812 summer fall 2018

Pickleball: Where, how and why you should play

The life-changing words of incarcerated men

Art, music & food at Haynie’s Corner

S U M M E R / F A L L 2 0 18

BLOOMINGTON

TURNS

200 People who shaped our city Pivotal moments Surprising firsts

+One family’s legacy

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ON THE COVER:

26 Bloomington turns 200 The visionary people, pivotal moments and steadfast spirit that shaped our history.

FEATURES

9

Writing for release

20

DEPARTMENTS Pickled!

Inmates find the liberating power of poetry. Story by Adèle Poudrier and pictures by Kendall Fleder

An unlikely sport is courting the 812 region. Story by Kaleigh Howland and Maia Rabenold

14

40

Where the bison roamed

Follow in the wake of the bison herds that shaped our landscape. Story by Gillian Fulford and Elaina Wilson

Down on the corner

Artists and preservationists are breathing new life into this venerable Evansville neighborhood. Story by Anna Makris

45 Finding roots

Singer-songwriter Krista Detor found inspiration and international success in a place she never expected. Story

by Jessica Smith

GET OUT OF TOWN

6

Walking on water

WHAT I’VE LEARNED

7

Jesse Eisenberg, actor

TASTE OF SOUTHERN INDIANA

8

The golden mushroom

THE 812 LIST

down or 50 Upside right side up?

On the cover: A drone’s view of the Monroe County Courthouse. /Photo by James Brosher at James Brosher Photography, brosher.com. Special thanks to Malinda Aston, Steve Layton and Linda Johnson for their assistance in the publication of 812: The Magazine of Southern Indiana.

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812 M A G A Z I N E S TA F F

NOTE FROM THE EDITOR As a Bloomington native, I’ve always valued Southern Indiana’s diversity and hospitality. My Hoosier sense of adventure inspired me to explore the region throughout my life, and I’m delighted that the 812 staff has this opportunity to join me in sharing that spirit with readers.

With Bloomington now in its bicentennial year, the city was buzzing with preparations as we composed this issue. We profiled some of Bloomington’s most influential people, delved into the city’s pivotal moments, compiled then-and-now photos of familiar SOPHIE BIRD landmarks and told the story of EDITOR-IN-CHIEF one of Bloomington’s founding families – the Sewards.

This issue of 812 has introduced me to everything from pickleball and world-famous musicians to classic Indiana finds like chanterelle mushrooms. Southern Indiana is a mix of familiar and hidden gems – like paddleboarding alongside freshwater jellyfish in Patoka Lake, following the path of long-disappeared bison, reading the poetry of incarcerated men and hearing actor Jesse Eisenberg’s thoughts on domestic violence, all featured in these pages.

Locals and visitors alike can find so much to learn, discover and enjoy. I hope you have as much fun as I did.

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812 THE MAGAZINE OF SOUTHERN INDIANA Summer/Fall 2018 Volume 8, Number 1 812 was conceived, reported, written, photographed, edited and designed by students in J481: Creating an Indiana Magazine at the Indiana University Media School. Contents may not be reproduced without the written consent of the School.

You can also find exclusive online stories at our website, 812magazine.com.

If you’re interested in advertising in 812, or if you’d like copies to distribute at your place of business, please contact ads@idsnews.com.

FOLLOW US: @812Magazine

Clockwise from far left: Hundreds of years ago, bison like these carved the first roads through our region. Paint brushes are scattered in Billy Hedel’s studio. Dann Denny leans into a backhand pickleball shot. /Photos by Carol M. Highsmith, National Library of Congress; Anna Makris, and Kaleigh Howland respectively

THE 812 STAFF

Jessica Smith

Maia Rabenold Art director

Assistant art director

Photo editor

Jessica explored the connections that make a place your home.

Maia learned that playing softball doesn’t mean you’ll be a pickleball star.

Christine suffered three paper cuts while perusing Bloomington’s archives.

Anna got up close and personal with the art district of Evansville.

Kaleigh Howland

Shelby Stivale Online editor

Departments editor

Elaina Wilson

Kendall Fleder

Kaleigh played a sport for the first time and actually liked it.

Shelby stepped out of her comfort zone to report on the city’s bicentennial.

Elaina saw the 812 area through the eyes of the nation’s largest mammal.

Kendall discovered the liberating power of poetry while reporting.

Managing editor

Social media editor

Christine Fernando

Anna Makris

Staff writer

Gillian Fulford

Mariah Lee

Adèle Poudrier

Gillian followed the hoof prints of the bison that once roamed the state.

Mariah learned about the people who shaped Bloomington.

Northern Indiana native Adele enjoyed telling Southern Indiana stories.

Staff writer

Staff writer

Staff writer

Zoe Spilker

Nancy Comiskey

Zoe enjoyed helping the staff uncover 200 years of Bloomington secrets.

Nancy loves seeing the region through the eyes of her students.

Undergrad assistant

5

Instructor

SUMMER/ FALL 2018

GET OUT OF TOWN

Water alking on

SUPciety brings paddleboard tours to French Lick.

Paddlers can see waterfalls, cliffs, eagles and river otters. /Photo courtesy of Ryan Niederberger

By Sophie Bird

S

6 SUMMER/ FALL 2018

UPciety Stand UP Paddle owner Ryan Niederberger, 35, can describe his first time on a paddleboard in one word: “Euphoric,” he says.

He recalls the sensation clearly – the glide of the board on the water, the way time fell away. But there’s something about the soul of the sport that he can’t quite put into words.

“How do you explain walking on water?” he asks.

That first paddle was six years ago near Cape Coral, Florida, where Niederberger owned a computer repair shop.

Before long, he would own a paddleboard rental stand, float alongside dolphins and manatees, participate in more than 10 races and paddle 14 miles each way to a shore-side Christmas party while wearing a Santa hat.

When he moved to French Lick a year ago to be with the woman who is now his wife, Niederberger wanted to bring that euphoric feeling with him.

So, he opened SUPciety paddleboarding and began leading tours of Patoka Lake, the second-largest reservoir in Southern Indiana.

The lake is best known for its bald eagles, river otters, ospreys and freshwater jellyfish, as well as striking waterfalls. Niederberger says he’s particularly fond of showing SUPciety paddlers the cliff faces along the shore of the 8,800-acre lake.

“Everyone I’ve taken back there has had their jaw drop,” he says.

Niederberger takes groups of about seven people on daytime, sunset and nighttime paddles. While daytime paddles focus primarily on scenery, nighttime paddles are a little different. Participants are equipped with glow sticks and lights on the front of their boards to help illuminate the dark.

“It’s really the energy of the group more than the visuals that you’re there for,” Niederberger says.

For paddling novices, SUPciety begins every tour with a lesson on the basics. Niederberger says anyone can paddleboard, regardless of previous experience. “All it takes is a little balance,” he says. “It doesn’t take a lot of physical fitness to get it done.”

Last season, groups came from all over Indiana and northern Kentucky to paddle with Niederberger. That success was a joy, he says, but not really a surprise. He fell in love with paddleboarding, and says he knows others will, too.

“When I started this, I said to myself, This area needs this,” Niederberger says. “It was a leap of faith.”

SUPciety’s 2018 season runs through late September, with tours costing $50 per person for two hours.

For more information or to schedule a paddle, visit www.supciety.com.

Fast facts: HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO LEARN?

Niederberger says beginning paddlers can pick up the sport in just a few minutes, and customers rarely fall in. Each of his paddles begins with a free lesson, so newbies can learn the basics.

HOW OLD DO YOU HAVE TO BE? The youngest person Niederberger has taken on a paddle was 7. He says there’s really no maximum age to learn paddleboarding, as long as you’re healthy enough to stand on the board.

HOW FIT DO YOU HAVE TO BE? Only moderately, he says.

The benefit of being fit is being able to go longer distances. People of all fitness levels can participate and explore Patoka Lake.

WHAT I’VE LEARNED

Jesse Eisenberg, actor The Oscar-nominated star has worked with Middle Way House for nearly a decade.

By Adèle Poudrier

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n Hollywood, Jesse Eisenberg is known for movies like “The Social Network” and “Zombieland,” but in Bloomington he’s an advocate for Middle Way House, a domestic violence shelter that his mother-inlaw, Toby Strout, directed for over 30 years. While a national conversation on sexual assault began in earnest last year, Eisenberg has contributed to the fight against the problem for nearly a decade. He started a $100,000 matching campaign that raised $600,000 for the local shelter. Now, he shares ideas on how we can help change the culture in Bloomington, Hollywood and beyond.

Victims are safer if people rally around them.

Toby Strout made a point to engage with the community rather than hide from it. A lot of domestic violence shelters are hidden in an attempt to protect residents, but Toby’s method came from the idea that women are safer when the community rallies around them.

We can’t let microaggressions slide.

I’ve really recognized microaggressions or micro-examples that perpetuate assault against women. It starts with a fundamental disrespect or objectification or, in my industry, sexualization of young women.

Something that I’ve always noticed in reading movie scripts is the men’s physicality is never described and a woman’s physicality, irrespective of her role, is described. So even if she is a woman who is not supposed to be sexualized by the storyline, her physicality is still discussed. I’ve

Jesse Eisenberg, an advocate for Middle Way House, says awareness of the issue is key. /Photo by Adèle Poudrier

become so much more acutely aware of the prevalence of it in the last decade.

Educating youth about relationships is essential.

Education from a young age, to not only report domestic violence but to understand healthy relationships and intimate partnerships, is vital so the problem doesn’t fester and become something much worse later.

Almost everyone is touched by the issue.

Doing a little investigating within your circle will reveal that you are surrounded by people who are affected

by this. A simple way that all of us can get involved is by being a responsible partner to whomever we decide to be with.

We all must engage in changing the culture.

On the last movie I did, an actor was disrespectful to women in the costume department. He was let go without any hesitation. Everybody was proud to be working on a set that was looking out for the welfare of its crew. More interesting was the casual attitude we had about someone being let go on a movie set, which is normally a big deal.

You could just see, almost overnight, that the culture on a movie set is different. We were all aware that, yes, the culture has changed.

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TASTE OF SOUTHERN INDIANA

The

golden mushroom

By Jessica Smith

The bright yellow chanterelle mushroom pops out of the dirt in mid-summer. /Photo courtesy of Åsa Kronkvist

Chanterelles are a savory treat to unearth this summer.

For those of us in Indiana from June to August, a golden treat makes its way up through the forest floor and into our markets, our restaurants and our homes. With a fruity apricot aroma and a peppery, earthy taste, the trumpet-shaped chanterelle mushroom is a common but still prized find. Mark Woten, from the Southern Indiana Mushroom Hunters group, offers advice to get novice chanterelle hunters on the right path.

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SEARCH DILIGENTLY

PREPARE DELICATELY

BUT BE CAUTIOUS

Woten says a novice hunter’s best bet is the Hoosier National Forest. The park’s many ravines are good spots for chanterelles as they generally grow on the side of a hill near a creek. The water that runs down shaded ravines keeps these areas dark and damp.

With luck and patience, you’ll bring home a bag of chanterelles. Store them in a paper bag in a cool, dry place. A plastic bag will retain too much moisture.

Don’t make the common mistake of cleaning chanterelles with water.

“Water starts to bruise them almost immediately,” Woten says. “If you’re going to wash them, you have to use them immediately.” Instead, Woten says cutting the bottom of the stem will take care of the majority of the dirt. For the rest, use a soft brush.

When you’re ready to cook them, Woten recommends sautéing them in butter with salt and pepper. He says it’s the best way to appreciate the taste.

Never ever eat something unless you’re 100 percent sure what it is.

A chanterelle look-alike, the highly poisonous Jack o’ lantern mushroom, could fool you with its dark orange color. Woten says to look for “gills” – the lines that run down mushrooms.

While the chanterelle’s gills stop at the stem, the jack-o-lantern’s run all the way down. Woten says that’s a common distinction between poisonous and harmless mushrooms, but not always.

Better to be safe.

Writing for release

Aaron Crafton holds his poem “Sinner’s Prayer.”

Inmates at the Monroe County Correctional Center discover the liberating power of words through a weekly poetry class.

Words by Adèle Poudrier Photos by Kendall Fleder

E

very night for the first 15 months of Max Smith’s time in the Monroe County Correctional Center, a steel door locked him into a 70-square-foot cell he shared with another inmate. From 11:30 p.m. to 10 a.m., he would sit or lie on his bed.

At 6, breakfast was served in the cell. At 10, the doors opened, and the 53-year-old inmate would take some time to shower before 11, when he had to go back into his cell for lunch. From 1 to 3 p.m., Max went to a room with about 30 other men. Some played cards, some did push-ups, and others sought out weaker inmates to prey upon.

Max, his smile missing a front tooth, always kept his eyes to the ground. He wasn’t looking to fight.

From 5:30 to 6, he ate dinner. After that, he searched for ways to pass the time, the same questions echoing in his head. When am I going to get out? Will any of my belongings still be there? How did I ever get here?

He never thought he’d find the answers through poetry.

Fifteen months into his sentence, Max moved into a recovery dorm in the jail he shared with 11 other men in the New Leaf – New Life program, designed to help inmates make the transition to the outside world. At first, the weekly poetry class led by volunteer Frank Brown Cloud might have seemed like a side note. However, Frank’s weekly writing prompts, the poems he shared and the readings of other inmates’ work became an escape for Max. For the last two and half years, Max and others like him have written hundreds of poems and even had their words published in newspapers and the book Poems From the Jail Dorm. The following profiles of three of those poets illustrate how the class has helped inmates grow, giving them an artistic outlet that can continue to flourish outside those walls.

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Max Smith, 53 “Schism” Driving it in deep Into a vital organ Indifference is a sword Don’t act as if you can’t see It’s so much easier alone in the fight The division is the same as penetration We don’t write our own parts As blue-collar workers in the factory of our own minds I show up, on time, ready to work.

