Japan Trip, September 2011

Boy, that got your attention, didn’t it!

Yesterday we went with my parents to Japan! Missouri!

Seriously, just as Missouri has a Paris, Florida, Santa Fe, and Mexico, it’s got a Japan, too. I adore Missouri’s place-names; I can’t help it. My dad’s an authority on them, and there was no avoiding my getting hooked, too.

By the way, the locals pronounce it JAY-pun, or JAY-pan . . . not jah-PAN like the nation.

The place-name of Japan, Missouri, has a fascinating history. At one point, soon after December 7, 1941, the town was in danger of losing its unusual name. I have no idea what they might have changed the name to, but you can’t blame them for having anti-Japanese feelings at that time.

But cooler heads prevailed—once it was explained that the town takes its name from the local Catholic church, and the story of the church’s namesakes was told, the town name “Japan” was retained.




So you want to hear the story, right? Of course you do! Actually, it’s pretty grim.

The full name is Church of the Holy Martyrs of Japan, and it commemorates twenty-six priests and fellow Christians who were crucified in Nagasaki, Japan, on February 5, 1597. (The feast day for these martyrs is February 6.) The men were killed as part of an effort to wipe out Christianity in Japan, which largely succeeded over the following three centuries.




The martyrs represented a variety of ethnicities, including Spanish, Portuguese, and Japanese. Thus in this story Japanese people are both persecutors and martyrs. And this is why the place-name was kept, even after the attack of Pearl Harbor.




At the back of the church is a mural depicting the scene of their crucifixion (see photos above), as well as other materials about the history of Christianity in Japan; the Our Father written in Japanese, for instance, and an explanation of what a “fumie” is: “A likeness of Jesus or Mary upon which . . . suspected Christians [were required] to step . . . in order to prove that they were not members of that outlawed religion.” This test of faith was used from 1629 until 1856 and possibly even later, according to a sign in the church.

The exterior of the church isn’t terribly remarkable; with its white clapboard siding and simple shape, it could be any number of churches around here, including Protestant ones.




There is a little shrine or grotto, and that kind of marks it as Catholic.

There are some beautiful big pine trees next to the church, which I thought was nicely evocative of Japan and its cultural aesthetics.

And the interior of the church is quite distinctive. The first thing you notice is the color yellow! Lots and lots of yellow. All the side windows are yellow stained glass, so all the light pouring into the church—except for a bluish rose window high above the altar—is yellow.






Even the bell-ringin’ ropes up in the choir loft are bathed in yellow.




The slogan for this parish seems to be “God’s grace in a country place.” And country it is, indeed. Here’s the view looking out from the front of this church:




Well, by now you might be thinking of visiting Japan, yourself, even though it doesn’t have any decent sushi restaurants. (Actually, I don’t think there are any restaurants there at all!)




So here’s how to get to Japan: It’s in southwestern Franklin County. Take I-44 between Sullivan and Cuba (Cuba, Missouri: that’s a whole ’nother story!). Between those towns is a little burg called Bourbon (yes, Bourbon, Missouri), and just east of Bourbon, you need to take Highway J north. (By the way, you can’t exit directly off of I-44 to Highway J—you have to get off on an access road, or do like we did: Skip I-44 and travel instead on old Route 66, which is more fun anyway.)

Anyway, from Bourbon, go north/northwest on Highway J (J for “Japan,” huh?) until you reach Highway H; veer left a little ways on that, then turn left onto Highway AE, and the Church of the Holy Martyrs of Japan will be on the left.

Or, if you’d rather get to it from Highway 50, you could go south on Highway H from Gerald, which takes you through the town of Strain . . . but hey, I don’t want to confuse you with all these crazy place-names!

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Thanks once again to Sue, for sharing some photos with me: two gloriously color-corrected interior shots, plus the one of the full mural. My blog would look really junky without her awesome images.

Getting Out of Dodge: To Paris, Florida, Santa Fe, Mexico . . .

Last weekend was the homecoming for Lincoln University, and since we live near downtown and on a major beeline to the university, our home promised even less solace and solitude than usual. Lots of cars. And honestly? I've been needing to get away. The interior of the house reflects the mess inside my head, and I live and work at home. I needed to get out of my cage.

