Weekly View » Al Hunter

Parenting Skills, Part 2

Al Hunter — Thu, 18 Jun 2026 05:08:28 +0000

Last week, I pondered the parenting skills of our sixteenth President Abraham Lincoln. I came to the conclusion that I probably wouldn’t want to sit next to Abe and Mary’s kids on an airplane. Witnesses, acquaintances and close friends often remarked, sometimes frankly, other times temperately, that the Lincoln boys were “active.” I ended Part 1 with a great quote from First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy about parenting: “If you bungle raising your children, I don’t think whatever else you do well matters very much.”
Like many a late stage baby-boomer, I realize that I have a fascination with historical celebrity nurtured by mass media that began at a young age. Part of that fascination revolves around the children of famous or noteworthy people, especially when it goes bad. I suppose there is comfort in knowing that rain also falls on the child of privilege as equally as it falls in our own lives. Regardless, there is a morbid fascination with parenting gone bad.
As a kid in Indianapolis, the Vietnam war was very real to me. I had neighbors, family members and school chums touched by the rigors brought on during that useless Southeast Asia debacle. Of course there were the outlandish rumors that passed through the school halls (Leave it to Beaver star Jerry Mathers dying in Vietnam prominent among them) but one rumor I can vividly recall was that Sean Flynn was missing. The son of famous swashbuckling actor and legendary playboy, Erroll Flynn, Sean was an actor turned freelance photojournalist who disappeared on April 16, 1970 while on assignment for Time magazine in Vietnam.
Sean Leslie Flynn, born May 31, 1941, made some forgettable films during his short movie career including the regrettable remake of his father’s classic Captain Blood featuring the predictable title Son of Captain Blood. When he “retired” from acting, Flynn signed a contract with Time magazine. In a search for unique images, he attached himself to Special Forces units and even irregulars operating in remote areas.
On April 6, 1970, while traveling by motorcycle in Cambodia, Flynn and Dana Stone (Stone was with CBS News) were captured by communist guerrillas at a roadblock on Highway One. They were never seen again and their bodies have never been found. Although it is known that they were captured by Vietnamese Communist forces, it is believed that they died in the hands of rogue “hostile” forces. Citing various government sources, the current consensus is that he (or they) were held captive for over a year before they were killed by Khmer Rouge in June 1971.
Sean Flynn’s plight has often been cited as the inspiration for the “Russian Roulette” sequences in the 1978 film, The Deer Hunter with Christopher Walken winning an Oscar for portraying the character based on Flynn. Flynn’s mother, actress Lili Damita, spent an enormous amount of money searching for her son, with no success. In 1984 she had him declared legally dead. By this time, Sean’s dad, Erroll Flynn, had been dead for 25 years. Erroll Flynn’s life was the stuff of legend and his son’s mysterious disappearance brought the war home to young men all over the country in a way that olive-clad casualty statistics just couldn’t convey.
One other disappearance that I wasn’t around to hear about firsthand, but do remember hearing about for years afterward, was the strange case of Michael Rockefeller. The youngest son of New York Governor, U.S. Vice-President and multi-time Republican Presidential candidate Nelson Rockefeller, Michael Clark Rockefeller, was a fourth generation member of the Rockefeller family who had only recently graduated from college. After attending The Buckley School in New York, Rockefeller graduated from Harvard University cum laude in 1960, served for six months as a private in the U.S. Army, then went on an expedition for Harvard’s Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology to study the Dani tribe of western New Guinea.
The expedition produced Dead Birds, a documentary film, 3,500 photographs, and many anthropological artifacts that are now part of the Michael C. Rockefeller collection at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. The Peabody Museum exhibits the pictures taken by Rockefeller during that first New Guinea expedition. After returning home with the Peabody expedition, Rockefeller returned to New Guinea to study the Asmat tribe and collect primitive art. “It’s the desire to do something adventurous,” he explained, “at a time when frontiers, in the real sense of the word, are disappearing.” There was one tiny detail that Michael should have taken into consideration though. The Asmats were known headhunters.
On November 17, 1961, Rockefeller and Dutch anthropologist René Wassing were in a 40-foot dugout canoe about three miles from shore when their double pontoon boat was swamped and overturned into the Arafura Sea. Their two local guides swam for help and told the Anglos to stay put, for obvious reasons. After drifting for some time in the rolling waters off the coast of New Guinea, Rockefeller said to Wassing “I think I can make it.” Michael estimated that the catamaran boat was five miles from the shore. The current was against him, and he risked a confrontation with a shark or crocodile, but perhaps because he was a Rockefeller, the fabled family of industrialists, philanthropists and politicians, he decided to swim for it. Later it was determined that the capsized boat was closer to twelve miles off shore when Michael pushed off.
Wassing, a poor swimmer, had decided to stay with the overturned boat, and he tried to persuade the stubborn Rockefeller against his plan. Rockefeller jerry-rigged a life preserver by lashing together two empty gas cans. He stripped down to his underwear and tied his eyeglasses to his head with twine. He took a few deep breaths before paddling toward the forbidding mangrove swamps that lined the southwest coast of the world’s second-largest island. Wassing watched the swimming figure slowly disappear into the watery horizon. The Dutchman was rescued just nine hours later.
Michael Rockefeller was never seen or heard from again. The news that the great-grandson of John D. Rockefeller, founder of Standard Oil Co., was big news around the world. Upon hearing the news, Governor Rockefeller and Michael’s twin sister Mary rushed to New Guinea followed closely by a horde of over 100 journalists. They searched frantically for 10 days at what the press called “the end of the earth, where Stone Age cultures had survived.” Finally, Nelson Rockefeller held a press conference to say that he had reached the conclusion that his son had died at sea before reaching shore.
In time, news of the disappearance of the youngest Rockefeller faded from the newspaper headlines and Michael joined the pantheon of missing persons that included Amelia Earhart, Jimmy Hoffa and D.B. Cooper. As with each of the other lost luminaries, various theories about Michael Rockefeller’s fate have surfaced over the years. Did he die from exposure, exhaustion or drowning? Did he decide to go native and lose himself in the jungles of New Guinea? Was he eaten by a shark or a saltwater crocodile? Or, in the most sensational speculative twist, was he a pale human trophy for New Guinean headhunters?
Headhunting and cannibalism were still present in some areas of Asmat in 1961. The Asmats MOA included stripping their trophy heads to the bone, bleaching them in the sun, and covering the skulls with painted depictions of the battle at which the victim fell. The size and climate of the huge island, slightly larger than Texas, did not aid Michael’s rescue efforts. A tropical rain forest, it has relentless heat and humidity and swarming insects. The coast is lined with swamps that are nearly impossible to navigate, and the interior jungles are dark and largely impassable. The island, due north of Australia and known as Dutch New Guinea, got its name from a Spanish explorer who saw a resemblance between the natives there and those of the Guinea, West Africa.
To support the death by cannibalism theory, researchers note that several leaders of Otsjanep village, where Rockefeller likely would have arrived had he made it to shore, were killed by a Dutch patrol in 1958, and thus would have been seeking revenge against someone from the “white tribe.” Cannibalism and headhunting in Asmat culture was viewed as an eye-for-an-eye revenge cycle, and it is possible that Rockefeller found himself the unlucky victim of such a cycle started by the Dutch patrol. The Rockefeller family believes that Michael either drowned or was attacked by a shark or crocodile. Rockefeller’s body was never found. He was declared legally dead in 1964.
Regardless, the Michael Rockefeller and Sean Flynn sagas are just a couple examples of the many tragic aspects of parenting that all parents must consider at the end of the day. The Internet is full of accounts of missing children and adults. The news of these tragedies often gets lost in the headlines of the day. The best that we can hope for is to never be visited by such an unanswerable parental dilemma in our lifetimes. But for most of us, stories like this are always in the back of our minds — regardless of our level of parental aptitude.

