Calvinzilla – A Quick Explanation

Cleveland, OH - June 12, 2013

Of the handful of comic strips that made a big impression on me growing up (Peanuts, The Far Side, Robotman), none was more influential than Calvin and Hobbes. My grandmother introduced me to it. She kept several collections in the drawer of an end table in her living room, next to the light brown sofa. The first I remember reading is Yukon Ho!

     I was eight or nine at the time, and I was astonished at the idea of leaving my family and walking to the Yukon. I pretty much took Calvin’s imagination literally. Hobbes wasn’t a stuffed tiger; the mom and dad just couldn’t see him move. When Calvin transmogrified himself using a cardboard box, I wondered where you got a box like that.

     Reading Calvin and Hobbes left me drunk with ideas. Woven through it was a wit and wisdom I wasn’t always old enough to get, but Calvin’s intelligence, mischievous innocence, and his way of seeing things differently than his parents and schoolmates all struck a chord, and increased my own excitement at being alive in a magical world. If I wasn’t aware at the time that Calvin and Hobbes had higher artistic aspirations than other comic strips, I absorbed it unconsciously as a watermark. I now regard it to be the best there has been.

     When I was eleven I wrote Bill Watterson a fan letter asking for his autograph, and sent it to his publisher. I received in return a printed letter from Bill that read something like, “I really hate having to use a form letter but I get more mail than I can ever respond to!” The envelope included a beautiful printed poster of a Spaceman Spiff cartoon, which I have sadly lost over the years.

     In Chagrin Falls, OH there is a bookstore called Fireside Books. It is the only bookstore to ever sell signed copies of Calvin and Hobbes collections, which it did for less than a year in the late 1990s. Soon after, opportunists began snatching the books up and reselling them on the newly popular Internet at exorbitant prices. When Watterson found out, he stopped supplying them.

     One of the volumes signed for Fireside was The Essential Calvin and Hobbes, the back of which depicts the town square of Chagrin Falls being demolished by a giant Calvin.

 I noticed this picture in the course of my long search for a Watterson autograph, and thought it would be fun to see that square for myself. Maybe while we’re there we can buy something at Fireside, and see the waterfalls for which the town is named.

CLEAN AND QUIET!

Cleveland, OH - June 12, 2013

On the way into Cleveland Leighann quizzes her smartphone for hotel deals. Her system is this:

1) Check Priceline for a list of affordable options.

2) Check TripAdvisor for reviews to vet them.

She’s good at the hunt, and you’ve got to actually read what people write. Some reviews will only give one-star citing, “staff wasn’t friendly enough,” and go on to describe the most comfortable room they’ve ever rented. We’ll stay at those. If the words “bug,” “insect” or “spider” appear anywhere, however, that hotel does not exist for us.

     On at least one occasion a review has stated, “the whole property smelled like fried chicken.” We could not tell if it was positive or negative.

In the adventurous spirit of exploration, we’ve considered alternative lodging such as AirBNB and CouchSurfing, but have yet to find deals significantly better than the available hotel rooms. Well, some deals have been better but we weren’t feeling adventurous enough…

click to enlarge

After combing through several options in Cleveland proper, Leighann finds a severely discounted room at a resort 15 miles east of town. It’s a $49 rate for a normally $130 room, and all the reviews are positive. She books us with a tap of her thumb and we hit the highway.

The resort turns out to be the nicest hotel we’ve stayed at in a while, and we are sad it’s just for one night. 

     I’m excited, though, that tomorrow we’re going to Chagrin Falls, the childhood home that inspired Bill Watterson when he wrote and drew Calvin and Hobbes. I know it will be like many other small towns, and I suspect the famously private artist would find it a little absurd for people to travel there on his account (he doesn’t live there anymore), but I am going in search of a particular photograph, if I can get it, and because it is a mere 30 minutes out of our way.

Besides, I like small towns.

Twin Cities

Cleveland, OH - June 12, 2013

On the outskirts of Cleveland, OH we stop at a liquor store. Throughout the trip I am looking for beers that may not be available elsewhere. It is like a very long, very responsible pub crawl.