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ressed in the boxy orange suit he wore every day, Max stood in the Monroe County Correctional Center staring at a set of doors that didn’t open. He was expecting to go to court and hear about a plea bargain he was told could only get better. The original deal offered by the prosecutor, Max says, was a cap of 18 years for a sack of methamphetamine in a truck he had stepped out of but didn’t own.

As Max tells it, he was a successful drug user. In 2008, he worked with a thriving small construction company, and he flew 20,000 miles on business that year. He built his own home and owed nothing on it, drove newer vehicles and even had good credit. However, his drug habit caught up with him.

As he waited for the hearing that day, Max’s weary blue eyes gazed at the doors, and his confusion escalated to anger. “I was pissed off,” he says. He hoped he might get into a treatment program or even be released on probation. But Max’s public defender hadn’t told him his court date had been rescheduled.

Soon after, he walked into his weekly poetry class with New Leaf – New Life. The moment the pen was in Max’s hand, the words came out like fire. His disappointment, coupled with news of presidential candidate Donald Trump’s advocacy of

“stop and frisk,” fueled a poem Max wrote in three minutes flat and can spit out from memory to this day.

“Stop and Frisk” captured his anger with stigmatizing people who struggle with addiction and also revealed his own story. A fellow drug user had reported Max to the police to lessen his time behind bars. After 15 months “cooking in jail,” as Max calls it, he finally escaped into the four walls of a poetry class.

Since that day, Max has written about everything from politics to the death of his girlfriend, who lost her life to drug use in November 2014. Each week that Max wrote a poem, Brown Cloud would type it out and add a page of feedback.

Max was baffled that someone gave so much thought to the words he had written. In the class, he formed relationships and found support.

Max has been out of jail since September and has completed his required time at the drug-addiction treatment facility Amethyst House. He now works as a carpenter in Bloomington and lives in his own apartment.

He walks away from his two and half years in jail knowing that the words “freedom” and “friendship” share the same Latin root for a reason. As for the poems Max wrote in class?

He still has every one.

Aaron Crafton, 33 Excerpt from “Sinner’s Prayer” I’d rather see my sermon, then hear it any day.

I try to be a man of love, but often fall away.

I’ll always be real with you, but so fake to myself And in my mind is a war, my self-created Hell.

I think about it daily, I question who I am.

But I hear you whispering in my ear, “for you I have a plan.”

You say you use the foolish things to always scheme the wise.

But in my heart I’m struggling Lord, please open my eyes.

W

hen Aaron Crafton wrote his favorite poem, “Sinner’s Prayer,” he wasn’t writing for an audience. He was just tired of seeing people dying.

He has some tattoos on his forearms and hair trimmed close to his head, and he speaks calmly, even though a nervous smile occasionally breaks through.

The first time Aaron did heroin, the high was like no other.

But that was the problem. He couldn’t stop chasing the euphoria he only once experienced. So when he got into Brown Cloud’s class, he wrote about his struggles with heroin and the death the drug has brought to others.

Before being sentenced for a theft charge, Aaron was living with his mother and strung out on heroin. According to Aaron, the addiction is a lot deeper than what it’s stereotyped to be.

“It’s not just a choice,” he says. “It’s really a lifestyle. It’s a demon.”

When he first walked into the classroom in November 2016, he didn’t think he could do it. He didn’t know anything about writing poetry, but he decided to try. His work has since been published in the community publication Safety Net. But he also writes for a much smaller audience, his mother.

She’s a psychotherapist who has watched him struggle with an addiction that led to overdoses four times. When she read

the poems, she began to understand his battle with heroin.

Two years after he gave her his poems, she still has them neatly folded in an envelope.

While it’s important to Aaron for his mother to read his work, he often writes his poems as if he’s speaking to someone else. He uses “you,” “Lord” and “God” in his writing. He says he isn’t religious, but spirituality is what keeps him going.

Growing up, he got involved with gangs, a mentality he describes as “one way is the only way.” Over time, his experiences behind bars changed that outlook. One of his best friends in prison was Muslim, and they would pray together.

While Aaron doesn’t worship a particular god, it was revelatory to him that he could co-exist and respect the beliefs of another who did.

Aaron now lives with his mother and works as a carpenter alongside Max Smith. In his free time, he still likes to pick up the pen, even without his instructor’s weekly writing prompts.

While poetry helps him with kicking addiction, communicating with family and voicing spirituality, what he enjoys the most about writing is how the message can be completely different for every reader.

“Each person who reads it has a different view,” Aaron says.

“That’s one of the most beautiful things about it.”

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Craig Grimes, 38 “Untitled” Addiction needs a pacifier The feeling of this poison taking me higher I thought it felt right but that right was wrong Trying to figure out what it’s like moving on ‘Cause we’re living at the mercy of the pain and the fear Until we get it, forget it, let it all disappear So picking up the pieces, now, where to begin The hardest part of ending is starting again

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12 SUMMER/ FALL 2018

hen Craig Grimes was a restaurant manager, he would toss aside an application if the question “Have you ever been convicted of a felony?” was checked “yes.” He never thought that one day he’d be on the other side of the table.

Craig graduated from Ball State University with a love for cooking. He became a general manager at a Steak n’ Shake and eventually took over seven stores in central Indiana.

Later, as executive director of a retirement community, he cooked meals for residents three times a day.

But the party that started with marijuana when he was 17 never stopped for him. He moved from pot to alcohol, cocaine, ecstasy and then, in the last couple of years, methamphetamine, which he used to wean himself off pills.

He wasn’t just enjoying the high anymore. He needed it.

That’s when he realized he had a problem.

One day, Craig was driving to Bloomington from Kokomo to visit a friend when he got pulled over for speeding. He had six grams of methamphetamine and $1,500 cash. He says the money came from a house he helped flip. He was incarcerated for dealing methamphetamine, but he insists it was for personal use only.

Two months into his 23-month stay at the Monroe County

jail, Craig moved to the New Leaf – New Life dorm, where he began the weekly poetry class taught by Brown Cloud and, at the time, John-Michael Bloomquist.

The class was a crowd favorite. He and the 11 other men would lie awake in their bunk beds at 2 a.m., bouncing ideas off one another for the week’s writing prompt.

Unlike most men in the class, Craig had written poetry before being incarcerated and had even shared his work on poetry.com. When he started writing in class, he knew he needed to break away from the orderly rhythm he’d been taught.

When Bloomquist told him to write about a travel experience, he launched into his visit to the Biltmore Estate in Asheville, North Carolina. He wrote about walking into a grand library with three mahogany walls of books, 30-foot ceilings and a fireplace burning. His vivid retelling was published in Poems From the Jail Dorm along with two of his other works.

Craig is now a cook at the Runcible Spoon in Bloomington and is over two years sober. While he was a writer before jail, he says Brown Cloud and Bloomquist challenged his writing in a new way. He says a poem doesn’t always have to be a revelatory story, but it has to be honest.

“The rawness of it is what makes it beautiful.”

A teacher who uses reflection, not punishment New Leaf – New Life

Frank Brown Cloud stands outside the Southeast YMCA, where he writes comments on inmates’ poetry written in his weekly class.

I

n November 2016, Frank Brown Cloud was about six months into his time as a poetry teacher at the Monroe County Correctional Center when his mother-in-law was murdered in Albany, New York.

The man who killed her had previously spent 10 years in prison in two stints. Each time, he had gone to jail on charges of selling small amounts of drugs. Many of the men Brown Cloud works with today do time for similar crimes.

Following her death, Brown Cloud, now 35, continued his poetry class without hesitation. Her murder didn’t convince him that incarcerated people are malicious. It supported his belief that the incarceration system is failing.

“It seems very unlikely that he would have been hurt so much that he would do this to my mother-in-law if we hadn’t taken away his life and ruptured all of his social networks,” he says.

Brown Cloud believes the killer’s actions were influenced by the trauma of being released from jail after almost a decade without the skills or experience to fit back into society.

About 76 percent of U.S. prisoners are rearrested within five years of release, according to the National Institute of Justice. Brown Cloud doesn’t claim poetry is the solution to these relapses, but he believes that reading poetry can help inmates deal with the

emotional trauma with which many of them struggle.

A full-time writer and dad, Brown Cloud was volunteering with Pages to Prisoners, a group that sends books accompanied by personal letters to inmates, when he was approached by the current president of New Leaf – New Life, Lindsay Badger, to start teaching a poetry class in the jail.

It has been nearly two years since his mother-in-law’s murder, and he continues to teach in a way that focuses on reflection instead of punishment.

He provides inmates with intellectual stimulation, which he believes is a missing component in the incarceration system.

Even as New Leaf – New Life struggles for funding, Brown Cloud lays poems on folding tables in a dark room at the Monroe County Correctional Center every Friday at 4 p.m., hoping to bring a thought-provoking hour to these men’s lives.

He listens as they share their poetry and then rereads them at festivals and community events. A poem asks for five minutes, he says. By keeping the message short, he hopes to show the people who read or hear the poems that the poets are men who are human just like anyone else.

When asked why poetry is such a powerful art form for the inmates, his answer is simple. “They’re just words, and everybody talks.”

The not-for-profit New Leaf – New Life has operated in the Monroe County jail since 2006, running substance-abuse meetings and offering art classes.

From 2006 to 2017, men like Max Smith, Aaron Crafton and Craig Grimes had the opportunity to do their time in an addicts’ recovery dorm with 11 other men who hoped to find a better life.

The program was initially funded by a $171,000 grant from the Indiana Criminal Justice Institute. When that ran out, the program began receiving funds from the jail to provide GED classes. In 2015, another group took over those classes, and New Leaf – New Life now relies on local grants and donations.

The program has provided classes on song-writing, philosophy, meditation and poetry.

What started as an outlet to help inmates express their thoughts has led to public readings, a poetry display in the Monroe County Public Library and the publication of Poems From the Jail Dorm.

Due to programming changes last year, New Leaf – New Life’s operations are now limited to a few classes on Fridays. The recovery dorm has been removed.

But Tania Karnofsky, the former director and now a volunteer, still believes poetry and art classes can change lives for the better.

Some research bears that out. A 2014 study in California showed 62 percent of inmates involved in a 12-week art class got along better with fellow inmates.

Ninety percent said the classes gave them confidence to pursue other education programs.

Incarceration is a time when people are open and focused, Karnofsky says. “Reading and writing poetry is a wonderful way to explore and communicate feelings, discover common ground and develop self-awareness and an understanding of others.”

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Where the

BISON roamed

Follow in the wake of the bison herds that shaped our landscape.

By Gillian Fulford and Elaina Wilson

A bison at Kankakee Sands stays near its calf.

Baby bison are called “red dogs” because of their orange-red color at birth. /Photo by Gary Fua and courtesy of The Nature Conservancy

In the early 1800s, a young explorer named Eli Farnham and his wife, Jerusha, look over the landscape of Southern Indiana. They know they’re landlocked, but, somehow, they’re lost in a sea — a sea of massive, shaggy, brown creatures that stretches as far as they can see and flows steadily toward the great river the Iroquois call the O-y-o.

Jerusha writes in her journal that the furry giants cover the countryside so completely it’s dangerous for their cavalcade to break through. They know the Native Americans and settlers depend on the herd for food and hides. But, more important, they know the herd can go from a walk to a stampede in seconds. So they sit quietly until the beasts pass.

By the mid-1800s, this vast sea of bison was gone — all dried up. In 1830, the last free-ranging bison east of the Mississippi was shot in nearby French Lick.

But for hundreds of years, the nation’s largest mammal roamed freely across Southern Indiana. Each year, herds trekked from the open prairies of Illinois to the Big Bone and Blue salt licks in Kentucky, shaping our landscape and our history as well. The trail — or trace — they left behind helped early European settlers find their way through the wilderness to set up fur-trapping camps that would eventually become towns.

The free-ranging bison’s path from Vincennes to New Albany, known today as the Buffalo Trace, is still visible in several places. And Indiana’s Historic Pathways, a coalition of passionate and dedicated history buffs, are working to mark its history along modern roadways.

The group, along with county historians and tourism officials, is breathing new life into the trace, says Mary Ann Hayes, president of the Dubois County Museum and a Pathways member. “The trace became a National Scenic Byway in 2009,” Hayes says, “and the IHP is working to celebrate its historical, cultural and archaeological importance.”

Inspired by their work, we set out to retrace the steps of Indiana’s bison herds, both to explore the trace’s past and to find new attractions that make this historic road trip worthy of any sunny day.

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Illustration by Gillian Fulford

Vincennes: The trace begins

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Before our journey begins, we need to get one thing straight. Although we are trekking along the Buffalo Trace, the mammal that carved its way into Indiana’s history and landscape was actually the bison — and, yes, there is a difference. In fact, although we often use the two terms interchangeably, buffalo have never existed in the wild on this continent. Instead, they’re primarily found in Africa and Asia. In North America, we had bison.

For hundreds of years, herds of these bison crossed the Wabash River from the grasslands of Illinois into what is now the city of Vincennes. The shallower waters here made it easier for the small-footed mammal to cross, says Frank Doughman, superintendent of the George Rogers Clark National Historical Museum.

Native Americans and bison lived side-by-side in the Hoosier wilderness.

The Piankashaw, a local Miami tribe, relied on bison meat as a staple of their diet and frequently traveled along the trace, known to them as “Lan-an-zo-ki-mi-wi,” which means “bison road.”

But a change was coming. In 1732, Jean Baptiste Bissot, his family and 10 other men settled in the area to trap beavers for fur and founded the first European settlement in the region. “The crossroads of the Wabash and the Buffalo Trace was what initially drew settlers to Vincennes,” Doughman says.

Those who followed used the trace,

already worn into the landscape by bison and local tribes, to move westward. Their encounters with the Native Americans weren’t always friendly. “When white settlers traveling along the Buffalo Trace encountered the Piankashaw, they shot first,” Hayes says.

The settlers also killed bison for food and byproducts like horns and hides.

Hayes speculates that the growing number of settlers, plus a particularly harsh winter in the late 1700s, may have caused the bison to stop migrating along their usual trek. By the time Vincennes became the capital of the newly established Indiana Territory in 1800, the bison were mostly gone.