Al Hunter is the author of “Haunted Indianapolis” and “Irvington Haunts. The Tour Guide.” and the co-author of the “Indiana National Road” book series. His newest books are “Osborn H. Oldroyd: Keeper of the Lincoln Flame”, “Thursdays with Doc. Recollections on Springfield & Lincoln” and “Bumps in the Night. Stories from the Weekly View.” Contact Al directly at Huntvault@aol.com or become a friend on Facebook.

Parenting Skills, Part 1

Al Hunter — Thu, 11 Jun 2026 05:08:17 +0000

Effective parenting is defined as a matter of strengthening the bond between the parent and child, and building positive parenting skills. I just returned from a two-day getaway to the Springfield, Illinois home of President Abraham Lincoln. I love to go and visit his house on Seventh Street in the early morning hours before the National Park Service employees, buses full of schoolchildren and tourists arrive. During these early morning hours you can really feel a connection with the old house.
My eyes are always drawn towards the second-floor balcony and its wrought iron gate. Upon closer examination, one notices that there is a small piece of the ornate iron fencing that is broken. The balcony railing has been maintained in a state of “arrested decay” to honor Lincoln’s rambunctious boys, Willie and Tad allegedly broke off a piece of the ornamentation while playing on the balcony. While I have a deep affinity for Abraham Lincoln the man, I don’t think I’d aspire to adopt the parenting qualities of Abraham Lincoln, the father.
Marriages were often arranged for practical purposes: a father might marry his daughter off to a neighbor’s son to combine their parcels of land, for example. Romantic love between spouses was the exception, not the rule. Children were viewed as products of original sin that needed to have their wicked wills broken in order to become upright and productive citizens. All that was changing around the time that young Abe Lincoln rode in to Springfield. As urban, middle-class professional men started working in offices separate from their homes, the family was increasingly bound together by ties of affection rather than economy. Men and women started marrying for love, limiting the size of their families and investing additional care and affection in their children. Childhood then, as today, was seen as a time of innocence and natural goodness that parents sought to indulge and enjoy.
Consider the difference between Lincoln’s experience and that of his children. Lincoln was born on a farm and expected to work for the family’s benefit until he legally came of age at 21. He later recalled that at age 8 he “had an ax put into his hands at once; and from that till within his twenty-third year, he was almost constantly handling the most useful instrument — less, of course, in plowing and harvesting seasons.” Lincoln left home at his earliest opportunity and his relationship with his father was so cool that he opted not to visit him on his deathbed.
Lincoln’s own children, however, spent their days playing with their toys in their carpeted sitting room or attending school — luxuries not available to young Abe Lincoln. While Abe grew up in poverty, Mary came from a prominent, wealthy Kentucky family — the Todds. Although she grew up in considerable luxury, her childhood was affected by the loss of her mother, emotional alienation from her father and disenfranchisement from her stepmother. Mary’s unhappy childhood caused her to dote on her children as equally as her husband but for vastly different reasons. In short, most people would consider the Lincoln children to be perfect “brats.” Mary Lincoln later recalled that Lincoln “was very — exceedingly indulgent to his children… He always said it is my pleasure that my children are free, happy and unrestrained by parental tyranny. Love is the chain whereby to bind a child to its parents.”
Examples of Lincoln’s indulgence towards his children can be found in every volume that mentions his family life. Some of the accounts are romantic and flowery in their descriptions, while other, more contemporary accounts offer a more frank, unvarnished view. Lincoln’s law partner and biographer William Herndon described the Lincoln boys thusly: “Had (his children) sh-t in his hat, and rub it on his boots, Lincoln would have laughed and thought it smart.” Willie and his younger brother Tad were considered “notorious hellions” during the period they lived in Springfield. They were recorded by Herndon for turning their law office upside down; the boys regularly discarded orange peels and other trash on the office floor, jumped from desk to desk and pulled books off the shelves, while Lincoln appeared oblivious to their behavior.
The Lincolns had four sons. Undoubtedly, Mary would have liked to have had a little girl to dress up and fuss over, but she loved her boys deeply. The Lincoln boys had extremely varied personalities; Robert was serious and dour, Eddie and Tad bubbly, curious and energetic while Willie was precocious and much more contemplative. Only two of the children survived their father and only one lived to maturity. Eddie was the first to die and we do not know as much about him as the other boys. He died at an early age, before the Lincolns were well known. From all accounts it was a tragedy from which their parents never recovered, especially his mother.
By all accounts, the Lincolns were permissive parents. On one train trip the other passengers were appalled by the behavior of the boys who Lincoln referred to as the “little codgers.” They were racing down the aisles disturbing the other passengers. The Lincoln home was a child-centered home. Every year, Mary would hold birthday parties for her boys during an era when such events were very out of the ordinary. Mary would dress up for roles in Robert’s many theatrical performances. The Lincolns encouraged the boys to recite poetry (usually Burns and Shakespeare). In short the Lincoln boys did as they pleased and attempts at discipline in the Springfield household were rare.
The permissive approach continued in the White House. The two middle boys entered the White House together with their parents while Robert was initially away at school and later serving in the Union Army. The roof of the White House was converted to a play area for Willie and Tad. But make no mistake about it, the entire White House was domain to the devilish pranksters as they ran wild throughout the White House. Their antics amused a nation immersed in the tragedy of the Civil War. Visitors, employees, and Cabinet members became so used to the sight of Willie and Tad sliding down the banisters that they quickly ignored it. Sometimes the President himself could be seen romping about the White House with them. Both boys delighted in their father carrying them on his shoulders. Lincoln was of course very tall and the boys could often reach the rafters in the ceiling which delighted them.
They were the two most famous presidential boys and they left a trail of destruction and mayhem in their wake. The President for the most part saw it as great fun. Tad was impulsive, unrestrained, and did not attend school. Some historians have described Tad as being “slow,” or worse, as mentally challenged. Willie, however, was a deep thinker who regularly memorized railroad timetables and chided his brother for breaking White House property because it didn’t belong to the family, it belonged to the American people. Lincoln’s personal secretary, Hoosier John Hay, wrote that Tad’s numerous tutors in the White House usually quit in frustration. While Willie read, Tad had free run of the White House. Tad collected animals, charged visitors to see his father, and once sentenced a pet rat to death by hanging. His father quickly pardoned the rat and set it free.
It is a little-known fact that Abraham Lincoln issued more presidential pardons than any president before. It is understandable as so many of them were for deserters in the Civil War. For much of history, deserting your post has been punishable by death. Harsh perhaps, but when your actions (falling asleep at your post, etc.) can get your fellow soldiers killed, it was an effective way to maintain discipline. Lincoln recognized that war is awful and felt that if, in his own words, “God gave a man cowardly legs” then perhaps some lenience when they “run away with him” was appropriate. Lincoln once heard about a 16-year-old soldier who was scheduled to be executed for desertion. He telegraphed the general in charge to pardon the young man and asked that they institute a policy of not executing anyone under the age of 18.
Although remembered as angelic in nature, Willie was not immune to the military atmosphere in which he was surrounded. When one of Tad’s soldier dolls “fell asleep at its post,” Willie sentenced the doll to death. Tad brought the issue to his father knowing that he was the only one that could help. In the midst of dealing with the pressures and physical hardships brought on by the Civil War, Abe still took the time to address the situation by issuing an official pardon on presidential stationery signed, “A. Lincoln”. Weeks later, in 1862, when 11-year-old Willie died of fever in the White House, the entire nation grieved. Less than 100 years after the Lincolns inhabited the White House, first lady Jacqueline Kennedy told a reporter, “If you bungle raising your children, I don’t think whatever else you do well matters very much.”