Friday night was a big Lincoln homecoming shindig with fireworks--fun to watch from our third-floor windows--but the steady traffic on Broadway and the expressway, the sirens of numerous emergency vehicles, and voices of passersby below our windows kept us up late.

Saturday would begin with the big parade. We decided to get out of town before all that even started.




We were planning just a quick morning trip to the Pinnacles Youth Park north of Columbia, but as it turned out, we kept going . . .

You know how it is. Sometimes, once you start driving away from your house, your work, you just keep going. You can't stop and turn around until you're exhausted, until the idea of your own bed starts sounding like a good idea again.

It was a big loop, and when I tell you where we went, you'll laugh. Look how far we got!

Paris . . . Florida . . . Santa Fe . . . Mexico. . . . We were like world travelers!

One of the reasons Missouri got such place-names was because this area was a major stepping-off point for westering travelers in the 1800s. Missouri also has a Taos, a Nevada (pronounced "nuh-VAY-duh," of course), a Louisiana, a California, and many others.

Amid our "intercontinental" travels yesterday, we also paid homage to perhaps the most famous Missourian ever: Samuel L. Clemens--Mark Twain.

We also learned a little about transportation history and engineering by visiting the Union Covered Bridge, our state's one surviving example of a Burr-arch truss bridge, now a Missouri State Historic Site.

I'm not going to go into much detail here, since there is already plenty of information available on other websites (links provided below). If you're in Columbia and are wanting to take a pleasant day trip over picturesque roads, this makes a nice loop and a varied day.




1. The Pinnacles Youth Park is about twelve miles north of Columbia on Highway 63. Allow yourself a couple of hours there to visit the nifty shelf cave and, best, to explore the pinnacles themselves. To do the latter, be prepared to clamber among big rocks high above the creek below. Acrophobes need not apply. Also, crossing the creek could potentially get your feet wet--be prepared for that.




2. North on 63, then east on Highway 22 to Centralia. North from Centralia on Route C to the Union Covered Bridge. Unlike Ohio and Indiana (for instance), Missouri doesn't have many surviving covered bridges (we have only four). This is the only one in Missouri with a Burr-arch truss design and horizontal siding, so it's extra special. It's in a peaceful setting near shimmering soybean fields, and an interpretive kiosk will educate you about how these bridges were designed. There are no picnic tables or trash cans, but this would be a pleasant place for lunch.




You'll notice in my photo that some siding is missing from the bridge. The DNR had to remove it in 2008 when a big flash flood threatened to destroy the bridge. They're currently trying to find funding to repair it.

3. North on C and east on 24 to Paris, Missouri. Paris is an attractive town with lovely historic homes. The banners on utility poles in Paris have a little picture of the Eiffel Tower on them, but that's about where visible connection to the City of Light ends. You will not find a single French restaurant in the city of Paris. There is a Subway, however. (I'm partial to the Cold Cut Combo; and to be honest, I wasn't in the mood for snails, anyway.)

4. From Paris, take Highway 154 east into Mark Twain State Park. Following signs for the Mark Twain Birthplace, head north on Route E. The Mark Twain Birthplace Shrine is in the state park, on a peninsula with a scenic view of Mark Twain Lake (a reservoir created by Clarence Cannon Dam, which impounded the Salt River). This would be another good place for a picnic lunch.







The humble, two-room clapboard house in which the author of America's most famous novel was born is sheltered by a modern structure with a sweeping, pointed roof. There is also a museum in the building with many artifacts of Twain's life (from furniture to original letters and manuscripts and much more) and an A/V presentation telling the story of Twain's life.

5. Florida, Missouri, the birthplace of Mark Twain, is very close to the Birthplace Shrine. A historical marker in this tiny town shows the original location of the little house where, during the 1835 visit of Halley's Comet, Mark Twain arrived into this world--a couple of months before he was expected. If you want to spend more time around here, there is a hiking trail nearby.