By then, the region was home to nearly 4,000 settlers, and the trace bustled with a different kind of activity.

Territory Governor William Henry Harrison asked the federal government for land grants “to establish small stations . . . for the accommodation of travelers,” according to Wilson’s history. The Buffalo Trace became a mail and stagecoach route between Vincennes and New Albany, since the surrounding woodlands were still so dense that they were almost impenetrable, he wrote.

Today, portions of U.S. Route 150 and Indiana State Road 56 follow the bison’s original route. While you’re in Vincennes, visit the 1804 home of Gov. Harrison, who became the ninth U.S. president. The first brick house in the

state, Grouseland is now a museum.

Other historic sites include the state’s oldest library and first school of higher learning, Jefferson Academy. The George Rogers Clark National Historical Park commemorates the accomplishments of the Revolutionary War hero with murals, a memorial and exhibits.

If you’re looking for a bite to eat, check out Cafe Moonlight, located at 512 Main St. in Vincennes. This modern eatery features nightly specials like smokedpaprika-and-almond-crusted baked tilapia with crème brûlée for dessert.

It’s the perfect place to dream about the moonlight on the Wabash as you prepare for the next leg of your journey.

Bison vs. buffalo We use the names interchangeably, but what’s the difference? Early settlers saw similarities with the buffaloes of Africa and Asia and mistakenly called the bison a buffalo. However, bison have humps, short necks, huge heads and shaggy fur, while buffalo have long horns, smooth fur and cattle-like faces. And buffalo never lived in North America.

What’s in the box? displays the story of our bison, fleeing before a settler felling a tree. The bison’s back feet are in the air as he jumps over a log away from the woodsman.

• The Buffalo Trace Song: An original song by Charles Moman tells the tale of settlers on the trace so children can learn Indiana history through song.

Buffalo Trace Boxes are a key part of the Hoosier fourth-grade public school experience along the trace. The boxes are also in libraries and museums along the trail so homeschooled students can get their hands on Indiana history as well. Here’s what you’ll find in the boxes: • Hands-on bison experience: Bison fur, horn caps and pieces of dung give students the chance to experience bison without the danger that comes with being up close with the temperamental and territorial animals.

• Trace artifacts: Students relive the trace experience with artifacts that include rare buffalo nickels (nickels minted in the United States in attempts to add more attractive art to currency), a surveyor’s compass and chain and parts of muzzleloaders.

• The Indiana state seal: The earliest version of the Indiana state seal, dating back to 1801,

“Our town is too big.

I’m feeling closed in.

We need to go West and start all over again Farewell old friends, We need to stake our claim The Buffalo Trace is calling my name.”

Dubois County: A pioneer crossroads As the bison moved southeastward from Vincennes, they often stopped in what is now Dubois County. Here the animals wallowed in the mud and found water and sugarcane at the longgone Buffalo Pond, about two miles north of Jasper. Male bison dug their horns down into the marshy earth until they created holes to sit in and escape the flies, Hayes says, leading to the trail’s nickname, Mud Hole Trace.

The families of brothers William and John McDonald became the first European settlers when they built their cabin in 1801, creating the first permanent settlement in Dubois County.

They plowed fields where the trace crossed the Red Banks Trail, an Indian footpath. The McDonalds were firstand second-generation Scotch, English and German pioneers, Hayes says. The McDonalds’ cabin became a stop for weary travelers along the trail, offering food, drink and a place to sleep after a long day traversing the Hoosier wilderness.

Traveling on the Buffalo Trace wasn’t easy for the early pioneers.

Although the wide trail was easy to pass over, pounded flat by years of bison hooves, Native American raids made travelers wary. Starting in 1812, military rangers patrolled the trail, and their camps sprouted along the trace — one in Dubois County near the mud holes and another in Washington

County, where the path crossed the Big Blue River, Hayes says.

Despite the dangers, the trace brought even more settlers to the region. Among them were Thomas and Nancy Lincoln, who moved with their children Abraham and Sarah just seven miles south of Dubois County in 1816, the year Indiana became a state.

Abraham, of course, would become the 16th president of the United States.

The Lincolns’ log cabin still sits there today.

More than a century later in 1936, school superintendent, civil engineer and surveyor George R. Wilson determined the route of the historic Buffalo Trace across Southern Indiana and wrote several prominent books about the history and topography of the region. He began surveying as early as 1896 and continued to do so until his death, working to ensure the children along the trace knew about their heritage.

Over the years, the Indiana’s Historic Pathways group, and others working to protect the trace’s legacy, have used Wilson’s detailed research to learn about the history of Southern Indiana and the importance of the trace in modern destinations along its path, Hayes says.

Today, many road trip-worthy activities in Dubois County center around the Buffalo Trace. For starters,

the Dubois County Museum showcases Jasper’s history and German heritage.

The old factory-turned-museum also features a 6-foot-tall, stuffed bison named Trace, who regularly appeared on a parade float for the annual Strassenfest in Jasper. “You would know the stuffed buffalo was coming because schoolchildren would run down the street yelling, ‘Trace! Trace!’” Hayes says. Sadly, the tradition ended one rainy year for fear of the drizzle ruining Trace’s coat.

Just seven miles of town on gravelly County Road 600, you’ll notice a granite monument in Sherritt Cemetery, where the original McDonald cabin stood. William McDonald is buried here, along with many of the county’s original families.

“Local people take care of the graveyard,” Hayes says. “People here really care about heritage. We stay in touch with the roots here.”

Dubois County’s German heritage still runs deep today. The Schnitzelbank Restaurant, located at 393 3rd Ave. in Jasper, is a popular stop for visitors and locals alike. It has a variety of German favorites, from bratwurst and knackwurst to the iconic Hoosier staple the breaded tenderloin, which food historians believe originated here.

Next stop: A watering hole for herds of bison and crowds of a very different nature.

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The West Baden Springs Hotel features an atrium, the resort’s focal point, that spans more than 200 feet. /Photo courtesy of Visit French Lick West Baden

French Lick and West Baden: Seeking salt Patty Drabing, director of the French Lick West Baden Museum, believes the springs near the towns were a common drinking and resting place for bison on their journey to the Ohio. The bison would lick minerals left behind by the evaporating spring water, which bubbled up through the limestone in the valley.

Years later, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt would bathe in those famed waters, which were rumored to cure diseases from rheumatism to alcoholism.

When Wilson surveyed Southern Indiana in 1935, he described the plant life along the marshy patches of grass and wildflowers that would someday become Patoka Lake. Here, wildlife thrived. Bison were plentiful during the migrations. At least until the settlers arrived.

Decades later, wealthy people found a place to drink, gamble and rest in French Lick and West Baden. The West Baden

Springs Hotel drew visitors from around the world to see the hotel’s magnificent dome, the largest in the world at the time of its construction in 1902, and bathe or drink water from the hotel’s mineral springs. The resort, along with the French Lick Springs Hotel, both became hotbeds for illegal gambling up until the ‘40s, when a raid on illegal gambling shut down casinos on the weekend of the 1949 Kentucky Derby. Gamblers returned from the Derby by train high and dry.

Today, you can still stay at either the West Baden Springs Hotel or the French Lick Springs Hotel, both of which are restored to their early-1900s grandeur. The historic hotels offer luxury rooms, fine and casual dining, sprawling gardens, golf courses and spas.

The new French Lick Casino, featuring a 51,000-square-foot gaming facility, was officially opened in 2006 as a part

Parts of a bison

3 2

of the multimillion dollar renovation of both resorts.

The natural area surrounding the resorts also offers plenty of adventure.

Nearby Patoka Lake is a popular spot for paddleboarding and swimming. Trails through the rolling hills beckon novice hikers and weathered wanderers. The Buffalo Trace Trail branches off from the French Lick Hotel into dense forest, allowing visitors to experience the remnants of the bison-made path by foot and on horseback, says Kristal Painter, a member of the Indiana’s Historic Pathways board of directors and finance manager at the local visitors center.

Before heading out of town to the final stop along the trace, catch a ride on the French Lick Scenic Railway, which takes passengers on a 25-mile ride through the rolling hills of the Hoosier National Forest.

4

1. Mouth: Bison eat grasses, encouraging new growth, but don’t eat wildflowers.

2. Horns: Bison use their horns to dig into the earth and make mud holes where they can cool off.

18

1

3. Hump: The muscles in the bison’s hump help it use its head to clear snow in the winter.

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Illustration by Gillian Fulford

4. Back: Bison wallow in the mud to lose thick fur, ward off flies and keep cool in hotter months.

5. Hooves: Bison carved a path into the wilderness that reached 20 feet wide at points.

Falls of the Ohio: The end of a journey For centuries, migrating bison would cross the Falls of the Ohio near present-day Clarksville and venture into Kentucky for the winter season, then cross back when the weather warmed in the spring.

The Big Bone and Blue licks, which are full of minerals like iodine that bison need for bone and muscle growth, attracted the herds. Dense acres of sugarcane and woodlands also provided bison with necessary food and shelter to survive the winters.

As in Vincennes, the water is shallower here. The ridges and watersheds near the Falls of the Ohio make it a good place for the bison to cross, Hayes says.

Alan Goldstein, an interpretive naturalist at the Falls of the Ohio State Park,

says the lack of trees helped, too. “Herds of bison by the hundreds could cross easily here because it well established by bison that came before them, and the land wasn’t of high elevation, either.”

Ironically, just as the bison were disappearing, Meriwether Lewis and William Clark began their westward expedition, commissioned by President Thomas Jefferson. In 1803, the two explorers left Clark’s cabin near the Falls of the Ohio in present-day Clarksville on their way to St. Louis.

Today, the 200 acres of 390-millionyear-old fossil beds at the Falls of the Ohio State Park are among the largest, naturally exposed, Devonian fossil beds in the world.

The gates of the dam are partially

closed during the summer months, which causes the water level fall, so you can expect the fossil flats to be exposed at the last stop on the Buffalo Trace.

Temperatures can get quite hot out on the flats, Goldstein says, so remember to bring sunscreen and plenty of drinking water.

Be sure to also stop in the nearby Interpretive Center, which features a full-size mammoth skeleton and a replica of Clark’s cabin. Just a mile and a half up the road, Portage House, a charming restaurant serving locally sourced New American fare, overlooks the Ohio River.

After all, a dinner with a view is the perfect way to mark the end of an adventure along the Buffalo Trace.

A new beginning Indiana’s early history was forged by and around the bison. They swept over our hills and valleys, carving trails like rivers through the wooded wilderness.

Now, Southern Indiana’s bison are gone, but the woolly beasts have made it back to the northern part of

the state. In 2016, the Nature Conservancy reintroduced a herd of 23 to the Kankakee Sands Nature Preserve, just west of Rensselaer, where they are helping restore the prairies, eating saplings, wallowing to make mud pits for amphibians and cutting open the dirt for wildflowers to grow where their

hooves have trod.

Tony Capizzo, land steward at Kankakee Sands, says the herd welcomed 11 calves last year. “We are expecting about 15 to 20 more calves this spring, too,” Capizzo says. Bison, it seems, aren’t finished leaving their mark on Hoosier history after all.

19 Today, bison graze at the Nature Conservancy at Kankakee Sands, located in the northwest Indiana. /Photo by Jason Whalen/Big Foot Media and courtesy of the Nature Conservancy

SUMMER/ FALL 2018

PICKLED! An unlikely sport is courting the 812.

By Kaleigh Howland and Maia Rabenold Ka-TINK, ka-TINK, ka-TINK. Soft pops spill into the otherwise silent hallway. Then a sharp crack echoes off the concrete walls. Pushing open the heavy gym doors, we discover the source of the sounds — 10 players deep in games of pickleball before the sun comes up on a Saturday.

Yellow wiffle balls collide with neon paddles and bounce off the polished basketball court, punctuated with whoops of success and grunts of disappointment. We catch a glimpse of black sky through the single window in the Brown County YMCA gym. Outside, a lone bird sings in the parking lot to signal the dawn. But for these devoted players, the day has already begun.

Georgi Burker is about to coast the ball over the net at the Brown County YMCA. This net is officially for pickleball, but a tennis net works just fine. /Photo by Kaleigh Howland

Above: Georgi Burker backhands to Kelli Bruner. They’re the only two playing this morning, giving them time to practice their moves.

Opposite page: Georgi breaks down a pickleball serve. /Photos by Kaleigh Howland

Still a little bleary, we climb the stairs to watch the three courts from an overlook. Players make hurried introductions with each other as they rotate among the courts, but even brand new partners tap paddles after each point.

One player, taller than anyone else on the court, hits a ball too close to his partner, and the shot whizzes past her glasses, but she laughs even before she finishes jumping out of the way.

Just as we steel ourselves to head down to the court, a middle-aged woman with short brown hair and a blue tank top calls up to us. “Hey, do you want to play?”

Two other women who had been sitting out offer to teach us newbies the basics of the game, handing over their own paddles and picking up battered wooden backups for themselves. We voice some doubts about our pickleballplaying attire. The younger of the pair, Georgi Burker, reassures us: “You’ve got sneakers and stretchy pants. That’s all you need.”

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Pickleball is a hybrid game that draws aspects from badminton, tennis and pingpong. It’s one of the fastest growing sports in America with over 2.8 million players worldwide, according to the USA Pickleball Association website. While about half of players are

50 or older, more and more people of all ages are discovering pickleball as a fun way to get active and get involved in a community. With more than 50 USAPA -confirmed places to play pickleball in Indiana alone, you can probably pick up a paddle in your hometown.

Before we continue our story, we should be honest with you — we’re not sporty. In fact, Kaleigh has never played an organized sport in her life, and Maia hasn’t played a sport in years.

That’s probably why we showed up to the Brown County YMCA that morning

wearing jeggings, fashion sneakers and and full makeup. Our new instructors, Chris Stoll and Georgi, walk us over to the empty court before we have a chance to say no.

