Amelia Gray: Museum of the Weird

The foolish oriole, lemon-colored, swings at the wind’s mercy and prays for her eggs. It is a wise mourning dove who drowns her eggs before they hatch, for the nature of the mourning dove is to perch on a branch above the low tide ground and grieve the swamp.

The latest fad from Paree is to tie a black silk ribbon around your ankle. For girls only, of course.

A language is born: the manner in which the black silk ribbon is tied determines the personality of the girl who ties it. A half hitch means she is searching for a kind gentleman to walk her to the market. A sheep-shank means she is a scurrilous woman who wishes to entrap a gentleman with kind words. A figure-of-eight means the time has come for sober discussions regarding the future. The children steal a black silk ribbon and tie it round a frog.

Two and half miles of cement laid on the Collegeport road in less than three weeks is some progress. Thus does our “nine-foot sidewalk” grow.

The sidewalk grows unobserved, save for the men building it. Once it is there, everyone walks on it, assuming it has always been. It has not always been.

Rosalie and her sister buying candy.

Rosalie and her sister enchant all who fall under their gaze. Their pockets are stuffed with peppermint sticks. A flock of orioles groom their brunette hair. Black ribbons tied in timber hitch knots flutter from their ankles. The bloom of youth!

The extra engine crew eating breakfast at the Come-Inn.

The boys are back from Kingsville and tired from the journey but Gus Franzen puts them directly to work, shoring up the building’s foundation and repairing the wooden slats around the door. The men blot their faces with rags under the shade tree out back and lay the load of sopping rags in rows to dry. Gus Franzen serves them lemonade and promises to have their rags cleaned before the next dinner service.

Old Sport coming home for an extra meal.

Proprietors of local restaurants wave to him as he walks, saying Hello, Emmitt, care for a drink? A moment off your feet? They know that if they get Old Sport in, they won’t have to sell another plate for the rest of the night. He’ll eat a porterhouse steak before he sits down. The proprietors claim he eats more than the President, though this claim is unsubstantiated. Today, Old Sport waves them all off. He goes home and sits across the table from his new grandson. Together, they eat creamed peas. These happy days will not last.

Buckshot catching a rabbit.

Naming a dog Buckshot seems a cruel thing, like telling the dog he will never be as effective as his namesake. Such an insult is similar to giving a boy the name of his father.

A mocking bird bringing material for a nest. A little late, but it will soon house four eggs.

A little late, thinks the mocking bird, settling down over her doomed eggs. Her mate brings the sliced-off top of a strawberry for her. He perches on the side of the nest and watches her eat the rare treat. He watches the strawberry, which he still tastes on his beak. He watches the eggs upon which his mate sits. A little late, he says. A little late, she responds. It becomes part of their call to one another: A-little-late! A-little-late!

A big crane walking in the slough.

The big crane resolved to kill the goose when he got it alone. He walked the slough for hours, moving slowly from his nest across the field to the spot where the goose would be sounding its rasping call. When he arrives, the big crane sees the goose is not alone. In fact, the goose has an entire audience of pitiable folk. A family with young children watches, mouths agape. Three men stand in a group with their cigarettes. A young woman sits in the passenger seat of an auto, weeping. The big crane, not given to sentimentality, turns and walks home.

A road runner hastening across the new road grade.

A road that slices through shoes leaves no trace on the bird. It is a magical bird on a magical road, the kind of road that chooses its travelers instead of the other way around. This road dreams of becoming less traveled. Orioles flock to the road and line up in rows on either side. They dive after bugs flying off windshields as the autos paint a deep insult of two matching grooved tracks. The road groans and is compressed.

Way off yonder a dog howls.

That damn dog is laughing.

The recent heavy rain insures a good crop so says Gus Franzen.

Gus Franzen stands before his ruined Come-Inn, which inspectors determined was a danger to the public. Workers come from Galveston with notices and boards, stepping over rows of rags. They shutter the place far more efficiently than he ever ran it. Gus Franzen watches them work. After the men are gone, he collects the rags one by one and puts them in a basket.

Before you visit the Boyhood Home of Former President Ronald Reagan, you should first note that there are, in actuality, many Boyhood Homes of Former President Ronald Reagan. Choose wisely and you will find yourself in the fully restored Boyhood Home that served as a Boyhood Home of Former President Ronald Reagan from 1920 to 1923. It is located in Dixon, Illinois, home of the Petunia Festival.

For the purposes of this report, think of the Dixon, Illinois, home — where Former President Ronald Reagan spent the ninth, 10th, 11th, and 12th years of his life: essential, formative years— as the Definitive Boyhood Home of Former President Ronald Reagan and, therefore, as the only Boyhood Home that will be discussed, though he was born above a bakery and surely felt on many occasions the wholesome heat of warm bread.

Very little of the furniture, carpeting, foundation, and artifacts within the Boyhood Home of Former President Ronald Reagan is original to the site. The reason for this is that old things smell terrible.

Within the Boyhood Home of Former President Ronald Reagan, you will find Former President Ronald Reagan’s Fully Restored Boyhood Bedroom, featuring items you might expect a 9-, 10-, 11-, or 12-year-old boy to have owned between the years of 1920 and 1923. These items cycle seasonally within the Home and could include baseball cards, autograph books, footballs, and wooden cup-and-ball toys. While Former President Ronald Reagan never actually touched or considered these actual artifacts, you will be encouraged to observe and consider the objects in terms of their importance to Our Nation’s History. Think: Would Former President Ronald Reagan have excelled at cup-and-ball, or would he have swung the toy around by its handle and launched it onto the roof, and how might those actions have later affected his Cold War policy?

The importance of visiting the Boyhood Home of Former President Ronald Reagan to your personal life is clear and unchallenged. Touring the Home will give you a powerful feeling: You will realize that, in fact, we all had Boyhood or Girlhood homes, and that, though none of us are destined for the greatness that awaited 9-year-old Ronald Reagan, we all have a manner of greatness within us, untapped perhaps for many years, but held there in the heart, like a secret.

One part of the Boyhood Home of Former President Ronald Reagan serves as a centerpiece to visitors and Boyhood Home employees: four pennies, hidden in the spaces in the brick wall. Former President Ronald Reagan insisted on replacing the pennies at the final ceremonies for the Restored Boyhood Home, and while he replaced the pennies, he told the lucky crowd in attendance that, as a child, he used to hide money in the bricks of that very wall. Of course, the wall was actually not original, but completely restored, and Former President Ronald Reagan had in fact called ahead to order the workers to leave one brick loose, so that he might tell the story and replace the pennies and please the crowd. The show was always of paramount importance to Former President Ronald Reagan, and, if visitors concentrate, they might be able to picture an 11-year-old Ronald Reagan hiding the pennies in the bricks of the wall and dreaming of the day that he might place different pennies in restored bricks, put there specially for him, so that he might tell the story.