6. Retrace your route south on E to D, then west on D to Santa Fe. There isn't much here, folks. Just as there's no cuisine française in Paris, there isn't even a Taco Bell in Santa Fe. No place for nopales, or chili rellenos, or chili verde. There's not even a Subway. But here's a picture of the post office, to prove that we went to Santa Fe on Saturday.




7. From Santa Fe, continue west on D to Route ZZ. It's a scenic drive southwest on Route ZZ, which traces the Salt River. It joins briefly with Route Z before connecting to Highway 15, which you can take all the way to Mexico. Mexico is indeed a little south of Santa Fe, which is kinda fitting. Mexico, compared to the other places so far on this trip, is a bustling metropolis, with restaurants and everything. If you're looking for something to "do" there, the first, most natural thing, is to visit the Audrain County Historical Society Museum and its lovely, landscaped grounds, which include several other historic structures.




Mexico was famous for Tom Bass, a nationally known and respected horse breeder and trainer. The respect that people gave him during his life is more remarkable, given the time period, since he was black. Rex McDonald, a championship show horse, is buried on the park grounds.

There is also an interesting piece of machinery there--a brick-producing machine that was used in the early years by the A. P. Green Company, a manufacturer of bricks and one of Mexico's most important industries. The machine lies in state here, with a plaque from the company thanking it for its years of selfless, dedicated service. (I guess a gold watch wasn't very fitting.)






8. From Mexico, we drove south on Highway 54 through Auxvasse to I-70, and thence home. The sun was setting, and the bed was going to feel extra cozy after all that hiking, sight-seeing, and time in the driver's seat. Got me a snoot full of fresh air, I did.


Bonus Information You Just Have to Read!


People in Mexico, Missouri, insist that you not call them Mexicans. That term is reserved for people who are from the nation of Mexico. So, you might ask, what do people from Mexico, Missouri, call themselves? Mexicoans. That extra syllable makes all the difference.

Which means that a native of the country of Mexico, who is living in Mexico, Missouri, is a "Mexican Mexicoan."

Or! When you go to dinner at a Mexican restaurant in Mexico, Mo., technically, you are eating "Mexicoan Mexican food."

Or! When Senator Bond (who is from Mexico, Missouri) goes on a junket down to our neighbor to the south, he is a "Mexicoan visiting the Mexicans." Get it?

Meanwhile . . . I have it on very good authority that people in Paris, Missouri, are not called "Parisians." Indeed! Are you ready for this? They are--Parisites.

Ha Ha Tonka: On the Name

In my previous post I told you about Ha Ha Tonka State Park, which is perhaps the most popular of Missouri’s state parks. Today, I want to zero in on a subject that’s been bothering me a while: The name.

From what I’ve been able to learn, a Colonel R. G. Scott, one of the first white men to own and/or write about the area, said that Osage Indians (basically, the “previous owners”) had told him they called the land Hahatonka, which supposedly meant “laughing water” (some sources give the purported translation as “smiling waters,” or some other variation).

Many sources repeat and repeat this etymology, which I think bears serious questioning, given the cultural sensitivity Americans have cultivated nowadays to partially rectify the injustices and cultural tramplings of the past.

Are we to take it that -tonka (used so often in tourism-associated names) means “water,” and that haha- means “laughing”? Come on.

Sure, in all languages, some words (like smack, slither, and plop) are onamatopoetic, but I remain skeptical about the Indians saying “haha” when they wanted to say “laugh.”

Honestly, I know very little about Osage or any other Native American languages, but something seems fishy here. From what I’ve been able to learn from Internet sources, tonka means “great” in the language of the Dakotas—as in Wakan-Tonka, “Great Spirit” (the adjective great follows the verb Wakan/spirit). And Minnetonka (a city name in Minnesota) is supposed to mean “great water.” (Minnesota, by the way, is supposed to mean “sky-tinted water”; mni- or minne- would be the “water” part.) This is in the Dakota language. I don’t know about the language of the Osage.




Tonka can also refer to a type of bean, a tonka bean, the fruit of a tree from Guinea. (Which is completely different.)