Chris and Georgi are more than just pickleball partners, they’re also cousins. Chris picked up pickleball three years ago and brought Georgi to her first session at the YMCA last year. Early-morning games have since become part of both their daily routines. Georgi drives from her home in Spearsville to the 5:30 a.m. YMCA pickleball session

The rules of the game Basics: Play the game as doubles or singles.

Serve: Hit the ball underhand to the person diagonal to you on the court. You must keep at least one foot behind the baseline during the serve.

Return: Let the ball bounce before you return the serve, and let that return bounce as well before hitting it. After that, you can hit the ball in the air.

Sequence: The first player serves until he or she loses the point.

Then, the serve goes to the opposing side. After that, you serve until you fault, and then your partner serves until he or she faults.

Then, the serve switches to the other side.

Score: Before each serve, call out your score, then your opponents’ score, then your serving order (one or two) in that round.

You can only score if your team is serving.

Which paddle is right for you?

Paddles range in price from less than $15 to over $100. You can find them at sporting goods stores or order them online. Experts offer these tips on weight:

“ The endorphins are

Light: If you like to have as much control over your shots as possible, you tend to stay close to the net and you don’t mind sacrificing some power for more speed.

going. It just makes everybody happy.

Medium: If you’re a beginner and want the best of both worlds or aren’t sure what you want.

Georgi Burker

”

Heavy: If you’re a power player who spends most of the time at the baseline and wants to slam the ball as hard as possible.

almost every weekday, then continues on to work in Columbus afterward.

“After a couple hours of this, you’re ready to go. The endorphins are going,” she says. That energy spills over into the workplace, she adds. “It just makes everybody happy.”

Since our 7 a.m. visit is positively late compared to Chris and Georgi’s usual schedule, they throw quick instructions at us as we walk onto the court. Underhand serves only. Let the ball bounce on the return. Don’t step into the “kitchen.” We nod, faking understanding, but we hope that just starting to play will help it all make sense.

Maia’s up first, and it’s a swing and a miss, quickly followed by encouragement from Chris and Georgi to try again. This time, the ball floats toward the correct half of the court, catty-corner from Maia, but doesn’t make it far enough and lands in the other kitchen.

The kitchen is an area defined by lines 7 feet on either side of the net.

It’s the no man’s land of the game. You can’t step inside the kitchen unless the

ball hits the ground there first. This means you can’t crowd the net, and neither can your opponent. The most advanced players push the game right to the edge of the kitchen, because they know that the hardest balls to return are those that just barely coast over the net.

But that comes later, with more practice. Right now, Kaleigh’s biggest challenge is filling the apparently invisible hole in the middle of her paddle.

As she continues to miss every shot, Georgi reassures her, saying it took her months to be consistently accurate with her paddle. In our second game, Kaleigh and Georgi are pickled, meaning they lost without scoring a single point.

You might be wondering where the “pickle” part of the game’s name originated. According to the USAPA, it’s not about those briny, sour slices that come with your burger, it’s about a dog. In the summer of 1965, three dads in Bainbridge, Washington, were struggling to entertain their kids. Their only materials at hand were pingpong paddles, a badminton net and a wiffle ball. Draw-

ing on the rules of badminton, the three created a game that was not only fun for the whole family, but easy to pick up.

Even the family cocker spaniel Pickles wanted to play, always running off with the ball. So pickleball seemed an apt name for their new game.

In 1972, an association was formed to regulate the adolescent sport, which saw its first competition in Washington in 1976. Drew Wathey, the director of media relations for the USAPA, describes the meteoric rise of pickleball across the country. More than 2.8 million pickleballers now play in the United States alone, and Drew says he expects to see that number keep growing because it’s a social sport you can play for your whole life. Though the demographic is older right now, as pickleball becomes part of gym classes across the nation, he expects more young people to catch on.

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In fact, if it hadn’t been for gym class, Sharon Guingrich might not have

SUMMER/ FALL 2018

Why you should give it a try You want to fill time. Maybe you’re newly retired or an empty-nester or you’re just looking for a new hobby.

Pickleball gets you out of the house and offline.

You want to find a community. Anyone can play, and the experienced players are happy to teach you what you need to know.

You might even find yourself going for coffee after a game.

You want to get more active. With flexible times and places to play and no need for expensive equipment or a gym membership, pickleball is a fun alternative to more traditional exercise.

Kelli Bruner holds her paddle at the ready. Players can choose a wooden, plastic or composite paddle depending on which fits their game-play style. /Photo by Kaleigh Howland

24 SUMMER/ FALL 2018

tried her hand at the game at all. Sharon is now a certified pickleball instructor, proudly displaying her silver pickleball paddle necklace at all times. When her son was in junior high and studying for a test over pickleball rules, the game confused her. “I asked him, ‘Did your coaches make that game up to keep you guys occupied?’” Sharon says. “And he said, ‘No, Mom, it’s a real game.’”

She might have laughed it off then, but now Sharon plays wherever she can, in Carmel, Indianapolis, Plainfield or at home in Bloomington, where we met her at a multipurpose recreational space called the Warehouse.

The Warehouse has become the unofficial hub for the best players in the Monroe County area. Once you get through the seemingly endless swarms of kids jumping on trampolines, whizzing through the skate park or playing field hockey, you’ll find a crew of dedicated pickleball players tucked in the back. They push the game out of its humble backyard beginnings and into competitions or just friendly doubles matches on a Monday evening.

Sharon knows everything about everyone’s game. As she tells us about her recent certification as a pickleball instructor, she gets distracted by what’s

happening in the game in front of us.

She winces as one player keeps hitting the ball right to an opponent instead of hitting where the court is open. She clenches her fists when the ball just barely coasts over the net.

“Looking at the court right now, if you put Dann and Nick on the same team, they would just clean the clock of the other two,” she says.

“Did I mention everything she says is false?” Dann Denny jokes, running up to us as he hears his name.

Sharon explains to us that pickleball players’ skill levels are ranked based on USAPA guidelines, and the Warehouse players all weigh in at about 4.0 on the 5-point scale. Players self-assess the moves they have mastered, the accuracy of their shots and the consistency of their game to find their ranking.

According to the USAPA ranking guidelines, while a 3.0 player is just beginning to use trick shots and doesn’t quite know when to use them, a 4.0 player can strategically use different shots to change the pace of the game.

Nick Scarpino, a 4.0, is the youngest of the bunch at 27, and he’s by far the fastest, Sharon tells us.

Nick started playing only about a year ago, but attributes his rapid success

to years of playing tennis as well as his age. Gary Knutson, who organizes the Warehouse group and plays there himself, says finesse is more important than youth and brute strength, although the younger you are, the faster you can be.

Playing pickleball borders the limit of human reaction time, Gary says, and most of the time you really don’t even know how you’re hitting the ball. “It doesn’t get to your forebrain to say, OK, this is what’s happening,” he says. “It’s just like putting your finger on a hot stove.”

You might not feel as if your instincts are on your side at first, even if you’ve played years of tennis. You might swing as if the paddle is longer than it actually is or think the ball should spring higher. Or, if you’re like us, you might feel your instincts are always lagging a few seconds behind. But it all comes together with more practice.

The welcoming atmosphere of every court we stepped onto made us feel comfortable enough to laugh at our mistakes, and our mentors encouraged us to come back anytime. We might stick to writing for now, but if we ever hear that familiar ka-TINK ka-TINK rhythm, we’ll dust off our paddles and put on our stretchy pants.

PICKLEBALL PROFILE DANN DENNY, 66, RETIRED JOURNALIST RATING: 3.5 Journey to pickleball: Dann heard the infamous “plinkyplinky ” while he was playing tennis at The Villages, a retiree resort in Florida with an emphasis on keeping residents active. After winning the Bloomington city tennis tournament eight times, he easily made the transition to pickleball.

Special moves: A hard forehand and a lob, where he aims to hit the ball as high over his opponent’s head as if there were another person standing on his or her shoulders.

Favorite thing about playing: “At my age, it’s just the fun. We make friends; we go out to dinner.”

Our take: Unlike most advanced players, Dann never drills or practices his moves, preferring to spend all his time playing the game. He doesn’t play in tournaments because he prefers to spend weekends square dancing with his wife, but once she retires, he might become more competitive.

PICKLEBALL PROFILE NICK SCARPINO, 27, PHARMACIST RATING: 4.0 Journey to pickleball: About a year ago, Nick was between jobs when he heard about pickleball at a recreation center in Westfield, where he was living.

He immediately took to the game because of its similarity to tennis, which he played competitively in high school and recreationally in college. He now plays locally and in tournaments around the state.

Special move: An unusual two-handed backhand. Almost everyone does a one-handed backhand in pickleball, so Nick’s leftover skills from tennis throw off his opponents.

Favorite thing about playing: “I can hit shots in pickleball that I can only dream about in tennis.”

Our take: The youngest in the group at the Warehouse, Nick’s speed and agility set him apart. His intensity isn’t diminished by the fact that he usually plays right before his night shift at the hospital.

PICKLEBALL PROFILE SHARON GUINGRICH, 47, B&B OWNER RATING: 4.0, BUT SOME DAYS SHE PLAYS LIKE A 4.5 Journey to pickleball: Sharon was inspired to start playing when she heard about classes at the Brown County YMCA. Now she is an International Pickleball Teaching Professional Association-certified instructor and plays in tournaments around the area. She medaled in two sanctioned tournaments this year.

Special move: Her backhand slice shoots the ball at an angle that’s challenging to return because the backspin makes the ball land dead on the ground.

Favorite thing about playing: “I’m not a fantastic player, but I really love the strategy.”

Our take: She can see the game in her head, as though from a bird’s-eye view.

She has no trouble applying this to actual game play, both to hers and her competitors’.

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BLOOMINGTON TURNS

200

The visionary people, pivotal moments and steadfast spirit that shaped our history.

By Sophie Bird, Christine Fernando, Mariah Lee and Shelby Stivale

E

ach Memorial Day when Allen Dunn was young, his family would load fresh-cut peonies into their Buick and head to Rose Hill Cemetery. It was time to be with the Sewards. Now 64, he remembers placing the flowers beside the headstones, his family’s legacy a blanket of pride around his shoulders.

Allen is a descendent of Austin Seward, who settled in Bloomington just three years after its founding and forged the fish weathervane atop the courthouse.

In celebration of Bloomington’s bicentennial, four 812 reporters learned about Seward and the city’s rich history from people who know it best. With help from Indiana University history professor James Madison, librarian Christine Friesel, local historians Hillary Fleck

and Susan Dyar and many others, we identified pivotal moments, important firsts and legendary locals. We met a black World War II pilot who earned his wings, a local entrepreneur who turned a spare-bedroom business into a billion-dollar company, and a spirited politician who broke barriers for women and brought people together.

And we followed the Seward family, who, like so many other Bloomington families, have taken work and community service to heart.

The resulting stories paint a picture of a community intent on bettering itself and the world. Join us on a 200-year journey through Bloomington’s tribulations and triumphs as the city celebrates the start of its third century. -SB

Austin Seward’s fish weathervane still watches over Bloomington from the top of the courthouse. /Photo

by James Brosher

1818 - 1899

When Bloomington was founded in 1818, the region was the frontier of an expanding nation. Artisans, missionaries and young families trickled in from the east, and the city grew. Two hundred years later, their values are still stitched into the fabric of Bloomington life.

YEARS OF ESTABLISHMENT PIVOTAL MOMENT

The 19th Century Club is founded Comprising well-to-do women reformers, the 19th Century Club was created in October 1896 as a book and educational group for women. Members met every two weeks and took turns presenting lessons and discussing topics such as the Civil War and American literature.

Christine Friesel at the Monroe County Public Library says they started by reading mostly prayer books and biographies of men but wanted to do more and had the leisure time and resources to do so. “These women became tired of just reading and being cultured,” she says.

The club joined with the Local Council of Women, a group that advocated for community health, and helped open Bloomington Hospital by securing a 10-room, brick house as the hospital. Eventually, the club donated much of its earnings and literature to open the Monroe County Library as well.

IN

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Women of STYLE this era often wore dresses with bustles underneath the skirt to add volume and create an umbrella shape. Toward the end of the 1800s, women opted for slimmer profiles that hugged their legs.

Casual dresses were linen or wool, while more formal ones were silk.

Since silk was imported, it was usually reserved for the wealthy.

-CF

women became “ These tired of just reading and being cultured. ” Christine Friesel

Despite the historical significance of these women, no photos of their work exist. “They weren’t prominent, so it wasn’t important for them to have photographs,” Friesel says, “but that’s another story to tell.”

Today, the 19th Century Club quietly but still actively participates in philanthropy, donating thousands of dollars to various organizations and awarding scholarship money to students graduating from county high schools who plan to attend IU. -SS

LOCAL LEGEND

James Showers Founder of Showers Brothers Furniture James Showers was the son of a Methodist circuit-rider who opened a cabinet-making shop in Bloomington in the late 1850s. When James was 28, he and his younger brother William paid $300 for their father’s business, which would become the growing city’s largest employer.

They, along with younger brother Hull, expanded Showers Brothers Furniture operations and invented Courtesy of Nancy Teter Smith the process known as laminating. By 1910, the factory on Morton Street was one of the leading furniture-makers in the country.

James left the company in 1904 but continued to serve the community on the city council and the school board. He and his brothers helped bring electricity, running water and paved roads to the city.

In her history of the company, author Carrol Krause wrote, “The entire infrastructure of the modern city was either set in place or modified and improved, by the Showers family.”

James died April 5, 1939, in Bloomington. -ML

THEN & NOW

FIRST FAMILY AUSTIN SEWARD 1799-1872 Beginning in 1818, three things happened to forever alter Bloomington’s history. First, the township was established.

Two years later, Pres. James Madison designated Bloomington as the site for the state seminary, a religious institution at what is now Seminary Square.

Then, Austin Seward came to town.

A native of Virginia, he came to Indiana with his wife, Jane, and their two children. He’d been to the area once before, to visit some of Jane’s relatives, and found the fledgling town lacked something he could provide: blacksmithing.

