As I mentioned, we went to Mantorville and Kasson. Two towns a few miles apart, settled in the middle of the century before the previous one. They’re becoming bedroom communities for Rochester, the home of the Mayo Clinic, just 15 minutes away by freeway.

The museum had all sorts of interesting things, if the past holds any appeal. Upstairs, lots of documents and records and books and display cases of everyday items left behind. Downstairs: WAR

There was a display of sheet music from the era, and it shows what a lark the Great War was:




As it turns out, I have it.

Why would I want to leave my hospital bed? I may have lost a leg, or two, but I’ve gained a true love!

Imagine this phone call:

How did you find me

Oh I just asked them to put me through! How’re things?

I’m crawling on my belly back to my trench I’ve been gassed and I cannot see

You got gassed? I thought you said you wouldn’t drink when you were away. Are there girls there? You said there wouldn’t be any girls

For the love of God let me die in peace



As it turns out, I have this one, too. It's not what you think. And the voice may surprise you.

It says "Gladys Leslie."




And as it turns out, I have this one, too.

Not to steal the thunder of the Main Street feature, but:

That's Mantorville. Swing around and you'll find the Business Block and the Opera House, where yesterday I posted this. (From another view)

I posted this yesterday - the old sign of a fraternal order. Obviously it’s the Masons, since that star is the sign of the women’s auxiliary, the Eastern Star. (Astrid’s grandmother was a member, I believe.) The globe above is obviously a Masonic symbol, but I was confused by the G. (Hold your laughter, those of you who know these things.)

Well, I mentioned a trip to the cemetery. Like all boneyards, it has the history of the town standing silent, waiting for someone to tell the tale behind the name.


You see a big monument, and think they must have had some scratch to buy that - but time has softened the letters and the lichen has crawled over the stone, and it’s like hearing someone try to speak with a cloth stuffed in their mouth.


On one:

Okay, obviously this matters. So I googled it, because we believe we can summon all knowledge and answer all questions by consulting with our magical glass slabs. Sure enough: it refers to the Great Architect, a rather deist way of putting it, but fine.

I was kicking myself for not knowing that. Astrid's grandfather's grave, by the way, has a little pyramid containing the number 32. That I knew.

Then there are these.

There's really nothing to say.

One more thing, from the Dodge County Historical Society. There's a book of Estray Notices.

You found an animal, you filed one of these. It was yours, if not claimed. An Estray was the animal. Like "stray," it comes from a French word estraier, which derives from Vulgar Latin: *extrāvagāre," to wander out of bounds

And now you know the origins of extravagance.





Welcome to Lansing. If you know anything about a certain subject, you know right away the approximate year of this page.

Good Lord, that’s a dense array of NEWS:

Your eye shoots from one story to the other like a pinball.


Well, surely he knows this isn’t going to happen:

  What do we know about Axin, aside from the fact that he’s dead? If you don’t believe me, here’s his tombstone.

Here’s something else, though.




Remus was amused and Remus believed Remus would prevail:

There’s a tale.

Everyone knew what he was.

In addition to becoming the "King of the Bootleggers", Remus was known as a gracious host. He held many parties, including a 1923 birthday party for his wife Imogene, in which she appeared in a daring bathing suit along with other aquatic dancers, serenaded by a fifteen-piece orchestra. Children in the area also saw Remus as a fatherly figure. Jack Doll recalls an episode in which Remus playfully tossed a boy into his Olympic-sized swimming pool and then gave him $10 to buy a new suit. Doll states that a full boy's suit could be purchased for one dollar in 1920.

In 1922, Remus and his wife held a New Year's Eve party at their new mansion, nicknamed the Marble Palace. The guests included one hundred couples from the most prestigious families in the area. As parting gifts, Remus presented all the men with diamond stickpins, and gave each guest's wife a brand new car. He held a similar party in June 1923, while he was having problems with the government, at which he gave each female guest (of the fifty present) a brand new Pontiac.

That didn't last.

In late 1927, Imogene Holmes filed for divorce from Remus. On the way to court, on October 6, 1927, for the finalization of the divorce, Remus had his driver chase the cab carrying Holmes and her daughter through Eden Park in Cincinnati, finally forcing it off the road. Remus jumped out and fatally shot Imogene in the abdomen in front of the Spring House Gazebo to the horror of park onlookers.

And so:

He pled insanity.

It worked.

Could still turn a phrase, though.

Amusing note: Here’s the actor who played him on Boardwalk Empire.

Here’s the guy they’d already cast for another role, and hence were kicking themselves when they realized he was more Remusesque than Rooty:




This is where everyone from the club sorta kinda started to hate her a little bit

Demolished in the 70s, so don’t go looking for it.

Peaches? The most famous what?

Sit back, and hear a tale.

Peaches Browning (June 23, 1910 – August 23, 1956), born Frances Belle Heenan, was an American actress. She was married to New York City real estate developer Edward West "Daddy" Browning (1875–1934).

Their story became one of the most sensational "scandals" of the Roaring Twenties. It is often cited in journalism history texts as an example of the excesses of tabloid newspapers during the era.

Browning and Heenan met at a sorority dance on the evening of March 5, 1926, at the Hotel McAlpin and immediately began a very public courtship, despite the difference in their ages. Browning was 51, Heenan was 15.

Browning, who reveled in publicity, paraded Heenan in front of the paparazzi cameras as he lavished her with expensive gifts (spending $1000 a day on shopping trips) and took her to New York's finest restaurants in his distinctive peacock blue Rolls Royce automobile.

On April 10, 1926, mere weeks after they met, Peaches and "Daddy" were wed in the village of Cold Springs, NY, far from media scrutiny. Both Peaches' father and her mother gave their permission for the marriage, which took place in part to thwart a campaign by Vincent Pisarra of the New York Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children to halt the May/December relationship.

On October 2, 1926, Peaches and her mother loaded up their belongings and left the marital residence at the Kew Gardens InnUnder New York law at the time divorce was only possible if one party admitted adultery, so Peaches tried to obtain a legal separation, claiming cruelty, while Browning filed a counter-claim of abandonment.

He won, didn’t have to pay alimony - but they remained married until he died in 1934. She slipped in her bathroom in 1956, and died.

We know this strip from its raucous early days, detailed here. In the late 20s it shifted to ongoing stories with fewer sightgags, and much less Salesmanning.


That'll do; enjoy the update, and I'll see you around.



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