     This particular store has a sign reading “Beer at state minimum. We pay your sin tax.” Inside we are greeted by two Indian men running the place, and I head for the section marked “Micro-brews and Imports” to discover… a wall of Indian Pale Ale. Many, many brands. All IPAs; not a single other kind of beer.

     Given Hobson’s choice, I grab an IPA and we head to the checkout, where one of the proprietors is friendly and ends up asking about our trip. We answer his questions: We’re from Arkansas. We're exploring the country. Yes, we’re driving for the whole summer.

     He asks where we would like to live if not Arkansas.

“Not sure,” I say. “That’s part of why we’re looking around.”

“You should move to the Carolinas,” he says in a thick accent.

“Cleveland is okay,” he goes on, “depending on how you feel about snow. But if I could live anywhere it would be Myrtle Beach or Atlanta.”

On Set Two Decades Late

Mansfield, OH - June 12, 2013

As we prepare to move on toward Cleveland, Kathy tells us that we can’t be “movie people” and miss a chance to visit the Ohio State Penitentiary in Mansfield, the prison where most of The Shawshank Redemption was shot in 1993. I vaguely remember reading about it in Empire magazine years ago, but didn’t realize it would be less than twenty minutes out of our path. Kathy has a friend who works there, and she calls up to arrange a comped tour for us in connection with The Weekender. I’m liking this journalist gig more and more.

     The prison is incredible, the closest thing to a castle I’ve ever been in (other than Le Château Frontenac). 

We document our experience in the same issue of The Weekender as our Cedar Point article, which you can read here. (pages 12 & 13)

     One thing we don’t mention in the article is that our guide is a firm believer in the paranormal, and says he has heard supernatural noises and even seen “shadow people” walking the halls. He tells us the last warden to live at the reformatory in 1951 lost his wife when she was accidentally shot by a gun falling off the closet shelf. Ten years later the husband suffered a heart attack and died in the same hospital as his wife. Our guide tells us her rose perfume still lingers in their bedroom, along with the smell of cherry tobacco her husband loved. 

If it seems a little sensationalist, this building is the perfect stage for it. The idea of being here after dark, especially alone, is absolutely terrifying. 

     But here’s food for thought: The prison was operational from 1880 until 1990, when the state built a new facility and moved all the prisoners over to it. When they closed the old building, they left the doors open, expecting to just demolish it at some point. In 1993, production of The Shawshank Redemption took it over during shooting, and when that was done concerned locals founded a non-profit to preserve it, buying it from the state for a dollar. 

So for three years - from 1990 to 1993 - it just sat there, empty and unguarded. Somewhere in the world, I am certain there are people who as teenagers rode their bikes up and down the cell blocks during that magic window, or dared each other to spend the night in solitary, or maybe played laser tag. Somebody's got some stories. 

Kinda wish I could have been one of them.

The Roller Coaster Capital of America

Sandusky, OH - June 11, 2013

Our first assignment for The Weekender is a day trip north to Sandusky where Cedar Point amusement park stretches on the shore of Lake Erie. It is a park with deep history: first developed in the 1800s and now home to 17 roller coasters that have held various world records in the years since. Today we’re covering the latest addition, a hulking wing style coaster called The Gatekeeper, so named because you have to walk under it to enter the park. You can read our article about it here (page 52 & 53).

     Cedar Point has my personal favorite coaster anywhere, The Raptor, a bright green hanging style ride which is nearly perfect: as fast as I ever want to go but as smooth as loops and corkscrews can be. The last time I was here with my family it was the off-season and there was no line.   This time it’s the heat of summer and the line is two hours long. But I didn’t drive all this way NOT to ride The Raptor.

     There are so many people they have opened every stanchion, and we stand there sweating, shuffling a few paces every ten minutes or so. When we get to the wooden stairs that mark the final approach toward the loading area, a voice sounds over the intercom: “We’re sorry everybody. The Raptor is experiencing technical difficulties and is now closed. We hope to get her running again today, but I can’t tell you when it will be.”