Crippled by a horse-riding accident, Austin was unable to farm. But with his legendary blacksmithing skills, there was little he couldn’t make. Austin built two log buildings on the corner of presentday Seventh and Walnut streets. He lived in the first with his family. The second was a shop he named Seward & Co. He crafted farming tools like scythes, augers and knives, but specialized in axes and rifles. “He was an edgemaker,” descendant Allen Dunn says. “He could take steel and attach it to iron and make an axe — and a successful axe. People came for miles to buy from him.”

Andrew Wylie, president of the seminary, reportedly said, “This community can better spare any man in it, the college, every professor, than it can spare Mr. Seward.”

In 1825, Austin expanded into a larger shop across the street. He added a second story. Then a foundry. Then steam power.

As Austin’s blacksmith shop grew, so did his family. He and Jane would have 11 children, eight of whom would live to adulthood.

When the Civil War began in 1861, Seward & Co. was still making guns — this time for battle. The Union Army commissioned cannons, bombshells and ammunition from the company.

Weapons, however, were not Austin Seward’s most enduring creation. Long before the outbreak of war, Austin was asked to create what would become his most famous work – the carp-shaped weathervane that still sits atop the Monroe County Courthouse nearly 180 years later. -SB

Kirkwood Avenue Christian Church (late 1800s) The Kirkwood Avenue Christian Church was nicknamed “The Red Brick Church” and sat at the northeast corner of Washington Street and Kirkwood Avenue.

The original church burned on New Year’s Eve 1917.

Legend says the minister would hop out a window and run to the other side of the church to shake hands as worshippers left.

First Christian Church (2018) The new First Christian Church was dedicated on September 28, 1919.

In 1947, the church replaced its wooden pulpit with a limestone one carved from a 3,000-pound block from a nearby quarry.

The choir once sang from today’s baptistery, communion table and lecturn before settling in the balcony, where they remain today.

Then photo courtesy of Monroe County History Center Collections. Now photo by Christine Fernando

BLOOMINGTON FIRST In 1893, Preston Eagleson became the first black athlete to play on an IU sports team. The football halfback later became the first African American to earn an advanced IU degree.

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1900 - 1929

Despite the devastating impact of the Spanish Flu and World War I, Bloomington continued to draw people and companies. The Showers Brothers Furniture Company, Seward & Co. and the limestone industry fueled the growing local economy.

EMERGENCE OF A CITY PIVOTAL MOMENT

The Spanish Flu shuts down the city The most virulent flu in history was spread by seemingly healthy soldiers, who brought the deadly virus back to friends and families at the end of World War I. In late 1918, Monroe County schools and churches closed, and the university issued a “flu ban,” suspending classes until further notice. County Clerk Joseph M. Campbell pleaded with those who were healthy to help those who were ill.

The present-day Student Building became a hospital for stricken soldiers. Corp. William R. Ringer described his symptoms in a journal entry at the IU Archives: “Four of us stumbled down to the infirmary, where there was the sickest looking bunch of fellows I ever saw. . . I was put on a cot on the lower floor after some delay, and there I settled down for 6 days’ sickness.”

Students who couldn’t go home were instructed to avoid public spaces. The Dean of Women instated a “no date” rule to

IN

This woman’s beige linen duster dates between 1900 and 1910.

The loose, straight overcoat protected clothing while women rode in early open automobiles. Underneath the overcoats, the frills of the past were replaced with cleaner, simpler lines. One popular style was the hobble skirt, which had a straight-cut silhouette and was narrow at the hem. -CF

STYLE

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Soldiers march on campus on Armistice Day in 1918. /Photo courtesy of IU Archives, P0027532

keep young women from contracting the illness.

Life began to return to normal in November 1919. Altogether, the flu killed nearly 50 million people worldwide, more than the wars of the 19th and 20th centuries combined. -SS

LOCAL LEGEND

Elizabeth Bridgwaters Community leader Born in Bloomington, she was the daughter of Preston Eagleson, the first African American to play a varsity sport and earn a masters degree at IU. She earned a degree of her own in psychology in 1930.

She married Albert Bridgwaters and had nine children. When he became ill, the only job she could find — despite her education — was as a salad cook at the IU residence halls, Courtesy of the IDS where she later worked her way up to supervisor.

Bridgwaters became the first black elected official in the county when she joined the school board in 1969. She served on the board eight years, including a term as president. She also served on the boards of local groups serving disadvantaged families, including the Community Action Program, United Way and NAACP. She started the Aurora Alternative High School for children who weren’t successful in traditional schools. “You can spend your time running around hating folks if you want to,” she once said, “but your life is gone and what have you accomplished?” She died of cancer in 1999.

“She made a difference in the way white people think and act about black issues,” says historian James Madison. -ML

THEN & NOW

FIRST FAMILY FRED ALLEN SEWARD 1886-1967 By the age of 23, the great-grandson of Austin Seward had been a track star at Bloomington High School and IU and worked as a copper miner in Arizona.

Even the knee injury he’d sustained pole vaulting wasn’t holding him back.

That same year, the loss of his father brought him back to Bloomington, where he took over Seward & Co. Although running the company hadn’t been in Fred’s immediate plans, it thrived under his stewardship.

One day, when a girl caught Fred’s eye during choir practice at Kirkwood Avenue Christian Church, he thought he’d been called back to Bloomington for another reason. Dorothy Hopper was popular in her own right and had been president of her high school class.

The couple married in a daisy-laden ceremony in June 1914 and went camping at Cataract Falls in Owen County for their honeymoon.

Just five years into their marriage, the Spanish Flu swept through Indiana, killing more than 11,000 people the first year. Fred fell ill in March 1919. Family members stepped in to run the company while he recovered, and an article in The Bloomington Daily Telephone announced gratefully that he was “now able to move about his room.”

Fred wasted no time in getting back to his work and family, which now included daughters Doris and Janet. Dorothy was president of the Margaret McCalla School PTA, and Fred, perhaps reliving his glory days, was a judge at Doris’ track meets.

Fred was also outspoken about his political views — particularly his disdain for the Klu Klux Klan. He sometimes attended the Klan’s rallies in downtown Bloomington, making sure community members saw him standing in disapproval on the side of the street.

“One way you take a stand is you demonstrate who you’re with,” Allen says. “He wanted people to know he wasn’t in a sheet.”

When he died on Christmas Day in 1967, Fred had watched over Seward & Co. for more than 50 years. Dorothy passed away seven years later. Both are buried in Rose Hill Cemetery. -SB

IU library (1908) IU’s library in this 1908 black-and-white postcard is now Franklin Hall.

The west wing included a grand reading room with a bay window facing Dunn Woods.

Two arsons in 1969 destroyed more than 100,000 books and caused $1.6 million in damages to property and collections.

Franklin Hall (2018) Today, the Sample Gates stand by Franklin Hall.

The building is now the home of the Media School, and a 12-by-24foot TV screen greets visitors as they enter.

A John Milton quote is carved in limestone above the main entry: “A good book is the precious lifeblood of the master spirit.”

Then photo courtesy of Monroe County History Center Collections. Now photo by Christine Fernando

BLOOMINGTON FIRST In 1911, Horace Kearney took off from Dunn Meadow in the county’s first airplane flight. His plane caught on a barbedwire fence and crashed. He later tried to fly from Los Angeles to San Francisco but died when he crashed into the ocean.

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It happened

HERE

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Bloomington is bursting with surprises. The city has managed to blend a progressive urban attitude with Southern Indiana’s comfortable charm.

True to form, here are four of Bloomington’s historical gems that will leave you saying, “I can’t believe it happened here.”

Daniel Stout built the first Indiana limestone house on Maple Grove Road in 1828. The two-story house, now on the National Register of Historic Places, is still standing.

In 1858, Bloomingtonians were complaining about high taxes and poor road conditions. Not much has changed. Today, however, we aren’t voting to disband the city government, as Bloomington’s citizens did that January. For the next 20 years, Bloomington had no mayor and was run by a board of trustees.

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In 1940, IU obtained a cyclotron, a device that accelerates charged atomic and subatomic particles.

The city became a research site for The Manhattan Project, responsible for creating nuclear weapons.

When the broadcasting station WTTV opened in Bloomington in 1949, it was only the second station in the state. And Bloomington was the smallest community in the nation to have one. Today, WTTV operates out of Indianapolis.

YOU’RE BASICALLY A BLOOMINGTONIAN IF: Over the last 200 years, Bloomington has established itself as a place of diversity and inclusivity. Whether you’re Bloomington born-and-bred, a recent transplant or just passing through, the city will welcome you. You can claim you’re a Bloomingtonian if . . .

You’ve been to the Lotus Festival.

With more than 150 vendors, the Bloomington Community Farmers’ Market is a meeting place during the spring, summer and fall. Buskers play music, customers bring their furry friends and children play in the fountain outside City Hall.

You’ve attended the lighting ceremony at the courthouse square

Each September, the Lotus World Music & Arts Festival draws some 12,000 people downtown Bloomington for four days of music, dance and revelry. The festival has hosted more than 500 musicians from more than 120 countries.

You’ve gone to an IU men’s basketball game.

The Hoosiers are 10th in NCAA Tournament victories, have an impressive 60 percent winning percentage in Big Ten games and were listed by a 2017 study as the third most valuable collegiate basketball team in the United States. Iconic.

Each year on the Friday after Thanksgiving, hundreds of people flock to the courthouse square to drink hot cocoa, sing carols and watch local performers. At the end of the evening, spectators see the famous Christmas lights illuminate the faces of their friends and family — and another holiday season begins.

You’ve walked or biked the B-Line Trail.

You’ve swam in the quarries.

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You’ve visited the farmers’ market.

Although Bloomington police are a little stricter about people trespassing in the quarries these days, generations of Bloomingtonians remember basking in the sun at Rooftop Quarry, feeling as if they’re straight out of a scene in “Breaking Away.”

The trail offers 5.1 miles for walking, running or biking. Street art, flowers and friendly faces make the B-Line a welcome respite from desk jobs or college classrooms.

1-2 You’re on your way!

3-4 You’re practically a native!

5-6 You’re a townie!

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1930 - 1945

THE YEARS OF WAR AND DEPRESSION

Unemployment jumped, and businesses struggled in the Depression, then the city was caught up in the Second World War. Still, Bloomington persevered through two of the greatest crises of the century.

PIVOTAL MOMENT

The Depression takes its toll Just before the stock market crash of 1929, Showers Brothers Furniture predicted 1930 would be their biggest year. As it turned out, it was their worst.

When the Depression struck Bloomington, the local economy didn’t collapse, says Monroe County Public Library’s Christine Friesel. Bloomington had no bank failures or bread lines, but unemployment rates soared to 38 percent for African Americans and 11 percent for whites.

The school board cut teachers’ pay by 23 percent — a move that hurt women most. The limestone industry also suffered losses, and some companies fired black workers.

IN STYLE

But Showers Brothers tried to keep all its employees in the hard times. “The limestone industry was not nice to African Americans, but the Showers brothers were,” Friesel says.

The newly formed Civilian Conservation Corps recruited young men to work on public projects so they could send money home. The men created much of the infrastructure of Brown County and McCormick’s Creek state parks.

Despite the economic downturn, one notable business came out of the Depression – the Chocolate Moose. Cletus May had to close his café, but he opened the Chocolate Moose on the same site. Today, the Moose still serves up ice cream on the lower floor of an apartment building at its former location. -SS

LOCAL LEGEND Skirted gym suits or rompers like this maroon one-piece were common. Workouts for women often included jumping jacks and calisthenics.

Clothing in the 1940s included squared shoulders and narrow-waisted skirts that often ended right below the knee. Women’s tops often had padded shoulders, and tailored suits were common. Clothing became more feminine after WWII with billowing skirts and rounded shoulders.

-CF

Herman B Wells President of Indiana University After graduating from IU in 1924 with a degree in business, Wells spent two years as an assistant bank cashier before earning a master’s degree in economics and joining the IU faculty.

Ten years later, he became dean of the business school.

His success led to his appointment as the 11th president of IU. Wells recruited renowned faculty, like sex researcher Alfred Kinsey, biologist Tracy Courtesy of IU Archives Sonneborn and Nobel Prize-winning geneticist Hermann J. Muller. He once traveled 33,000 miles in one year to attract scholars and faculty from around the world.

A jovial and rotund administrator, he was an advocate of academic freedom, says biographer James Capshew. When Kinsey’s controversial research sparked protests in the 1950s, Wells stood by the professor. Wells was an inclusive and engaging person who had no enemies, Capshew says. “When you talked to him, he looked you in the eye and paid attention to only you. He was genuine in a way that not many public figures are.”

Wells also helped end segregation at the Indiana Memorial Union and was instrumental in recruiting IU’s first black basketball player, Bill Garrett, in 1948.

Wells left the president’s office in 1962 but continued to serve as chancellor until his death. He never married and died in Bloomington in 2000. “With full knowledge of the trauma, travail, blood, sweat and tears the office demands,” Wells wrote in his autobiography Being Lucky, “I would eagerly undertake the chore again.” -ML

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WORLD WAR II STORIES Almost 400,000 Hoosiers served during World War II, and 11,680 were killed in action. IU students, faculty and staff felt the reverberations of war as enrollment plummeted by 75 percent, from 3,580 in 1940 to 830 in 1944. Here are three stories of those who served.

FIVE BULLETS AND A PURPLE HEART IU graduate Gerry Kisters of Bloomington took five bullets while fighting in WWII and became the first soldier to receive both the Congressional Medal of Honor and the Distinguished Service Cross, according to Monroe County Public Library archives.

During the Tunisian campaign, Kisters took down an 88-caliber gun firing at Allied troops. He escaped without a scratch and joined the Sicilian campaign, where he destroyed two German machine gun nests with grenades. He killed three Nazi soldiers, captured four more and caused another to “flee in terror.” But this time, Kisters was shot five times in both legs and his right arm.

Asked about his plans after the war, Kisters said he would take over the family fur business in Bloomington so his father could retire. “He deserves it,” he said.