Next Week: Part 2 of “Parenting Skills”

Andrew Jackson’s Hair

Al Hunter — Thu, 04 Jun 2026 05:08:20 +0000

As many of you know, I collect stuff. In particular, historical stuff. Especially slightly creepy historical stuff. For years, whenever my kids saw a $20 bill, they would delightfully squeal out the phrase “That Glorious Mane” and giggle devilishly between themselves. While I always understood the reference to Andrew Jackson’s famous head of hair. I never really understood the origin of their inside joke. It was like reading a New Yorker magazine cartoon; sure, I can read it and smile, but I don’t always get it. And try as I might, I still have not found the source for the “Glorious Mane” quote. So, when I ran across a genuine lock of Andrew Jackson’s hair at several years ago, I had to have it.
The lock of hair is held in place by an ornate wax seal affixed to a descriptive card of provenance and has been professionally framed for posterity. The card reads: “Hair of Andrew Jackson, a portion of lot 96 of the personal relics of President Andrew Jackson consigned and guaranteed genuine by Andrew Jackson the fourth.” The item came from the collection of Forest H. Sweet of Battle Creek Michigan, one of the most famous autograph manuscript and relic collectors of his day. Sweet specialized in Abraham Lincoln, so much so that during the years around World War II, he compiled a comprehensive book of Lincoln collectors and their collections that is still prized by collectors today. So, the provenance of the Andrew Jackson lock of hair was beyond reproach.
The thick lock of reddish grey hair is about 1.5 inches in length and looks to contain somewhere between 25 and 50 strands of hair. The blue wax seal features an “S” initial that was undoubtedly applied by Forest H. Sweet himself. I could hardly wait to reveal the relic to my children. Sadly, the unveiling was less than I expected. “That’s nice daddy” was the general consensus.
Okay, so my kids weren’t excited, but I was. Macabre as it seems, bestowing locks of hair on friends, family members, and admirers was common practice in the 19th century. Locks of hair from many renowned historical figures can be found in the collections of museums all over the world. I must admit, this is not the first lock of celebrity hair that has found it’s way into my collection. I once owned well documented strands of hair from George Washington, Robert E. Lee and Abraham Lincoln. But this Andrew Jackson blood relic is a full robust lock, a good ole’ hank, a veritable pinch of hair right off the head of Old Hickory himself!
I simply could not resist researching (my wife might say obsessing over) my cherished new relic. Much to my surprise, while searching the Net I actually found a Web site and active blog devoted to That Glorious Mane. The Web site, called “American Lion,” is associated with Andrew Jackson’s hair in name only. But it does touch on the macabre hobby and, more importantly, vindicates my strange purchase by discussing famous locks of hair that have sold recently at auction. In December of 2011, 12 strands of Michael Jackson’s hair, reportedly fished out of a shower drain at New York’s Carlyle Hotel after Jackson stayed there for a charity event during the 1980s, sold at auction in London for around $1,900 to an online gaming casino. The casino plans to use the hair in the construction of a special roulette ball (I don‘t understand it either).
The King of Pop apparently can’t hold a candle to the King of Rock-N-Roll though. For the day after Jackson’s hair was sold, a Chicago auction house sold clumps of Elvis Presley’s hair (cut and saved after Elvis’ 1958 Army induction) in Illinois, selling for $15,000.
Okay, if you’re still creeped out by the thought of collecting hair, which truthfully, I can’t blame you for, keep in mind that the hobby was once considered to be the height of cool. The Victorians LOVED designing and wearing hair jewelry, often weaving strands into intricate designs which they incorporated into necklaces, earrings, and pins — to say nothing about picture frames, paperweights and other household decorations. Queen Victoria is credited with starting the trend. When her beloved Prince Albert died, the distraught monarch had several rings made out of his hair, which she wore daily. Famous Victorian writers like Jane Austen, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Sir Walter Scott, and John Keats often referenced locks of hair in their works.
The Victorians did not only collect hair from dead people, though. Most often it was the living that handed out their hair to be woven into special keepsakes, as a reminder of life’s fleeting beauty. Remember, hair changes color and falls out in time, so young lovers and fans might ask for a few locks to be woven into watch chains and jewelry so they might think of their idol daily. And in fairness, most locks of the rich and famous were asked for while the subject was still very alive, just like you might ask for an autograph. Hair collecting has been traced all the way back to the 16th century Swedes, who are believed to have started the practice out of sheer boredom during endless Nordic nights.
Nowadays, with the introduction of DNA to the daily lexicon of society, collecting hair takes on a whole new meaning. In the case of “The General” (Jackson’s personally preferred title), a lock of hair could conceivably unlock the mystery of the man himself. It is hard to deny that Andrew Jackson was an interesting man. You either loved him or you hated him. Jackson was long and lean, standing at 6 feet, 1 inch tall, and weighing between 130 and 140 pounds. He had penetrating deep blue eyes and was known for his unruly shock of red hair, which had turned completely gray by the time he became president at age 61. Jackson was one of our more sickly presidents, suffering from chronic headaches, abdominal pains, and a hacking cough caused by a musket ball in his lung that he carried for most of his life. Jackson had a few bullets in his body, the results of at least two known duels, both of which he won. The lead bullet often caused the General to cough up blood and sometimes made his whole body shake.