     People fall out of line in clumps, until there are just eight besides us. We look at each other. “Should we go get in the back of a different line? We’re basically in the front of this one.” Then I have a revelation. I pull out my phone and call the number for the press liaison we got from Kathy. “Yes, hi, this is Jacob LeMaster with The Weekender magazine. I’m here at the park and the Raptor ride has just closed. Do you know if it will be operating again soon?” She checks. “Ten minutes or less? Thank you. Really appreciate it.” I look around at the empty maze where the line used to be, and barely manage not to laugh maniacally. 

The Raptor is everything I remembered. Still my favorite.

On the way back to Kathy’s we see a sign advertising the birthplace of Thomas Edison. Who knew? The museum is closed but we look at the outside of it. Sadly, nothing appears above our heads.

Our First Plymouth: Journalists for a Day

Plymouth, OH - June 10, 2013

Leighann’s aunt Kandy has a sister named Kathy who lives in Plymouth, OH. Kathy is the owner and editor of a local magazine called The Weekender and a national edition called The Weekender Extended. Since we’re traveling the country and all, Kathy thought maybe we could write some articles for her along the way. It’s not a paying gig, but it would mean free admission to cool places like amusement parks, museums, and maybe even B&Bs. She says she’s working on lining up the assignments, but offered to put us up for a night if we wanted to swing by Plymouth to meet face to face. 

Why not? We have nowhere to be.

     Plymouth, OH is a crossroads town in the upper middle of the state, surrounded by fields and forests. The area has signs depicting horse drawn carriages that remind me of deer crossing signs, and I imagine a buggy bounding suddenly out of the trees and into our path.
    

     When we arrive at Kathy’s, she and her husband have cooked us delicious steaks. I am dimly aware that this is an American way to honor visitors. We eat beef but not very often and we don’t cook with it for ourselves, so it almost feels like a foreign custom wherever we encounter it.

     Over dinner Kathy tells us about her rise in journalism, working for newspapers and magazines. She talks about work at the local paper and how a new editor came to town once that had no idea how to write for Plymouth readers. Her husband interjects, “This fellow, he didn’t think anything was news. When a car came speeding through the Intersection and flipped upside down, and sat there like a turtle for a whole day, he didn’t think that was worth writing about. Or when the sheriff took his annual firearms test and shot out the windows of his own patrol car, this guy didn’t think people wanted to know that?!”

    We’re no strangers to amassing spectacular amounts of things. For us it’s books and DVDs; for Kathy, it’s Mickey Mouse memorabilia.

She has the most impressive collection we’ve ever seen, and it even continues onto her porch. 

Leighann wholeheartedly approves.

AKA Agnes Claudstein

Anne Arbor, MI - Saturday, June 8, 2013

Leighann doesn’t go for designer merchandise, with two exceptions: For nail polish she buys Zoya exclusively. For bags and purses it’s Vera Bradley.

If you see a paisley handbag, purse, or backpack these days, there’s a good chance it’s a Vera.

Leighann being Leighann, she sports a jumbo purse she made herself that bears a striking resemblance.

Call it Vera Bradleigh.

So when we discovered a Vera store in the mall where my marathon packet pickup was, we kind of had to check it out. I’ve been to an outlet one in Nashville, but this store looks completely different, particularly the large chandelier and painting behind the counter.

“Who does the design for those?” I ask. 
The saleswoman explains, “We’ve got a whole design team. They like to pick items that are really unique.”

She pronounces it “yoon-ike.” We are in Michigan.

“The designers try to model every store after one of our owners’ homes," she goes on. "So for instance our Twelve Oaks store is modeled after her Florida house.”

I wonder how many stores there are, and if the owner has that many houses. At these prices it is possible.

We browse through patterns and colors, most on the verge of extinction. Leighann points out which ones will soon be retired to online orders only.

She’s torn about buying anything, even with a storewide sale, and I get the feeling she is taking notes as much as shopping.

As we leave we stop to sign the guestbook. Sitting near it is a picture of an elderly woman.

“Is that Vera Bradley?” I ask the sales rep.

“That is Vera Bradley,” she says. “The two founders, Barbara Bradley and Pat Miller, decided they were going to name their company after one of their mothers. And Pat’s mother was something like ‘Agnes Claudstein,’ and Barbara Bradley’s mom was ‘Vera.’ And it was like, which brand would you buy?”

I would personally go out of my way to buy a line called Agnes Claudstein but I see her point.