SPREADING HIS WINGS The sky was the limit for IU alumnus Charles DeBow when he became one of the first five African-Americans to earn his U.S. Air Force wings as a Tuskegee pilot on March 6, 1942.

DeBow flew 52 combat missions, commanded a fighter squadron and glided into battle during the Italian and D-Day invasions, according to his 1986 obituary in The Indianapolis

Star. He described the feeling of flying at 2,000 feet in the August 1942 issue of The American Magazine. “Out of this world,” he said. “Free.”

People had told Debow that blacks become elevator operators, janitors, porters like his father, but never aviators. So DeBow let his flying do the talking. DeBow later wrote that he flew for Uncle Sam, for Dad and Mom and “for the 12,000,000 Negroes in the United States.”

“We’ve got a double duty,” he said, “to our country and to our race.”

DOWN TO A SCIENCE Former IU physics professor Lawrence M. Langer was about as close as you can get to the bomb that dropped on Hiroshima on Aug. 6, 1945. Langer began working on the Manhattan Project at Los Alamos National Laboratory in New Mexico in 1943, according to IU Archives. He supervised trial drops of dummy bombs at Saipan by the plane Enola Gay — the same plane that dropped the atomic bomb on Hiroshima.

The night before the Enola Gay trial, Langer worried something would go wrong, so he stayed on the plane and guarded the 10-foot-long bomb, eventually falling asleep on top of it.

After the war ended, Langer headed back to IU and worked in the physics department until 1979.

Langer lived in Bloomington until his death in 2000. -CF

FIGHTING THE WAR FROM HOME While soldiers marched off to war, men and women who stayed in Bloomington were also busy with the war effort at the city’s Radio Corporation of America plant.

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RCA workers began manufacturing the Variable Time Fuze — glass tubes the size of a pint of milk that would explode at a set time. It was the glass shards that would do the damage by shooting out at targets, says Monroe County librarian Christine Friesel.

The first VT Fuze was fired at a Japanese plane on Jan. 5, 1943. Friesel says people were shocked at the damage the tubes could do. Manufacturers described the VT Fuze as second only to the atomic bomb.

Behind the $800 million manufacturing project were women, who would use their often smaller hands to assemble the devices.

IU students did their part as well. On Saturdays and Sundays in 1944, hundreds of students woke up before dawn, hopped on buses and traveled 25 miles southwest of Bloomington to Crane Naval Ammunition Depot to refill and sort ammunition.

As war vessels completed missions, they dumped used shells into cargo vessels that made their way to the depot, which was established in 1941 to inspect, store, fix and ship ammunition and missiles.

Students readied the ammunition to be shipped back to the battlefield.

BLOOMINGTON FIRST In 1948, 13-year-old Arthur Fell became the first boy to celebrate his bar mitzvah in Bloomington.

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THEN & NOW

FIRST FAMILY DORIS MARIE SEWARD 1917-1999 Fred Seward’s daughter made her mark in the halls of academia. After earning her undergraduate degree at IU in 1938, she went on to receive both masters and doctoral degrees in education from Syracuse University.

Doris’ career thrived at several colleges. At Purdue University, she served as a professor, assistant dean of women and acting dean. Later, at the University of Kentucky, she was a professor, dean of women and dean of student affairs.

After her father died in 1967, Doris and her sister Janet were elected to the company’s board of directors.

She also traveled extensively, visiting Egypt, China, Siberia and Ethiopia, says her nephew Allen Dunn. During her nephews’ high school years, Doris made sure each studied abroad. Allen spent six weeks in Switzerland.

Doris served as executive assistant to the president of Pennsylvania State University, then retired to Bloomington and devoted herself to volunteer work.

She was particularly concerned with education for women and once said an educated woman will understand her privileges and responsibilities. “She will be more than a wage earner, a housewife, a mother; she will be a person . . . who has endeavored to develop the potential within her for the welfare of others.”

Allen, while impressed with all his aunt accomplished, notes ruefully that opportunities for women, even in academia, were limited. “She was always the assistant,” he says, “never the president.”

While retired, Doris helped establish the Bloomington Community Foundation and donated 20 acres to create the Fred Seward Nature Preserve in her father’s memory.

As she grew older, Doris looked toward the 21st century. She was determined to see the year 2000 and had her tombstone engraved in 1997 with her birth year and the numbers “20--.” She died in October 1999.

Today her tombstone in Dunn Cemetery reads, “Doris Marie Seward / 1917 - 20-- 1999/ She was an optimist.”

“She was the last Sewardess,” Allen says. “She was proud of that.” - SB

Courthouse Square (1915 to 1930) Crowds of people and cars line downtown Bloomington’s courthouse square in a a photo between 1915 and 1930.

JC Penney is decorated for a “Back to School Days” sale with flags and Mickey and Minnie Mouse cut-outs.

In a newspaper ad, Kroger announced its new instant postum — a powdered grain drink once used as a coffee substitute. “Your table drink will never bother nerves or sleep if you quit coffee and drink instant postum,” the ad read.

In 1880, the F.W. Woolworth five-and-dime first sold manufactured Christmas tree ornaments, which skyrocketed in popularity.

Courthouse Square (2018) Today, a new set of shops — and cars — has replaced the old.

The Malibu Grill has replaced JC Penney, while Chico’s sells clothing where Kroger shoppers once purchased produce.

The family-owned The Book Corner has been in the same quarters since 1964, replacing Woolworth’s.

Then photo courtesy of Monroe County History Center Collections. Now photo by Christine Fernando

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1950 - 1974

THE ERA OF CHANGE

In a time of social reform and political upheaval, Bloomington made efforts to better race relations, gender inequality and education policies even as the Vietnam War, the John F. Kennedy assassination and the Civil Rights Movement rocked the nation.

PIVOTAL MOMENT

Lake Monroe opens In 1960, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers began work on Monroe Reservoir to prevent flooding and provide water to a growing city. At 10,750 acres upon its completion in 1965, Lake Monroe became the biggest man-made lake in Indiana.

It soon became the primary water source for Bloomington as well as for seven rural water companies. More than 100,000 people now use the Lake Monroe water supply.

Today the lake is home to hundreds of bird species and dozens of fish as well as a variety of woodland animals.

Bald eagles and river otters now thrive there. And it’s also the state’s largest tourism attraction, with several hundred campsites, nine boat ramps, four marinas and three beaches.

But the creation of the lake wasn’t without controversy.

Three hundred homes, three schools, eight cemeteries and

IN STYLE

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lake soon became the “ The primary water source for the growing city. ” the last three covered bridges in Monroe County had to be moved before the lake was filled by a dam on Salt Creek.

The town of Elkinsville, in the flood plain, all but disappeared. Today a monument marks the names of the original families of “The Town That Was.” Since its creation, Lake Monroe has saved the county more than $38 million in flood damage. But it’s better known to most Hoosiers as a recreational center for boating, fishing and hiking. -SS

LOCAL LEGEND Hippie chic became the trend in the 1970s with tie-dyed tops, maxi skirts, wrap dresses and bright colors.

Disco styles emerged as people donned bell bottoms, platform shoes, high-cut boots and big hair.

Tight pants with flared bottoms were the norm in the early 70s but began to fade by the end. Halter tops and culottes, similar to those depicted here, were also popular. Clothing was often made from polyester, but cotton blends were easy to find. -CF

William Cook Founder of Cook Medical Inc. Born in Illinois in 1931, Cook planned to go to medical school but was drafted into the army as a surgical technician. In 1963, he and his wife, Gayle, moved to Bloomington and founded Cook Medical, which made heart catheters in the spare bedroom of their Bloomington apartment.

In 2011, Cook was named the 101st richest man in the world by Courtesy of the IDS Forbes Magazine, with an estimated wealth of $3.1 billion. Today, the company employs 9,500 and has annual revenues of $1.5 billion.

But Cook’s influence extended beyond the business community.

He and his wife made donations to the Jacobs School of Music and IU Athletics and played a prominent role in historic preservation, including the restoration of the resort hotels at West Baden and French Lick.

Historian James Madison says Cook changed Bloomington’s economy and drove historic preservation. “He didn’t just restore old buildings, but he tried doing preservation that provided a better quality of life and economic opportunities.”

Cook died in 2011 of heart failure. -ML

THEN & NOW

FIRST FAMILY MARILYN SEWARD WARDEN 1923-2004 Over the years, the Sewards married into other prominent Bloomington families — the Regesters, the Dunns and the Taylors, to name a few. Some Sewards are buried in Dunn Cemetery, the little family graveyard tucked away behind Beck Chapel along the bank of the Jordan River.

The first person to be buried in Dunn Cemetery was, in fact, a Seward — an infant son of Austin Seward, who died in 1832. When the Dunn family sold a plot of land that included the cemetery to IU, they did so with the stipulation that their descendants could be buried there.

If you wander through the cemetery today, peering at death dates going back a hundred years or more, you might find the name Marilyn Seward Warden.

Marilyn was born in 1923 to Edith Regester Seward and William Austin Seward, Fred Seward’s brother. Marilyn lived most of her life in Bloomington, contributing to the community that had nurtured her family’s legacy. In 1970, she began serving on the company’s board of directors, a role she held until the business closed in 1983.

She devoted much of her time to volunteer work through the IU Foundation, Bloomington Meals-On-Wheels and the Bloomington Hospital Auxiliary. She poured energy into the preservation of county history and worked as a docent at the Monroe County History Center on Sixth Street. Upon her death in 2004, her family asked that money be donated to the history center in her memory.

Wayne Warden Jr., Marilyn’s husband of 56 years, was also active in the community. He served in the military for 39 years and had visited every continent and seen all 50 states by the time he died in 2015 at 98. He was laid to rest at Marilyn’s side.

“There was a lot of interest in family there, and a need to pass things on,” Allen Dunn recalls of Marilyn, who was his mother’s cousin. He sees parallels between Marilyn and his mother, Janet.

Both women dedicated their lives to raising their families, caring for aging parents and preserving their family’s legacy. -SB

Penguin Ice Cream Shop (1950s) The Penguin Ice Cream Shop at 401 S. Walnut St. got its start in the ‘30s.

Cletus May converted May’s Cafe into an ice cream parlor in 1933 after he lost his job in the Depression.

Posters in the windows advertised sundaes and root beer, as well as blizzards for 25 cents.

The Chocolate Moose (2018) A new four-story building houses The Chocolate Moose on its first floor. The Indiana Memorial Union also has its own location.

May’s sons renamed the business The Chocolate Moose. Their most popular flavor is Grasshopper — mint ice cream with Oreo chunks.

Today, the Moose food truck also carts ice cream to the First United Methodist Church parking lot for Food Truck Fridays.

Then photo courtesy of Monroe County History Center Collections. Now photo by Christine Fernando

BLOOMINGTON FIRST In 1953, the Pizzaria, now Café Pizzaria, became the first pizza parlor in the city. Located at the corner of Kirkwood Avenue and Grant Street, they served plates for 25 cents.

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1950 - TODAY Today, Bloomington continues to strive for diversity, creativity and innovation as it fosters a community of artists, leaders and academics.

THE MODERN DAY PIVOTAL MOMENT

BEAD enlivens downtown Launched in 2006, the Bloomington Entertainment and Arts District has transformed the city’s downtown, says Sean M. Starowitz, the group’s assistant director of the arts. BEAD comprises 10 different areas. The Show District focuses on live performances and includes venues from the Buskirk-Chumley Theater to the Bluebird nightclub.

Kirkwood Avenue is the character district that connects the Square to the Sample Gates.

But the most notable area may be the B-Line Trail, which stretches 5.1 miles from Adams Street to Country Club Road. It features historic markers and public art and passes the Farmers’ Market, the WonderLab museum and the Warehouse recreational gym. One day, the trail will lead to Switchyard Park, a signature urban park with water features,

LET’S CELEBRATE! Celebrating Bloomington doesn’t end with looking at the past. Try these bicentennial-related events.

200 Years of Bloomington Trees When: June 2 Where: Bryan Park What: This summer event will include live music by folk musician Malcolm Dalglish and a screening of the environmental flick “The Lorax.”

Taste of Bloomington When: June 23 Where: City Hall What: This annual event combines live music with more than 40 restaurants serving samples.

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Bicentennial 5K When: Nov. 11 Where: City Hall What: Bloomingtonians can lace up their running shoes to celebrate Bloomington with a 5K run on the B-Line Trail. -CF Visit 812magazine.com for more events.

The B-Line trail cuts through downtown and connects key parts of the city. /Photo courtesy of the IDS

sports courts and a pavilion for performances. “Arts and culture are a big part of what Bloomington does,” Starowitz says, so we make sure that lens is brought to the table in a variety of different ways.” -SS

LOCAL LEGEND

Charlotte Zietlow Politician and activist Often called the Grand Dame of Bloomington, Zietlow was the daughter of a Lutheran minister and learned the importance of helping others by his example. “I was trained to be a public servant,” she says.

She started her life in politics by campaigning for John F. Kennedy.

When she won a seat on the Bloomington City Council in 1971, the Photo by Mariah Lee local headline read, “Ph.D housewife elected to city council.” She was pro-choice and also organized a campaign to preserve the courthouse by going door-to-door asking for donations.

In 1973, she and a friend opened Goods for Cooks on the Square, partly to prove that women could successfully run a business. The store is still open.

She also served as a county commissioner and the executive director of the local United Way. She later worked for Planned Parenthood and Middle Way House.

She says her greatest accomplishment is learning how to get along and work with people you don’t agree with.

“She’s a force of nature, and she’s an amazing woman,” says historian James Madison. “She still is pushing and not taking no for an answer in politics and in government.” -ML

THEN & NOW

FIRST FAMILY ALLEN DUNN 1954- present When Allen Dunn was born, his family lived on 10th Street, at the present site of the Kelley School of Business’ Hodge Hall. His mother was Janet Seward Dunn, daughter of Fred Seward.

His father was George Dunn, whose family bottled Dr. Pepper.