In addition, Jackson suffered from dysentery and malaria contracted during his military campaigns. He was known to have an addiction to coffee, enjoyed a drink or two on occasion, and incessantly chewed tobacco to the extent that brass spittoons were everywhere in the White House. Despite doctor’s orders, Jackson refused to give up these three vices, regardless of the fact that they gave him migraines. The afore mentioned bullets undoubtedly caused the General to suffer from lead poisoning, quite literally. Luckily, 19 years after that 1832 duel, the bullet causing the most damage was extracted in the White House without anesthesia. Afterwards, Jackson’s health improved tremendously.
The first recorded attack on a sitting President was against Andrew Jackson. On May 6, 1833 while in Fredericksburg, Virginia dedicating a monument to the mother of George Washington, a disgruntled sailor named Robert B. Randolph jumped from the crowd and struck the President with his fist. Randolph fled, pursued by Jackson’s retinue, including the famous writer (and Irvington namesake) Washington Irving. Jackson did not press charges.
On January 30, 1835, the first attempt to kill a sitting U.S. President occurred just outside the United States Capitol, again against Andrew Jackson. As Jackson exited the East Portico after a funeral, Richard Lawrence, an unemployed housepainter from England, aimed a pistol at Jackson, which misfired. Lawrence quickly pulled a second pistol, which also misfired. Legend claims that Jackson then beat Lawrence senseless with his cane. The President’s friend, frontiersman Davy Crockett, restrained and disarmed Lawrence, undoubtedly saving the would-be assassin’s life. Lawrence, who claimed to be England’s King Richard III (dead since 1485) blamed Jackson for the loss of his job. Lawrence was judged insane and institutionalized. Ironically, afterward the pistols were test fired again and again and each time they performed perfectly.
For years, Jackson treated his aches and pains by self-medicating with salts of mercury (often used as a diuretic and purgative in the mid 19th century), as well as ingesting sugar of lead (a lead acetate-used as a food sweetener). Historians have long believed that Andrew Jackson slowly died of mercury and lead poisoning from two bullets in his body and those medications he took for intestinal problems. As proof, historians believe that his symptoms, including excessive salivation, rapid tooth loss, colic, diarrhea, hand tremors, irritability, mood swings and paranoia, were consistent with mercury and lead poisoning. One of Jackson’s doctors liked to give the lead laden sugar to both Andrew and his wife Rachel. They not only ingested it, but used it to bathe their skin and eyes. Jackson’s well-documented, unpredictable behavior were textbook signs of mercury poisoning. Historians described these signs as “thundering and haranguing,” “pacing and ranting” and “at one moment in a towering rage, in the next moment laughing about the outburst. “
In an effort to settle the case once and for all, in 1999, two strands of the General’s hair were acquired from the Hermitage for testing. Tony Guzzi, assistant curator at The Hermitage, Andrew Jackson’s home in Nashville, Tennessee said, “We have several samples of Jackson’s hair. Admirers often requested a lock, and he would just cut one off and send it to them.” An account left by one person who visited the retired statesman at his home in 1844 relates, “we were each given a lock of Jackson’s hair, which we received with eagerness, and it will be kept as a rich legacy by each of us.” Over the years, some of the locks of hair were returned to The Hermitage by descendants of the original recipients.
The submitted strands were taken nearly a quarter century apart for better comparison to check for elevated levels of the heavy metals. The first sample was from 1815, the year of Jackson’s victory at the Battle of New Orleans, the second was from 1839, toward the end of Jackson’s life. According to the American Medical Association, while the mercury and lead levels found in the hair samples were “significantly elevated” in both samples, they were not toxic, said Dr. Ludwag M. Deppisch, a pathologist with Northeastern Ohio University College of Medicine and Forum Health. Officially, Andrew Jackson died at The Hermitage on June 8, 1845, at the age of 78, of chronic tuberculosis, dropsy, heart disease and kidney failure. In other words, the General died a natural death after leaving an extraordinarily unnatural life.
So, you see, a scientific argument might be made for my acquisition of a lock of Andrew Jackson’s hair. But the hobby is not as strange as it may sound, or, as you may think. A quick search of the net will turn up locks of hair belonging to Poet John Keats and our first President George Washington in New York City’s Morgan Library, Thomas Jefferson in the Library of Congress and from Frankenstein author Mary Shelley in the New York Public Library. Collecting hair may have fallen out of favor nowadays, but it must be noted that hair is one of the few body parts to survive well after the death of the original owner. For the bereaved and the beloved, it presents a direct link of faded youth and lives lost in an intensely personal way that no picture or video could ever achieve. As for my part, I just think its cool.

