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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. ] 4 4 s 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 : 4 4 4 AUGUST 2, 2000