I'm really making a lot of this, I know, but it is my blog.

And now . . . Fargo by night! The view of the gutted Bell Building, and no, I'll never call it that. It was the Fargo National Bank and that's all there is to it.

It was never a good building, but it was taller than most, and it anchors Broadway nicely.

We head into Island Park. The GAR monument.

The WPA swimming pool, now filled in and used for tennis. It had a steeply-raked spectator area where people could sun and socialize.

The front of the structure, shot in the dark, looks underwater.

We head downtown, and hello: a new LED sign for the Black Building. I heartily approve of this message.

The amount of old neon downtown is a pleasure; these have been around since forever ago.

The "Empire" refers to the Empire Builder train, which arrives at the nearby train station. It's been Grain Belt since the git-go.

Needs some bulbs.

A reminder that this part of the country has a lot of Germans, I guess.

Fargo makes the best argument for perpendicular signage. All towns used to look like this.

To repeat: this is what towns looked like, and most decided not to.

And the inevitable train, because this is one of those places where everyone stops and waits because the bells started clanging and the wood came down.

It takes a while to rumble through, but it has to go where it has to go.

So that was the trip. Had a great dinner with sister and brother-in-law, went places at night I haven't for years, if not decades, because someone was always waiting for me to come back. It's nice to know no one's waiting up, to not have to tiptoe in when the house is dark. In another way, it's not, of course. No one cares. No one to bother. But that wasn't the case here. I chose to stay at the Jasper for a different experience.

Up and out the next day, dining on a freshly made cinnamon roll from the hotel, comped to me by the manager who ahd noted my observations about the periodic screeching noise in my room. The roll kept me going until about 1 PM, when I finally got a slice of Casey's pizza in some small town on 55. Casey's, you ask? Yes. It's a gas station / C-store chain that dominates the outstate area. Almost no one in the Cities who doesn't get out recognizes the name, but it's the only place to get pizza in some small towns, and the company knows it. While filling up down in the southern part of the state on our Peg Lynch 2019 tour I saw people come in and pick up entire pizzas, like you would at Dominos.

It's okay. But on the way home I was starved, and that slice, consumed in small bites as I trundled along behind slow traffic winding its way to the distant Cities, it was exquisite. Home by Three.

The summer could now wind down. I'd done Highway Ten and seen the sun set on the plains.

 

 

 

It’s 1935.

Seems like an overreaction for one fellow:

 

   
 

“We want war!” Well, you’re going to get it, and you’re going to lose. Benito sent 200,000 troops. I’m sure he had a causus belli, but the whole thing was stupid.

 

   

Meanwhile, also in the Things to Come department:

   
 

Probably a typo, but you have to be amused by "600 Titler Followers."

   

   
  You know, the opening sequence of “Dumbo” wasn’t that fanciful.
   

It really was that important.

The obligatory serial:

   
  You can only imagine how exciting the previous 28 chapters were, based on this excerpt.
   

It was a real book. Goodreads synopsis:

In the Beginning is Norman Douglas' version of the story of Ninus and Semiramis, mythical rulers of ancient Assyria.

The demigod Linus is ravished by a fish-goddess, thinking him mortal, who is subsequently appalled to find herself pregnant, believing that no mortal could do this. She gives birth to a daughter, Symira, and leaves her to die. Symira is found by a fisherman and later gifted to a powerful man as a concubine. After a victory in battle she meets the true love of her life - Linus.

And so on, and so on.

We forget, if we haven’t studied the era in detail, how the Depression waxed and waned, and sometimes it was over and sometimes it wasn’t.

Mostly it wasn’t.

Another one of those long-running comics I’d never, ever seen. There were so many. This one was started by Milt Caniff, and handed off to Hank Barrow.

I have a selection of ten, coming in the 1930s Forgotten Comics section, and I’ve no idea when I’ll roll that out. I have 95 pages ready to go, and then something comes along, and I forget about it. But that is neither here nor there.

It wasn’t great, but it was nicely drawn, with some interesting compositions. C

Do you get “Boxing” from this? WELL YOU SHOULDN’T. Despite the prize fight image and the words Prize Fight it’s NOT ABOUT THAT AT ALL.

I had to look ahead and see what they were teasing. It's A HIT. As in a SONG. But it is not a HIT SONG.

About as far from a prize fight as you’ll get.

   

 
   

That'll do! Enjoy your midweek moments. Smoke ads await.

 

 

 

 

 
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