We are on our way. As always, we stopped at Niemerg’s in Effingham, IL. We always stop at Niemerg’s. Effingham is far enough from Chicago that we get down here just about lunch time. I am not going to shoot another picture of Niemerg’s. Every year I shoot a picture of Niemerg’s. Niemerg’s has pretty good food and a fantastic salad bar, so it is a good place to stop. It is also one of the more popular and accessible restaurants in the area, so it is not unusual to find yourself surrounded by a dozen youth baseball teams or this year, a Christian motorcycle club. These bikers did not look at all threatening, sporting large crosses and larger American flags on their leather vests. I am not one to equate faith and nationalism, but we just got a new American pope, so maybe they are celebrating that.
Effingham, both the city and county were named after Thomas Howard, 3rd Earl of Effingham, who resigned his commission in the British Army rather than take up arms against the North American colonists during the American Revolution. It seems the closest he ever got to Illinois was Jamaica, where he died while serving as the royal governor. Or else it was named for the guy who originally surveyed the area. Wikipedia splits the difference and says it was named after General Effingham, a local surveyor. Take your pick. This is definitely Southern Illinois. The town is probably best known for the Cross at the Crossroads, a 198 foot white steel structure. At 198 feet, it is just short of the height at which it would have to have a light on top for navigational purposes. A couple major highways intersect here, giving rise to the Crossroads name, (not to be confused with the more famous Crossroads in Clarksdale, MS, where Robert Johnson purportedly sold his soul to the devil in exchange for becoming the original blues legend.)
This is definitely Southern Illinois. Effingham was a Sundown Town until the 60’s, and reportedly black people were not welcome there for some years thereafter. The motorcycle club group was friendly enough, but I am left with the impression that my MANEA baseball cap would not be greeted warmly. Most of our journey down will be in the state of Illinois before we pass through Missouri, Arkansas, and Tennessee, but we are already effectively in the South.
Our good friend and sometime team member Tony Del Gallo generously paid for lunch. Geez, Tony! If you told me that, I would have ordered a steak!
BOOMLAND!!!
Ah, how to describe the wonder that is Boomland? It seems that every time we stop there, I have to add a piece about this amazing cultural/commercial/pyrotechnical establishment. I fear I run out of words after once describing it as the zenith of Southern kitch, but Boomland is remarkable that every visit merits its own account. Located off the interstate in Charleston, MO and stretching the length of a city block, it is a combination of a U.S. Army armory, an exotic grocery, and a Turkish bazaar. It seems as if all of the fireworks from which the establishment gets its name went of at once and scattered every piece of patriotic/religious and tacky merchandise one can imagine, with some actual quality items mixed in.
Outside the store, a young couple were giving away puppies. They are cute! Of course they are. They are puppies. But at the age of eleven weeks, these offspring of a Grand Pyrenees and White German Shepard are already as big or bigger than most dog you might find strolling the streets of Chicago. When someone asked who big they would grow, I said, “Think ponies.” The lady giving them away replied, “That’s about right. About up to my hip.” Like the people giving them away, the puppies appear calm and gentle, but I would not want to be an intruder in whatever home they wind up in. The couple managed to find four of the six they brought there is a little over an hour. They are keeping two others. Kindhearted souls, no doubt, but no surprise that at Boomland, even the things you can get for free are big!
As you enter the store, you encounter what appears to be the world’s largest rocking chair, dedicated the late Mr. Land, for whom the store is presumably named. I always thought “Boomtown” sounded better, but if that was the guy’s name, I guess what they came up with is a better choice. And then before your eyes, wonders to behold! First baseball caps, most honoring the military, guns, or Jesus in no particular order. Then racks of clothing. Polynesian dresses, kids stuff, and of course t-shirts. Beyond that are row upon row of figurines – angels, devils, skulls, dragons, bears, and whatever else you might think someone might purchase.
The food section is big enough to fill a small grocery store with all kinds of tempting concoctions. Canned and pickled and preserved just about anything that grows from the ground. I ended up with three jars I found in the reduced-price-beyond-expiration-date section.
I could load up on these. The last time we visited, I bought a few. They were good. They were cheap. And where else are you going to find pickled black-eyed pea relish?
As always, my favorite part is the hot sauce section. No idea what they taste like, but names to race the heart and numb the mind. I noticed that there remained only two bottles of Screw the Republicans, and apparently Screw the Democrats was sold out. Well, that is no surprise in our current political environment, and Missouri is not much of a swing state in recent years. The list of names promising violence and destruction is virtually endless. I understand that the really powerful stuff is kept behind the sales counter. I chose something gentler sounding: Hippy Dippy Green. Its label displays a turtle in an apparently altered state of consciousness, with a peace sign on his shell. Seems harmless enough. Of course, it was produced by the Angry Goat Pepper Company.
Then of course there are the fireworks. Behind a separate set of doors on the far end of the building, a good distance from the gas pumps, are the fireworks in a space about the size of your typical grocery store. Unless you are an expert on such things, it is difficult to tell exactly what it is they do, besides shooting high in the air and going boom, but again, my favorite part is the names.
The apocalyptic ones: A series entitled Atomic Bomb, Hydrogen Bomb, Neutron Bomb, and Cobalt Bomb, (Is there such a thing as a Cobalt Bomb? I don’t think I want to know.) Last Man Standing, Atomic Rain, Day Zero
The mysogynistic ones: One Bad Mother-in-Law, Trophy Wife, Alpha Male
The ones intended to appeal to a certain demographic: Baby Boomers! , Psychodelic
The ones that are just plain weird: Psycho Circus, Loyal to None, Western Green Mamba, Dirty Little Secret (It is not likely to remain secret for too long if it lights up the sky and goes boom!)
and my personal favorite, Out With a Bang.
Tomorrow we get down to work.
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