find
it. Just keep your eyes open. It's not the destina
tion: it's the journey.
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AUGUST 2, 2000