Clark Gable at the Indianapolis 500

Al Hunter — Thu, 21 May 2026 05:08:34 +0000

I originally wrote this article back in May of 2010 and in the years since, I have been informed by a longtime friend (and Irvingtonian) Bruce Gable that there is an Irvington connection, so I figured I’d update it and run it again. For the most part, here it is as it ran back then with a few appropriate updates.
The “King of Hollywood,” Clark Gable, died in November 1960. They called him the king for good reason. Women swooned at his masculine screen presence and men viewed him as the ultimate man’s man. Best remembered as Rhett Butler in Gone with the Wind, most film critics agree that without Gable, GWTW would have blown away quietly. Yet, most Hoosiers don’t realize that Gable has several ties to our fair state.
It is a little known fact that Gable was a devoted race fan who regularly attended races including the Indianapolis 500. In 1950 Gable starred in the movie To Please a Lady, filmed at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Although not critically acclaimed, the movie is considered to be a motorsports classic. Most of the scenes were shot over a three-week period at the Speedway. To make the racing scenes as authentic as possible, director Clarence Brown used a good deal of actual professional racing footage. Gable did some of his own driving for close-ups, while a stunt driver took the wheel for the more dangerous shots. The film’s climax was shot at the 1950 Indianapolis 500 won by Johnnie Parsons in a rain shortened race.
In the film Gable stars as Mike Brannan, a thrill-seeking race car driver whose ruthless tactics cause a crash that results in another driver’s death. Barbara Stanwyck plays Regina Forbes, an influential newspaper columnist who is determined to get him permanently banned from the professional racing circuit. Gable’s Brannan character has a bad reputation and Stanwyck’s columnist Forbes character tries to interview him, but he refuses. Regina’s column suggests that Brannan caused the fatal accident deliberately, which leads to him lose his ride. Brannan begins driving in a stunt show, eventually earning enough money to buy a car of his own and enter the Indy 500 himself. The pair engages in an explosive battle of wills while fighting off an attraction to each other that threatens to spin out of control.
The film was director Clarence Brown’s eighth and final film with Clark Gable, who was also his good friend. Brown managed to pull off some of the most thrilling racing sequences ever filmed, capturing the raw excitement of the Speedway by throwing viewers right into the middle of the action. Fans experienced the energy of the pit crew in action, the zooming car engines, and the roar of the crowd. Cinematographer Hal Rosson used up to six camera crews at a time to capture action from actual races. The location shooting paid off in the film’s nail-biting climax where car speeds averaged 100 miles an hour.
Gable and Stanwyck are well matched as a romantic on-screen duo whose character’s intense chemistry is undeniable. This was the couple’s second film together. Their first, Night Nurse, was made nearly 20 years earlier at Warner Bros. In that movie Gable, not yet a major movie star, played a small role as a nasty chauffeur who viciously slaps Barbara Stanwyck across the face. The moment was replicated in the Speedway film when Stanwyck took another smack across the kisser from Gable.
Ironically, To Please a Lady was not a major box office success due in part to the surge in household television sales, which by 1950 was rapidly taking business away from movie theaters. However, the film did win plenty of critical praise. The New York Times said of the film: “You can bet that Indianapolis never experienced a contest as hotly run as the race that Mr. Brown has staged.” Variety proclaimed that the movie “has excitement, thrills, with some of the greatest racing footage ever put on celluloid — It firmly returns Gable to the rugged lover, rugged character status.”
The film’s legacy among race fans is the chance to see authentic open-wheel midget and Indy-car racing footage from an often neglected time in auto racing. The montage featuring a racing engine being machined and assembled along with some nice race car close-ups and pit stop action make it a must-see flick for gear heads. The film also captures a couple of minutes of authentic footage of Joie Chitwood’s famous stunt car show, a rare treat for vintage race fans.
Being in Indianapolis was difficult for Clark Gable personally. Married five times, Gable’s most glittering union was with Hoosier actress Carole Lombard. The city was the final stop of a 1942 war bond tour headlined by Lombard, before flying back home to Los Angeles. Tragically, Lombard’s plane never made it, crashing in Nevada, killing everyone on board. Gable and Lombard honeymooned at Lake Barbee near Warsaw, Indiana. Their three-year marriage had been the ideal Tinseltown union, and Lombard’s death was a loss from which Gable never recovered.
At the time of To Please a Lady Gable had finally remarried, this time to Douglas Fairbanks’ widow, Lady Sylvia Ashley. During filming he seemed happier and healthier than he had been in years according to friends. Even so, Gable remembered his beloved late wife while in Indianapolis. He quietly made a point to visit the downtown locations where Lombard had made her final public appearances before her tragic death.
When Gable left Indianapolis, he had one last surprise waiting for him. Lady Sylvia’s teenage nephew, Timothy Bleck showed up on set with a group of friends and took over several rooms at the Marriott Hotel, where the Gables were staying, charging their bill to the Gable’s account. Many who knew Bleck felt that the youngster had developed a “crush” on Gable. For his part, Gable often complained to his new wife that Bleck and his friends were “eating me out of house and home and always pestering me for money.”
Lady Sylvia was a British national famous for her temper tantrums. Later that same year, she demanded a spacious dressing room for her personal use during Clark’s next movie being filmed in Durango, Mexico, The Wide Missouri. (Gable’s first Technicolor film since Gone with the Wind.) It was an exclusive luxury granted only to mega-movie stars like Greta Garbo, Marlene Dietrich, Joan Crawford, and Bette Davis. The couple divorced within the year.
Gable’s list of film pairings includes many of the most beautiful women in Hollywood. Joan Crawford teamed with Gable eight times, more than any other actress. Jean Harlow starred with Gable in six films in a union that would have undoubtedly continued if not for her untimely death. Lana Turner shared the credits with him four times. Gable worked twice each with Loretta Young and Claudette Colbert. In his final film, The Misfits at almost 60 years old, Gable starred opposite 34-year-old Marilyn Monroe. Gable had been her childhood idol. The film also starred the tragically flawed fallen film idol Montgomery Clift.
The Misfits would take on a macabre life of its own, fostering whispers of a curse, when Gable suffered a heart attack two days after filming ended, He died ten days later. Monroe and Clift attended the premiere in New York in February 1961 while Monroe was on pass from a psychiatric hospital; she later said that she hated the film and could not watch herself in it. Within a year and a half, she was dead of an alleged drug overdose. The Misfits was the last completed film for both Monroe and Gable.
Montgomery Clift, previously known for his classic profile, had been badly injured in a 1956 car crash requiring reconstructive surgery on his face, evident in his close-ups for The Misfits. He died six years after the filming. The Misfits was on television on the night Clift died. His live-in personal secretary asked Clift if he wanted to watch it. “Absolutely not,” was Clift’s reply, the last words that he spoke to anyone. He was found dead the next morning, having suffered a heart attack during the night.
Many feel that Clark Gable danced a tango with death and morbid curiosity throughout his career. Gable’s perceived death wish circled around the many dangerous, often violent, themed films he starred in, his early death and the unexpected deaths of his co-stars, capped off with the tragic early demise of his wife Carole Lombard. Another eerie connection to Indiana by Clark Gable can be found in the last movie Hoosier outlaw John Dillinger ever saw. Moments before he was gunned down in an alley outside Chicago’s Biograph Theatre, Public Enemy #1 was watching an MGM film called Manhattan Melodrama starring . . . you guessed it, Clark Gable.
Update: Irvingtonians Bruce and Fred Gable have shared stories with me about their famous relative. Turns out, Clark Gable was a distant cousin. The Gable home was located at 5850 University Avenue across from the Guardian Home. Bruce and Fred researched the Gable family connection and discovered that their great-grandfather and Clark Gable’s grandfather were 1st cousins. “They were wildcatters who migrated to Indiana from Pennsylvania in search of oil back in the 1880s,” Bruce stated, “All they found was natural gas though and neither made any money on that.”
The Gable family lived for a time in the Audubon Court Apartments and they can remember stories about the elder Gable visiting his cousin/their grandfather in Irvington. Gable’s great-grandfather owned the Thompkins drugstore on South Audubon Road. The brothers recall a time when telling neighborhood kids that they were related to Clark Gable was a big deal. “Later, when my kids told their friends that, no one knows who they’re talking about.” said Bruce. As for that I’ll quote Rhett Butler by saying, “Frankly my dear I don’t give a damn” because I’m just glad to hear that Irvington has a connection to one of the most admired leading men in Hollywood history.

