About 18,000 souls. The name?" In 1852 when the east/west railroad, the Ohio and Mississippi Railroad, was going to be built, Capt. Meedy Shields, who was the cousin of General John Tipton persuaded the surveyor, John Seymour, into putting it through his land, in return for which he named the town Seymour. All trains had to stop at a crossroad, making Seymour a bustling community."

The fire came right up to the edge of the city, and then Superman used his powerful Super Breath to blow it out!

I wonder what the reason for that could be. Zoning? Fire? Lack of interest? Holdout landowner?

Let me guess. It's senior housing now?

It's residential now; don't know about the Senior part, but that's often the case. If you look up at the carvings on the corner . . .

		S was for James Snapp, its owner. The historical society: The milk, cream, butter, eggs, poultry and vegetables and fruits in season were supplied by the Snapp Farm, one mile from the hotel. A coffee shop, called the "Ginger Snap", was patterened after a famous Spanish Inn in Mexico.

The name was changed to Oaks in the 50s, and I'll be they'll never go back to the original name as long as that impressive sign is intact.

Guys guys stop I can't breath c'mon stop guys

Seriously guys stop I'm gonna pass out

The aliens arrived over night, and had built their embassy before anyone awoke:

Renovation revealtions show some interesting remnants: is that some sort of inset plaque?

That's not work that was ever meant to see the light of day again.

This is what sent me to the town in the first place: tracking down some ads for the Excelsior Institute Clinic.

And also another digestive facility we'll encounter later. But let's look at the front of this building from another angle:

All right, all right, I admit it! I wanted there to be more light shown on the secretary and nurses' ankles.

I'm calling this storefront original, based on one detail:

White glazed brick.

Behold, the Hall of Waters.

People looked out of those windows when Lincoln was president.

Every city of a certain size has one of these, and everyone's always delighted to find them. You're getting the real thing, not some chain food!

And then they bring your hamburger and it's utterly ordinary in every way. The local version of Ray is long gone and whoever's running it now is harried and barks at the staff and has too much to do and you feel like you're doing them a favor.

That doesn't seem to be the case here; the Yelpers are happy and positive.

Then again:

 Yes, it's a really old place. Yes, that's nostalgic. But, this place is dirty, cluttered, and the food isn't great. The burgers are super tiny! They aren't fresh ground beef, just small frozen tiny patties. Even the tenderloin and onion rings came straight out of the freezer. Their chili recipe is 75 years old, and it really needs to retire, in my opinion. It's just beans.

The obligatory IOOF, with that Cask-of Amontillado vibe upstairs:

What do you mean, US OUT? Out of what?

Oh. Got it.

It's like a strange insect that raises its chitinous shell-wedges when startled or threatened:

Big broad windows once. Wood siding on one side, stucco on another. Every decade took away a bit more dignity.

Well, yes. Of course:

If someone built that today, we'd find it crude and blunt and strange. Now it's historic! And also crude and blunt and strange, but it's still around and that's grand.

Here are some postcards that sent me wandering around Excelsior Springs.

Think you can find it? Good luck.

If I had to say: "HQ for a Secret Society that didn't quite care whether people were suspicious about the building."

Just look at that one, and look at it again, and figuure out what they were thinking . . . and what it might have looked like.