On the specific naming of our beloved state park, I’ve looked at several sources, and the one I’m most inclined to trust is Robert L. Ramsay, Our Storehouse of Missouri Place Names (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 1973). Ramsay was a scholar who specialized in the study of place-names and constructed his book from painstaking and exacting historical research. And on page 42, he states: “Often the white man simply made up an Indian sounding name which actually means nothing at all, as he seems to have done in Hahatonka, Mendota, Mineola, Owasco, and Wasola.”

He mentions the place-name again in his section “Coined Names”: “The man who owned the land around Winnetonka joined what he supposed to be an Indian suffix -tonka to his own name Winn. Perhaps he modeled it upon Hahatonka, whose founder mistakenly thought he had derived it from Indian words meaning ‘smiling waters’” (116).

Maybe Colonel Scott, or whoever he learned it from, had simply heard it wrong or spelled it clumsily, or—this seems more likely—someone back there in history flat-out made it up.

In my recent ponderings, it’s occurred to me that new information might have arisen on the Ha Ha Tonka name. I asked a longtime member of the Missouri Board on Geographic Names, and he told me that Ramsay has not yet been superseded on this matter.

I’m absolutely not suggesting we discard this long-established, beloved, and honestly, rather silly place-name as “culturally insensitive” (the way I generally support the replacement of “squaw” place-names, which many Native folks find deeply offensive).

Instead, I contend that the name “Ha Ha Tonka” reflects an important historical fault line* in the region’s history: the acquisition of Osage lands by whites, and the collision, confusion, appropriation, and misappropriation of Native language and culture and territory—whether intentional or accidental—and all the “development” and marketing that has followed. It’s like the rubber toy tomahawks decorated with dyed turkey feathers that they used to sell at souvenir shops on the Bagnell Dam strip. Let’s just accept it for what it is.




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* Pun intended, indeed.

Gallatin, Missouri, Part 3

Gallatin, Missouri, has some serious history. For one thing, Gallatin is where Frank James (brother of Jesse) was put on trial for an 1881 train robbery during which two individuals were killed. Former Confederate General Joseph Shelby testified on his behalf, and in this trial James was acquitted. Which was no big shocker, given the Civil War politics of this part of the state.

Gallatin is also famous for having one of the few remaining, operational rotary jails—called “squirrel cage jails”—a rotating cylinder with a pie-shaped cell for each inmate. National Register of Historic Places.

But the biggest historical significance attached to Gallatin is that it is the second official address for the human race! It turns out the Garden of Eden, the very birthplace of our species, wasn’t far from here (it was in present-day Independence, in Jackson County); and in fact an area just north of Gallatin, called Adam-ondi-Ahman, is where Adam and Eve resided after their expulsion from the Garden.




Well, that is what the Mormons believe. With their prophet Joseph Smith’s direction, they settled in the area in 1838, and their numbers grew rapidly. On August 6, they attempted to vote in the town of Gallatin but were confronted by about 200 non-Mormons. The ensuing brawl and skirmish is seen as the event that started the Mormon War in Missouri.

I think we can all agree that this was not exactly one of Missouri’s proudest moments. But I guess you can see why the non-Mormons were worried: The Mormons were starting to outnumber them, and they were wanting to vote. They kept to themselves and didn’t mix very well with the non-Mormons. They had different political ideas, came from a different part of the country. Not to mention how downright weird their religious beliefs must have seemed. Frankly, they were viewed as a cult.

So the Latter-Day Saints were driven out of the state and ultimately found their homeland out West, in Utah. But they still believe that Adam-ondi-Ahman is where Adam, the first human, lived and died and where he will appear again to meet with humanity at the end of time.

So it’s a big deal, and the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints owns the land in this area. It is clear that bus tours come here. And there are fences preventing you from traipsing through this sacred ground, but well-marked gravel roads lead to clean picnic areas, parking spots, and viewpoints that have interpretive signs telling about the history of the area and the Mormon settlement.




It’s an incredibly peaceful place, and there is very little trash about. I suspect someone from the church comes out regularly and picks up litter, just like you would pick up trash from the grounds of a church. It’s that clean.




And yeah, when you see a place, and you know that it is holy ground to somebody, you can’t help but be awed by it. It is a large, beautiful valley bordered by the Grand River and by hills sacred to the Mormons.