Break on Through to the Other Side

Al Hunter — Thu, 14 May 2026 05:08:11 +0000

Ray Manzarek, the keyboardist of The Doors, died in Rosenheim, Germany after a long fight with cancer on May 20, 2013.
His death came 42 years, literally a lifetime, after the death of Doors’ frontman Jim Morrison. (Assuming of course that you don’t cast your lot with the conspiratorialists that believe Mr. Mojo Rising is alive and well, drinking whiskey sours on some deserted Caribbean Island.) The Doors were one of the most influential bands in the history of rock-n-roll, owing, in large part, to the innovative keyboard riffs of Ray Manzarek. It was the marriage of Manzarek’s sonic banshee keyboard style to Morrison’s haunting vocals that made the band so unique. But because Morrison died so young, the picture of The Doors I have tattooed on my mind is that of youth and Ray’s passing just doesn’t jive with that image.
Raymond Daniel Manczarek, Jr., born February 12, 1939, was an American musician, singer, producer, film director, writer, and co-founder of The Doors from 1965 to 1973. Manzarek died of complications related to bile duct cancer. Manzarek was a gritty Polish kid, born and raised on the south side of Chicago. Growing up, he took private piano lessons but his real love was basketball. Young Ray only wanted to play power forward or center and at 6 feet 1 inch tall, that was going to be a challenge. At the age of 16 his coach insisted that he play guard, or not at all. So Ray quit the team. Manzarek said later if it was not for that ultimatum, he might never have been with The Doors. He attended St. Rita High School in Chicago and graduated from DePaul University with a degree in Economics and played keyboards in many shows at the school.
In 1962–1965, he studied in the Department of Cinematography at UCLA, where he met film student Jim Morrison. Forty days after finishing film school, thinking they had gone their separate ways, Manzarek and Morrison met by chance on Venice Beach in California. Morrison said he had written some songs, and Manzarek expressed an interest in hearing them, whereupon Morrison sang a rough version of “Moonlight Drive.” Manzarek liked the songs and co-founded The Doors with Morrison at that moment.
Outwardly the two were an odd match. Morrison, strikingly tall, dark and handsome, looked the part of rock star. Manzarek, with glasses and comparatively close-cropped blonde hair, looked more like a college professor. Later, Manzarek met drummer John Densmore and guitarist Robby Krieger at a Transcendental Meditation lecture. Krieger’s Spanish-influenced guitar and Densmore’s subtle, jazz-infused drumming cemented the band’s signature sound.
In January 1966, The Doors became the house band at The London Fog on L.A.’s Sunset Strip. According to Manzarek, “Nobody ever came in the place…an occasional sailor or two on leave, a few drunks. All in all it was a very depressing experience, but it gave us time to really get the music together.” The same day The Doors were fired from The London Fog, they were hired to be the house band of the legendary Whisky a Go Go. Their first performance at the Whisky was with the Van Morrison’s group “Them” (Remember G-L-O-R-I-A…Gloria?).
The Doors’ first recording contract was with Columbia Records. After a few months of inactivity, they learned they were on Columbia’s drop list. At that point, they asked to be released from their contract. After a few months of live gigs, the band was “rediscovered” and The Doors were signed by Elektra Records.
The band took their name from a line in Aldous Huxley’s book The Doors of Perception: “If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, infinite.” The line comes originally from William Blake’s The Marriage of Heaven and Hell. Together, The Doors recorded numerous multi-platinum albums and had hits with “L.A. Woman,” “Break On Through to the Other Side,” “The End” and Ray Manzarek’s masterpiece, “Light My Fire.” The Doors has sold more than 100 million albums and their music has been re-released and repackaged multiple times over the years, been featured prominently in movies and holds a lofty perch in rock history.
The Doors lacked a bassist, so Manzarek usually played the bass parts on a Fender Rhodes piano. His signature sound was the Vox Continental combo organ. Known for its bright, thin, breathy sound, the “Connie” was used by many other psychedelic rock bands of the era. If you’re not a devotee of The Doors, you’ve heard the “Connie” featured prominently on hit songs like “House of the Rising Sun” by The Animals, “96 Tears” by Question Mark and the Mysterians, and “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” by Iron Butterfly. But nobody played the Connie as well and as often as Ray Manzarek. Later Ray switched to a Gibson G-101 Kalamazoo combo organ because the Connie’s plastic keys frequently broke during Manzarek’s frenetic playing.
Manzarek occasionally sang for The Doors, including the live recordings of “Close To You” and on the B-side of “Love Her Madly,” and “You Need Meat (Don’t Go No Further).” He also sang on the last two Doors albums, recorded after Morrison’s death, Other Voices and Full Circle. Additionally, he provided one of several guitar parts on the song “Been Down So Long.”
For fans and musicians alike, The Doors’ brooding and sometimes dark sound crystallized the experimental rock music emanating from Los Angeles. The “L.A. Sound” stood in stark contrast to the lighter, soaring sound coming out of the San Francisco Bay Area typified by the Grateful Dead and Jefferson Airplane. To me, what made The Doors sound so musically different was that Ray Manzarek’s keyboard was the lead instrument. I’d never heard that before. Most bands led with a guitar, some with the drums, but The Doors led with a keyboard. I’m sure it had been done before, but it was a new sound to me. And, after all these years, it’s the sound I can remember. If you doubt it, Google “Riders on the Storm” and get back to me.
In an interview with National Public Radio in 2000, Manzarek described the band’s sound this way: “We were aware of Muddy Waters. We were aware of Howlin’ Wolf and John Coltrane and Miles Davis. Plus, Jan and Dean and The Beach Boys and the surf sound. Robby Krieger brings in some flamenco guitar. I bring a little bit of classical music along with the blues and jazz, and certainly John Densmore was heavy into jazz. And Jim brings in beatnik poetry and French symbolist poetry, and that’s the blend of The Doors as the sun is setting into the Pacific Ocean at the end, the terminus of Western civilization. That’s the end of it. Western civilization ends here in California at Venice Beach, so we stood there inventing a new world on psychedelics.”
Ray Manzarek was iconic, brilliant, eccentric and way ahead of his time. From all accounts, Manzarek loved life. We should all be so lucky as to find something that makes us as happy as pounding keyboards made Ray Manzarek. The fact that he helped change the face of music while doing it, well, that’s just a bonus. Manzarek himself explained it thusly: “The only thing that ultimately matters is to eat an ice-cream cone, play a slide trombone, plant a small tree, good God, now you’re free.” In that case, make mine a triple scoop.