George had commanded a company of African American soldiers in WWII and received a Purple Heart. He died when Allen was 2, and Janet raised their four boys on her own. “I’m proud of her,” Allen says. “I’m proud of my father.”

When Allen was in the 3rd grade, his mother sold their property to IU and moved to the corner of Atwater and Third Street. An iron fence made at Seward & Co. encircled their home and the house next door, where his grandparents Fred and Dorothy Seward lived.

In high school, Allen worked summers at Seward & Co., manning the front desk. “But I wanted to be a physician,” he says, “not manage an industrial supply company.” He earned his medical degree and served his residency at the IU School of Medicine.

Allen married in 1983, and he and his wife, Susan, had a daughter, Erin.

That same year, Seward & Co. declared bankruptcy. Seward & Co. had served the Bloomington community for 162 years, across six generations of Sewards.

“It was the longest-running continuously owned family business in the state,” Allen says.

Allen came to Bloomington with Susan, Erin and a son, David, to pursue his career in anesthesiology. As he approaches retirement from the practice he now shares with David, he thinks about what he’d like to do with his time.

“This bicentennial brings things back into focus,” he says. “It brought me out of my little tunnel vision.”

He hopes to be more active in the community and impress upon his children and grandchildren how important it is to learn about your family legacy.

“The town changes,” he says. “But it’s kind of cool to think that I’m in the background of a family that did something.” -SB

Nick’s English Hut (1979) A 1979 Indiana University calendar used this image of Nick’s English Hut. Greek immigrant Nick Hrisomalos opened the bar in 1927 on Kirkwood Avenue, which was called Fifth Street then. Houses and trees lined the street. Hrisomalos lived where People’s Park is today.

Hazel’s Camera supply and a store called Rocky’s sat next door to Nick’s.

Nick’s English Hut (2018) Nick’s expanded into a second floor and the building next door.

Dick Barnes, a 1952 IU graduate, bought Nick’s in 1957. He also owned Cafe Pizzaria and added pizza to the Nick’s menu.

Barnes added memorabilia to the walls. In 1977, the Indiana Daily Student counted 1,534 objects on the walls and shelves.

Then photo courtesy of Monroe County History Center Collections. Now photo by Christine Fernando

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Down Corner on the

BY ANNA MAKRIS

Dedicated artists and preservationists are breathing new life into this venerable Evansville neighborhood.

I

ndiana weather in April is always a mixed bag, but on the first Friday of the month, not even the elements can keep people away from Haynie’s Corner. Despite the chilling wind, the streets bustle with visitors and residents alike on this first First Friday festival of the year. Billy Hedel, a local artist wearing a black turtleneck, wanders down Adams Avenue. Nearly every person he passes stops him to say hello. That’s how it is at the Corner.

“We’re all friends here,” says Helen Fisher, who has lived here for 25 years with her husband. After dinner at the Bokeh Lounge, she gushes about how much she loves the neighborhood. “It’s truly blossomed,” she says.

The temperature continues to drop, but the show goes on. A lively band called Cinco De Blues plays behind the rushing limestone fountain built in 1979. A truck selling flowers sits nearby. Food stands selling brisket, wood-fired pizza and hot coffee line the sidewalks, and art is abundant. You can buy homemade goat milk soaps, locally made shirts and wooden crafts.

Visitors flow in and out of the brick and mortar shops with goods purchased from local artists.

The community is here to support their arts and businesses and to celebrate this historic neighborhood.

This, as residents like to say, is where art lives.

ILLUSTRATION BY BILLY HEDEL

41 SUMMER/ FALL 2018

Stilt-walking puppets roam the First Friday festival in Haynie’s Corner. /Photos by Anna Makris

O 42 SUMMER/ FALL 2018

n any day of the week, the fountain at the center of Haynie’s Corner is the epicenter of community life. Food, drinks and art are just a short walk away in every direction.

There’s the Dapper Pig, Sauced, Mo’s House and Walton’s International Comfort Food, to name a few places to grab a bite to eat. Farther out, you’ll find Sixth Street Soapery, a consignment shop and two salons. Since Haynie’s Corner officially became an arts district, galleries have opened. Stop by Stac Art Gallery to have a cup of coffee and check out their exhibits — you may even come across a laughing yoga session in the front room.

The Ohio River rolls by a couple blocks south, and Kentucky is just a

Left: A fountain sits at the center of Haynie’s Corner. Top: Billy sits next to one of his latest pieces, a painting of the original Haynie’s drug store.

Above: In the back room of Sixth Street Soapery, owner Mary Allen lines the walls with her soaps. /Photos by Anna Makris

stone’s skip away. If you rent a bike and cruise through the neighborhood, you’ll see lovely Victorian-style houses lining the streets.

Until recently, many of these historic homes and buildings were boarded up or in disrepair. Now, thanks to the city and the neighborhood associations, they are once again the pride of the Corner. And, if you visit on the first Friday of the month, you may want to consider a dinner reservation.

The Corner, one of Evansville’s oldest communities, is full of life.

In the late 1800s, Evansville’s strategic position on the Ohio River made it a

hub for commerce. Coal mining and lumber manufacturing brought money to the central city, and the wealthiest people began to build spacious new homes on its outskirts.

Haynie’s Corner — at the intersection of Parret Street, Southeast Second Street and Adams Avenue — comprised four of those neighborhoods: Blackford’s Grove, Goosetown, Culver and Riverside.

The Corner’s name comes from George Haynie, also known as the “Mayor of Goosetown,” who opened a drugstore at the corner of Parret and Second in 1886.

In those days, the local drugstore tied a neighborhood together. It was the place to buy household remedies, to chat with neighbors and to sip a chocolate soda —

diversity the “ Isn’t wonder of humanity? ” Billy Hedel

with two straws, of course. “It was the center of the universe at that time,” says Ken Haynie III, the great-great-grandson of the founder.

Other shops and businesses sprang up in the neighborhood, and soon people lined up to see Charlie Chaplin films at the majestic Alhambra Theater, built in 1913 in the style of the Alhambra Palace in Grenada, Spain.

Alan Winslow lived on Blackford Avenue as a kid. Now 96, his strongest memories as a child in Haynie’s Corner are Sundays with his dad. They’d go to the Corner to get ice cream at a shop by the Alhambra. Jimmy cones, dipped in chocolate, were the flavor of choice, he says. “All my childhood memories are connected to that theater and the ice cream shop around the corner.”

When the Depression set in, the Corner was not spared. Jobs were hard to come by, so people left their large homes behind. In 1937, the worst flood in Evansville’s history swept water from the Ohio River into the streets, covering 500 city blocks.

Soon after, though, the same river brought hope in the form of jobs at the outset of World War II. Newly opened shipyards hired thousands to build ships and the landing craft used on the beaches of Normandy. “The whole neighborhood changed drastically because people moved here to work on the shipyard,” Winslow remembers.

Haynie’s Corner became a bedroom community. The grand Victorian houses were cut up into multiple apartments to house the workers. But when the war

ended, so did the work. Most people left, and those who stayed dealt with the ensuing poverty.

“Economic depression continued to cause people to move out of the area through the 1970s,” says Johannah Rivers McDaniel, an Evansville native and author of a history of the neighborhood.

During the years of decline, Haynie’s Corner became a hub for the commerce of drugs and prostitution.

Winslow says he heard people say you’d get robbed if you went to the Corner, but he’s not sure it was ever true. “It was not as bad as walking down the street in New York,” he says.

The bark was worse than the bite.

The city outlined an economic development plan, but little changed. But there was one promising development: In 1977, a group of young couples who wanted a place to worship and build community created Patchwork Central. The group helped provide health care, opened a food pantry and organized after-

Funk in the City Funk in the City’s 16th annual fall festival showcases the work of over 100 artists and vendors. The community tradition raises awareness and supports local artists.

When: 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. Saturday, Sept.

22 Cost: Adults $5, kids free

school programs that exposed children in the area to art, a harbinger of the changes yet to come.

In 2005, Billy and his partner Tom Loesch came to Haynie’s Corner after Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans. Their neighborhood of Faubourg Marigny avoided most of the damage, but the city wasn’t the same. “There was no way we could go back,” Billy says.

In looking for a new home, the artist wanted something fun, funky and visionary. Tom’s family was from the Evansville area, and when they came across Haynie’s Corner, Billy wondered why the neighborhood wasn’t already thriving. He and Tom were drawn to the Corner’s diversity. “We believe that a good, strong neighborhood survives on mixed demographics,” Billy says.

So they bought a Queen Anne cottage built in 1890 by Louise Kramer. “Louise was the daughter of Caroline Wolflin, who was reputed to be the first baby born in the settlement of Evansville circa 1812,” Tom says.

They renovated the home, creating both living space and a gallery on the first floor. Then they took the experience they’d gained serving on the Faubourg Marigny neighborhood association and put it to work at the Corner. The area then was in disrepair.

“We had to mow our sidewalks,” Billy says. “There’s something to say about sidewalks.”

They pushed to tear down or rebuild derelict buildings with the help of the local government. Tom became president of Blackford Grove’s neighborhood association. They were both involved in a grassroots effort to have Haynie’s Corner designated an arts district, a change that allows artists to work out of their homes.

In 2011, about $400,000 in city and federal grants were used to repair the exterior of the Alhambra. The next year, Haynie’s Corner

became a Neighborhood Revitalization Strategy Area, enabling the Dapper Pig restaurant, the historic Maybelle and Montrose apartments and other businesses to renovate. New galleries have also come along: 22 Jefferson Art Studios and Gallery opened in 2014 and Stac Art Gallery in 2017.

Today, for the first time in 100 years, buildings are going up without subsidies, says Kelley Coures, executive director of the Department of Metropolitan Development. And, according to Ken Haynie, property values are rising. “Now, people want to make a home there,” he says.

The First Friday festivals have allowed the neighborhood to showcase its rebirth to the rest of the city, says Samantha Buente, Haynie’s Corner Arts District vice president. “I hope people realize that the old reputation for being a dangerous or scary place is outdated.”

Mary Allen, former Haynie’s Corner Arts District Association board president, has been involved since the idea was conceived in 2015. “At the time that First Fridays started, the Arts District lacked art galleries to support the growing base of art interest,” Allen says.

Now there are four art galleries, along with music and food that connects and promotes the community.

Alan Winslow, who never misses a First Friday, may have the keenest point of view from his nine decades in town.

“People from all over the city are coming there now,” he says.

Living in Haynie’s Corner is a big change from living in the larger cities Billy is used to. He grew up in Chicago, and his Windy City roots are still strong, especially when it comes to the Cubs. He has done three paintings of Wrigley Field and one hangs above the stairs. The city boy isn’t gone. But today, a painting of the original Haynie’s drug store is the centerpiece of the entryway.

He’s proud of what he and Tom and others have helped accomplish so far, but he worries that everyone may not share in the success. Take the new parking lot, for example. It’s called a green parking lot and has black bricks laid out in a grid so that water can filter back into the earth. It will reduce storm water going into the sewer system by 750,000 gallons. That and the additional parking are a good thing for the community and a big improvement from the jagged, grassy patch that previously occupied the space.

But still, there’s something Billy doesn’t like. A row of 12 “reserved” signs marks spots for tenants of newly reno-

vated luxury apartments and symbolizes a bigger issue. While the revitalization of older buildings is something to celebrate, the cost can be high. Some artists have left because of these rising prices, he says. “I don’t know if any artist can afford $800 to $900 rent — or anyone in Evansville, for that matter.”

He hopes the city remedies this.

Embracing different people, rather than whatever project makes the most money, makes a community, he says. “Isn’t diversity the wonder of humanity?”

Johannah McDaniel shares these concerns. She worries that many of the attractions target wealthier people who don’t live in the neighborhood. The median income here was only $29,000 in the 2010 census, a figure that doesn’t allow for a lot of dinners out. The Dapper Pig even has a drink named after the issue: Gentrification Ginger Ale. However, Buente says the perception that the area is expensive is inaccurate.

“You can get a great meal for under $10 in Haynie’s Corner and a fresh-[brewed beer for less than $5,” she says. Plus, residents and visitors alike can enjoy the free entertainment, including live music at the fountain and art at First Fridays.

As Haynie’s Corner draws increasing attention, more projects are on the horizon. The Indiana Department of Transportation is developing a tree-lined boulevard at the Washington Street entryway and a roundabout where the streets come together at an angle.

But the most exciting change is just across the street from the original Haynie’s Drug Store. Last year, a private buyer purchased the venerable Alhambra from the city. The new owner? Ken Haynie. Ideas for the theater include a restaurant or event space, but Haynie is open to anything sustainable. “So many people love the building and want to see it used,” he says.

As for Billy, he has a slogan about his work: “If it wasn’t for art, we’d be in the dark.” He says he was born with the spirit in his soul. As a child, he colored on the walls and the floors. This is why the arts district is so important to him.

When it comes to his own future, Billy plans to focus on his art and his house. He has both hopes and worries about Haynie’s Corner, but they’re out of his hands now. “You don’t hold onto things,” he says. “You let things grow and let someone else use their vision and their ideas to push it along.”

Time will tell what’s around the corner.

Roots Finding

Singer-songwriter Krista Detor found inspiration and international success in a place she never expected.

By Jessica Smith

Family and friends are gathered around the dining room table by candlelight, finishing off bowls of mushroom risotto — scraping the dishes with pieces of bread between sips of red wine. Krista is in the kitchen with her husband, David, and his brother Robert, plating the next course. Tonight is her daughter Aurora’s last dinner with them for a year. She’s graduated from Indiana University and is leaving for a year in China where she’ll teach English.

Krista stops serving and moves behind Aurora’s chair, wrapping her arms around her

chest. She starts to sing with a rich and melodic timbre as the roomful of chatting guests and clattering dishes falls silent.

“And I … will always love you…”

Krista moves around the table from Aurora to her step-daughter Lena, placing her hands on her shoulders. The daughters exchange glances and chuckle at the familiar Whitney Houston chorus, but tears well up in their eyes. No one makes a sound until she finishes, and even then, they let her voice linger in the silence a little while longer.