Once the Mormons were expelled, the Missourians who disliked them renamed the area “Cravensville.” And certainly the Mormons do take a lot of ribbing about their beliefs. Even Robert Ramsay, in his scholarly, neutral-toned book Our Storehouse of Missouri Place Names, writes amusedly about it, recalling Mark Twain’s quest throughout the Holy Land in Innocents Abroad to locate the tomb of Adam: “Had he known all the treasures of his native State, he might have spared himself the labor of journeying so far to weep over the sepulchre of his earliest ancestor. Apparently he was quite unaware that the historic spot had already been identified and located in his own Missouri.”

One of the people I spoke to in Gallatin (a non-Mormon) had told us that the Mormons who take care of the Adam-ondi-Ahman property might make us feel “watched,” and we got the idea that we might be made to feel like undesirables—but we didn’t experience anything that made us feel uncomfortable.

I’m sure that the Mormons do keep a close eye on people who look like they might be visiting the site to make fun of it (or worse). I mean, if you had the history that they do in this area, wouldn’t you keep watch, too?

But if you’re in the area, I encourage you to visit Adam-ondi-Ahman and reflect on its history; among the many themes to contemplate here are the expulsion of Adam and Eve from their Garden, and the expulsion of Latter-Day Saints from the many settlements they built, and from the state, here in this nation where we cherish our Freedom of Religion.

Jeffy C

Let’s start this post with a little quotation from Edwin Way Teale’s classic and Pulitzer Prize–winning Wandering through Winter: A Naturalist’s Record of a 20,000-Mile Journey through the North American Winter (1957; reprint, New York: Dodd, Mead, 1981), p. 187.

(Note: the index in my edition is wrong: It says “Jefferson City, Arkansas, 107, 190–191”; when it ought to be “Jefferson City, Missouri, 187, 190–191.” Whoever indexed it must have been in a terrible rush. “Jefferson City, Arkansas”—come on.)

“Toward the end of an overcast day, we came to Jefferson City, on the banks of the Missouri River. Here we encountered a local contraction of a place name like many we had met from coast to coast. When a name is long, the local pronunciation or contraction often takes the path of least resistance. San Bernardino, California, becomes “San Berdoo” and Elizabethtown, Kentucky, “E-town.” [I would add Provincetown, Mass., which is similarly called “P-town.”] And so Jefferson City, the capital of Missouri, is known locally as “Jeff City.” When we were [in Arkansas] inquiring the way to the diamond farm, I discovered that when I was talking about Murfreesboro and a filling station man was telling me about “Murfboro,” we were talking about the same place. I asked a waitress in the town if people always called it Murfboro. She said:

“They do when they’re tar’d.”

Now, I happen to know that many people of the City of Jefferson (as it’s officially named) dislike the shortened form of the name: Jeff City. I suspect they think it sounds undignified, unlearned, uncouth. My source for this is none other than the head of the city’s CVB, because he’s told me that the town’s prominent business and other leaders don’t like it. Thus the CVB avoids it in all their publications. No joke—they don’t think it’s funny.

Or charming, or endearing.

I completely disagree, so I happily and freely call it “Jeff City,” and “Jeff,” as well. My folks use the term; apparently they always have. And they love this place. They’re natives. They’re not rubes, they’re not dumb. And they know what they’re talking about. Best of all, they’re not insecure about how outsiders might judge their nickname for their hometown.

So what’s wrong with the nickname? Even in San Francisco—where at least since the 1950s when columnist Herb Caen declared the nickname “Frisco” undignified, thus verboten for anyone but ignorant tourists (who were to be sniffed or winced at by proud, correct “SanfrnSIScans”)—the forbidden nickname is starting to make a comeback. Seriously. Among the hip and trendy. “Frisco”—it’s starting to get okay to say it again, even among the natives. I know it’s true because I read about it here. And here.

So! If this kind of thing is happening out on the West Coast, then I’m simply ten to fifteen years ahead of the fashion, here in the Midwest, calling this place good ol’ Jeff. (Just watch: Sooner or later, they’ll even be selling the town as “Jeff.”)

Trust me, like it or not, “Jeff City” is here to stay.