The Ghosts of Kings Island

Al Hunter — Thu, 07 May 2026 05:08:59 +0000

Kings Island amusement park is a one tank trip that most Hoosiers have taken in their lifetime. But most visitors don’t realize that the park is haunted. More still have no idea that upon pulling into the north end of the Kings Island parking lot off Columbia Road, you’re within a stone’s throw of an 1840s pioneer cemetery within the boundaries of the amusement park. What’s more, fewer still realize that the park’s property includes the site of a horrific gunpowder explosion that claimed the lives of 11 men, women and children in July of 1890.
Within sight of the Kings Island roller coasters along the Little Miami River, just down the hill from Kings Mills, the old Peters Cartridge factory loomed ominously. After decades of decay, the factory has been converted to luxury apartments — a stark contrast to when the bustling factory was one of the most prolific and innovative makers of ammunition in the world. It employed hundreds of people along the scenic river.
The complex, built in the 1880s, has a colorful history based on revenge. Joseph Warren King and his nephew Ahimaaz King owned a large portion of the Miami Powder Co., near Xenia. The Kings were forced out of the company after an out-of-state powder maker wrested control of the business from them in 1872 in what we call today a hostile takeover. Undeterred, the crafty, vengeful Kings hatched a plan to buy 832,000 pounds of surplus Civil War gunpowder from an armory in St. Louis. J.W. King intended to drive his nemesis out of business with cheap powder at a time when a flooded post-war market made the explosive stuff inexpensive already.
In 1878, the Kings created the Great Western Powder Co. and chose the spot for their factory in a deep valley of the Little Miami River 30 miles south of Xenia at Gainesborough, where Kings Island stands today. The choice of this site was no accident. In the early days of explosives manufacturing, the willow tree played a prominent part in the manufacture of gunpowder. The manufacture of gunpowder required saltpeter, soda ash and charcoal. The banks of most every stream in the area abounded with willow trees. These trees could be used to produce the special high grade of charcoal necessary to manufacture explosives.
They would soon build Kings Mills, a company town for their workers, and rename the operation the King Powder Co. J.W. King’s son-in-law, a Baptist preacher named Gershom Moore Peters, founded the Peters Cartridge Co. in 1887. Peters invented a revolutionary machine that automatically loaded shotgun shells, capable of packing and loading shells at a rate of 60 per minute. The Peters Cartridge Co. became the first to commercially produce automatic machine-loaded cartridges for the marketplace and the King Powder Co. was the parent company.
The massive factory occupied both sides of the river. Safety was the watchword at the twin factories, where at least 20 known explosions killed dozens of people. Workhorses wore brass horseshoes, for fear of deadly sparks. Something as simple as a nail in a worn shoe heel coming in contact with a nail in the floor might cause a spark to touch off an explosion powerful enough to blow a man to smithereens. Explosions were so routine that most structures were built for “quick post-explosion reconstruction.”
The most noteworthy event commenced at 3:50 p.m. on July 15, 1890 when people 6 miles away in Lebanon, Ohio were startled by a loud boom. A freight train halted at Kings Mills to pick up a couple of cars loaded with giant blasting powder. The engineer “cut” his train and proceeded to draw the cars from the switch alongside the mills and place them in his “string.” He made what, in railroad parlance, is known as a “running switch,” having located a new brakeman to operate the brakes. For some unknown reason, the brakes on the cars did not hold and the wayward train cars slipped their moorings. The runaway train gained speed as it hurtled down the slope, striking the stationary cars loaded with 1,600 kegs of powder and cartridges with disastrous results. Instantly there was an explosion that burst the eardrums of every one in the immediate vicinity followed by a second concussion and later a third, more deafening report.
The explosion killed 11 people, including three children. The resulting fires burned for five hours and destroyed an office building, two three-story buildings, a large warehouse and almost 12 company homes. Luckily, a warehouse containing 25,000 kegs of gun powder was left untouched — not a spark had reached it. A Cincinnati reporter said of the blast, “Everything … took fire and burnt like powder, not a piece of timber of any kind (and all the buildings) was left standing by six o’clock.”
One newspaper account said of the explosion: “Employees at the powder mills had been on duty almost three hours when, without an instant’s warning, and as swiftly as lightning strikes from the sky, there was a roar as though the earth itself had been split asunder. Wherever they were standing, whether at the grinding machines, in the storage houses or even idling along the streets, men felt the earth give beneath their feet and then, seemingly, to rise as though in the throes of a violent earthquake. Some were thrown against nearby obstacles; others were swept from their feet and hurled to the ground.”