Krista Detor takes a break to care for the plants in her home on the outskirts of Bloomington.

She estimates she spends around 12 hours a day working on her music business. / Photo by Anna Makris

45 SUMMER/ FALL 2018

Krista started writing songs soon after moving to Bloomington. “I thought if I can get them out of my head and out of my system, I’ll move on,” she says. /Photo by Kendall Fleder

46 SUMMER/ FALL 2018

The next time I see Krista, it’s midday, and we’re sitting at the same dining room table. Sunlight filters through the kitchen window, past her budding lemon tree, and rests on her face. She’s looking out at the 37-acre property she owns with her husband on the outskirts of Bloomington. She crosses her arms and pushes her horn-rimmed glasses up her nose. Her shoulder-length, curly hair is tucked behind her ears.

“Success in the music industry is about so much more than, ‘Did you work hard, are you good at it, are you attractive enough?’” Krista says. “Everything is about timing.”

Krista’s path to success is paved with turning points — moments where her life could have gone in another direction entirely. When she released her first solo commercial album “Mudshow” in 2006, she was about to turn 40.

Within a month of its release, “Mudshow” was No. 1 on the Euro-Americana charts and jump-started her success as a singer-songwriter and pianist.

In the 12 years since, Krista has

released five additional albums and toured extensively across Europe and the United States.

Her success didn’t go unnoticed.

Rolling Stone magazine once referred to her as “a small miracle,” while a critic in The Boston Herald wrote, “All songwriters should be this good.”

Now, over a decade after “Mudshow,” she and David are focusing on a new endeavor. The Hundredth Hill, their up-and-coming retreat, is a space for artists to be creative and inspired in the natural beauty of their property. The transition is just one more unexpected, but fitting, turn in her life.

The next afternoon, Krista offers us a tour of the property, which begins at the driveway, a sort of primitive parking lot. We’re greeted by a cacophony of barking dogs, squawking chickens and Ghede, the family pig, who squeals his welcome.

“My daughters pulled some Jedi mind trick on me with this one,” Krista

says, chuckling as she tosses oats at Ghede. The family’s large fluffy dogs, Gryffin, a chow mix, and Luna, a white lab, trail in and out of buildings behind us as Krista points out things they’ve collected over the years and structures David has built.

When David bought the property more than 20 years ago, it was five acres with a small two-bedroom house.

Today, their property comprises nearly 40 acres, and the house is two stories with four bedrooms and a recording studio. Only the beams tucked away in the walls come from the original home, built in 1920.

Although David says he didn’t have a lot of experience working on construction projects before he remodeled the family home, he did some research and got good advice along the way. “At this point, it’s just sort of second nature to drop into stuff,” he says. “The way to finish your project is to start it, and everything else follows.”

A picket fence extends from the main house and ends abruptly with the

words, “Wedding Wall” written in a faded — but still luminous — yellow paint. David built the fence for their wedding, more than 10 years ago. Barely legible good wishes from loved ones are scattered across the fence, written in ink that wasn’t designed to hold up to Indiana weather. Yet those wishes, like Krista herself, are still here.

“I had no intentions of ever moving to the middle of nowhere,” Krista reminisces.

“Never to small-town Indiana.”

Originally from Los Angeles, Krista had a coastal, big-city upbringing but was raised by Midwestern parents who grew up in Indiana and North Dakota.

Krista was only 6 when she encountered a piano that past tenants had left in her family’s new home. She begged her parents to keep it, and they agreed. By high school, Krista could play by ear and accompany herself.

After graduating from California State University with a degree in classical piano performance, Krista and her husband at the time, also a musician, started a life traveling from one opportunity to the next. Music was always in the background. Krista directed musical theater at an army base in South Korea and played in a classic ‘90s punk rock band in Louisiana.

Then, she started a career in commercial real estate in Oregon. “I felt like I made the best grown-up and practical decision,” she says. She was in her mid-20s, her husband was in culinary school, and she had a baby daughter, Aurora. “It was good pay, good benefits, and the people were nice. I probably would’ve done really well. But, at the end of the day, I was just hoping for a time when I could be doing something that was more fulfilling.”

The doors opened for another opportunity — to start a restaurant in the Florida Keys — and Krista thought it might lead to that future. The restaurant gave her an opportunity to play for crowds, mostly covers like Jimmy Buffet’s “Margaritaville” or Van Morrison’s “Brown-Eyed Girl.”

“I had a little girl and a completely different life plan,” Krista says. “I thought maybe just playing music in the restaurant with my husband was fine.”

Krista was entering her 30s when divorce cut that life plan short. After running the restaurant alone for a while, she decided to come to Bloomington, where her mother had resettled during retirement. She endearingly refers to this phase as the time she “moved back into her parents’ basement.”

“I came to save some money, lick my wounds and figure out how I had gotten every single thing wrong about love and marriage.”

Krista intended to stay in Bloomington for one year. Aurora was starting kindergarten, and she wanted to give her daughter stability while she plotted their next move. She got a job as the head of catering at IU, working nights and spending her days with Aurora.

In the meantime, she met a group of people putting together a CD. She joined them, bringing in songs she had been writing on the side.

“I thought if I can record all the songs, get them out of my head and out of my system, then I’ll move on,” she recalls.

Krista’s colleagues took her to

Above: Krista stands in the kitchenette of one of the two “tiny houses” David built as part of their artists retreat, the Hundredth Hill. Below: David, Krista and their dog Luna enjoy the sun on a bench that overlooks a trail that runs through their property. /Photos by Anna Makris

47 SUMMER/ FALL 2018

had no intentions of ever “ Imoving to the middle of nowhere. Never to smalltown Indiana.

Krista Detor

48 SUMMER/ FALL 2018

Airtime Recording Studio to work with local producer David Weber.

David had moved in 1989 to Bloomington, where he graduated with a recording degree from the Indiana University Jacobs School of Music. After graduation, he had a three-year stint working with a traveling circus as a trapeze artist. He returned to Bloomington, where he purchased a home with his then-wife, had two daughters, Lena and Isla, and opened his recording business. He built Airtime as an extension of his house, and Krista says she felt immediately at home.

After the recording session, David approached Krista with a suggestion that would change both their lives.

He told her she should come back and record her own CD. “There are people in this town that need to know you’re here,” he told her.

She began collaborating and recording with David, made other connections in town and began to see the benefits of raising her daughter here. She started to rethink her one-year plan.

“I knew that people thought this place was beautiful, but I thought, That’s because they haven’t seen the Pacific Northwest,” Krista says, laughing. “But one morning about two years in, I was driving down the road, and I looked over and saw the hay bales in the mist in the early morning sunrise. All of a sudden, I went, ‘Oh my god, this place is beautiful.’”

Around this time, Bloomington Playwrights Project Director Richard Perez convinced Krista to write and perform a one-woman show titled “Slightly Deranged: A Thinking Woman’s Tour D’Vorce.” She refers to the show as a dramatic and cathartic cabaret about being left in the Gulf of Mexico. It captured the attention of the Bloomington community.

Krista and David began to play small gigs around town as a duo, from coffee shops to fundraisers. Around this time, their relationship grew romantic. Vio-

”

lins started to play, she jokes, and she could see herself running toward David in a field full of daisies.

David says their daughters were immediately best friends. Krista and Aurora moved in about a year after Krista and David began dating.

During that first year of living with David, Krista toyed with the idea of writing a whole album in a week — a creative challenge. “She set it as a goal but didn’t think much of it outside of that,” David says. “There was no pressure, just an exercise, really.”

One morning, Krista decided it was time to see if she could do it. Her first song for the project, “Buffalo Bill,” was inspired by a man David had met in the circus. That song paved the way for the rest of “Mudshow” — a slang term for traveling circuses that set up in big fields and left behind muddy messes.

If I sing it sweet, and I sing it low, maybe he’ll come back this way ... him and his wild west show …

For the week that she wrote the album, Krista was on a creativity streak, David says. “I would wake up in the morning, and she would have been up since 4 a.m. and had a new song, and I would just start recording it.”

All the songs on “Mudshow” are inspired by real people. Krista would walk around Bloomington and write songs about those she met. “Abigayle’s Song,” she says, is about a popular waitress at Michael’s Uptown Café.

One more letter I write without sending, one more night without sleep. One more phone call I’ll let go on ringing, one less secret to keep.

But she also drew inspiration from the nature that surrounded her in Bloomington. “I would not have written an album like ‘Mudshow’ had it not been for moving here and getting back in touch with my mother’s roots and just being in the Midwest, where almost everyone is a storyteller,” Krista says.

Initially, Krista and David shared the album only with musician friends like Slats Klug and Carrie Newcomer. Their enthusiastic reviews convinced them to give the album a full production and send it off to a contact in Europe. He replied with information they would need to send the album to DJs across Europe.

Krista and David were apprehensive.

Money was tight, and they couldn’t be sure the investment would lead to anything. Still, they produced, packaged and shipped over 150 CDs across Europe at $10 a package.

Within a month, Krista was No. 1 on Americana charts for Germany, Holland and Belgium. And she had offers for multiple record deals. Much of Americana music, with roots in folk, country and bluegrass, evolved from European ballads, and Krista’s sound attracted European listeners.

The timing felt predestined. The 2008 financial crisis hit the United States just as music was becoming digital, and piracy issues rocked the industry. Record companies lost copious amounts of money spent to promote mainstream musicians.

As a result, individual artists had more responsibility to promote themselves, but they also had creative freedom. Krista, in her 40s at the time, recognized the opportunity.

She decided to manage her career in Europe from her home in Bloomington — a goal that required diligent multitasking. For the past decade, she has dealt with six agents in six different countries, taken care of her family and her home, toured extensively and produced new music. She was spending about 12 hours a day on her music business.

During that time, Krista collaborated with a series of artists on projects like “The Breeze Bends the Grass,” a musical that featured the lives of four women artists at the turn of the 20th century, and “Wilderness Plots,” a series of concerts featuring other Indiana musicians

Krista feeds oats to Ghede, the family pig. The Detor-Weber family also has dogs, chicken and a cat on their 37-acre property, which is a retreat for visiting artists. /Photo by Anna Makris

performing songs inspired by Scott Russell Sanders’ book of the same name.

Scott says her ability to work with others and generate a creative and supportive environment is part of her talent as an artist. “At the root of all art is an impulse of generosity,” he says. “Most artists don’t become artists to make money. They become artists because they want to create something and share it with the world.”

A couple of years ago, at the 10-year mark, she started to reassess what success meant for her. She decided to end the nonstop touring and only do shows she wanted to do. It wasn’t an easy decision.

“In some ways, it felt like a failure, until I realized that fame never was my big objective. It was always just music and writing and connecting with other people in that process.”

Now, as with so many pivotal moments in Krista’s life, the timing is right for the next opportunity. In 2016, the neighboring 32 acres came up for sale.

Last year, Isla graduated from high school and Aurora from IU. Krista and David started discussing their dream for an artist residency.

The Hundredth Hill got its name both from the hills that surround them and a phenomenon called the hundredth-monkey effect. Scientists hypothesized that you only need to teach a lesson to the first 100 people in a group in order for it to spread to the rest of the group. You don’t need to reach everyone, but if you reach enough people, you can make a lasting impact.

Currently, they have two “tiny houses” where artists recording at the studio can stay. The houses are made

almost completely of repurposed materials. Like the people who gather here, each piece has a story to tell. Inside one house, the wall is painted white with “Postcards from the Artists in Residence” written at the top. Signatures, dates and doodles are scattered underneath.

The residency is a part of her dream for a destination where people come together to be creative and inspire one another. She wants to give back to the community that has given her so much.

She credits her time in Indiana — and the generous people she met along the way — as giving her not only the success she found as an artist, but her family and her home.

“In a bizarre way, Indiana was my greatest inspiration,” she says. “It was a culmination point for all of my dreams to come true.”

49 SUMMER/ FALL 2018

T H E 812 L I S T

Upside Down

or Right Side Up? Does Netflix’s “Stranger Things” get life in 1983 Southern Indiana right?

By Kaleigh Howland

H

ollywood gets close to home in the hit Netflix show “Stranger Things,” set in 1983 Hawkins, Indiana. A young boy’s disappearance and the quest to find him expose the mysterious happenings in this town in fictitious Roane County.

The rolling hills of Hawkins suggests the real-life inspiration must be the 812 region. So, after talking with self-declared “Stranger Things” expert Julie Harding, who has watched the series five times, we hashed out what the show gets right and wrong about life in our neck of the woods. If Hawkins doesn’t fit Southern Indiana exactly, there’s always next season. After all, stranger things have happened

1

RIGHT SIDE UP

The woods where Will disappears in season one fits right in, considering we have the most forests, nature preserves and parks in the state.

2 The quarry where the police discover Will’s “body,”

and where Mike plummets before Eleven saves him, could be one of the many abandoned ones in the 812 region.

1

UPSIDE DOWN

Hoosiers in the 812 area have a hint of a Southern drawl, but you don’t hear that in fictional Hawkins.

2

Barb disappears into the Upside Down while sitting at the edge of a swimming pool. Since it’s mid-November, we’re looking at 40 degrees outside on an average night – a bit chilly for a late-night dip.

3

We see only one minute of basketball in both seasons. This was the ‘80s, when IU won two national men’s championships.

4

The Hawkins National Laboratory looms over the town, conducting secret testing for years and accidentally opening the gate to a mysterious shadow world. We’re happy to report the nearest Department of Energy laboratory is in Chicago.

50 SUMMER/ FALL 2018

3

Small businesses abound in Hawkins, like Melvald’s General Store, where Joyce Byers, the mother of the missing boy, works. Walmart Inc. didn’t arrive in Indiana until 1983, so family-run businesses, like Stephenson’s General Store in Leavenworth, still thrived.

4

The kids ride their bikes alone at night without fear, and they can. In 1983, Indiana had a crime index 20 percent lower than the national average.

The quarry (left) in “Stranger Things” seems like home, the secret lab (above) less so. /Photos courtesy of Netflix

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