Debris rained from the sky; splintered wood, pieces of metal, shingles and bricks came down on the single street in the settlement, and showered the roofs of the company-owned cottages. Several large shade trees near the building were literally torn up by the roots, while others nearby were broken or twisted off near their base; still others, some fully 50 yards away, were stripped of their branches by the force of the explosion. One side of the bridge across the Little Miami river, nearly a mile away, collapsed and tumbled into the water below. Immediately following the explosion a cloud of thick, dark smoke hung over the little valley. For a full half-hour the cloud blacked out the sky.
The work of checking over the list of employees started as soon as the numbed and frightened populace could recover from the shock. As names were called the men lined up, most of them nursing bruises or cuts received from the flying debris. When the roll had been completed three vacancies were noted in their ranks. But there was not even the tiniest fragment of clothing of any one of the missing three to indicate that they were actual victims of the tragedy. They had literally been blown to atoms. A careful search was started in the afternoon, and small fragments of the bodies of the explosion victims were found, mostly at a distance of 200 yards from the scene of the catastrophe. Not a trace of the brakeman could be found following the explosion and the freight cars on which he was riding had disappeared as completely as if the earth had opened up and swallowed them whole. Among the names of the 11 that perished: brakeman William Franey, Albert Williams, a cartridge maker; Samuel Stevenson and Harry Reynolds, teamsters; Mrs. James Moss and her 3-year old child; Mrs. Frederick Kelly, wife of the foreman of the plant, and her 4-year old son; a Mrs. Collins and child; the infant of a Mrs. Eliston, and a rag-picker, whose identity is known only to God.
Kings Mills buried its dead, then mutely turned its face to the scene of destruction to fix and repair the factory. The plant continued to make ammunition for soldiers during World War I. Peters Cartridge Co. was sold to Remington Arms in 1934. Roll a Remington Arms brass ammunition round in your hand and read the “R-P.” The “P” stands for Peters Cartridge Co. Remington continued to operate the plant into World War II, producing an estimated 50 million rounds per month. Many of the King Powder Co. buildings were burned to the ground after the company’s closing due to the dangerously explosive residue.
So the next time you visit Kings Island, know that you’re straying into the world of Peters and King. In fact, one of the company’s powder lines was located a mere stone’s throw from the park’s Eiffel Tower centerpiece. Just be careful when you enter the dark corners of the Kings Island amusement park. You may just find that you are not alone.

The Lincoln Funeral Train 161 Years Later

Al Hunter — Thu, 30 Apr 2026 05:08:29 +0000

Anyone familiar with my writings and ramblings knows that I have one special “obsession” when it comes to ghost stories; The Lincoln Ghost train. I’ve written countless articles, papers and literary works on the life and death of Abraham Lincoln over the past 15 years or so.
When the train came through Indiana, the official Travel Log of the train notes that it arrived in Greenfield at 5:48 a.m., Philadelphia at 5:57 a.m., Cumberland at 6:30 a.m., the “Engine House” (identified as “Thorne” in Irvington) at 6:45 a.m. before finally arriving in Indianapolis at 7:00 a.m. The previous day’s rain had stopped just after midnight as the train approached the Indiana border, revealing a beautiful starlit sky as a backdrop for the sad processional and lifting the hopes of the trackside witnesses. However, the telltale slap/pop sound of hard raindrops hitting roofs and roads began again in the predawn hours and by 6 a.m., and rain blanketed the Hoosier countryside. Although it was dark and rainy, the area along the tracks was well lit by torches and bonfires tended by loyal Lincolnites as the train crept towards Indianapolis at less than 10 miles per hour.
In Greenfield, the depot was choked with people wishing to gaze upon the face of the departed leader one last time. The train was not officially scheduled to stop in Greenfield, but the mood among the citizens was that perhaps the engineer might be persuaded to stop when he witnessed the tremendous outpouring of trackside emotion at the Greenfield depot. The local newspaper described among those expectant gatherers “a knot of three boys, hands in pockets chattering back and forth with each other while pacing up and down the railroad tracks. Two older fellows were standing together, each arm around the other, probably soldiers remembering what it means to be a comrade.” The depot porch was filled to overflowing with women in their long dresses, old soldiers in their Union uniforms and a sea of men dressed entirely in black. The telegraph operator in Charlottesville wired that the train had just passed and was heading towards the neighboring town.
A sentinel was perched atop the station to alert the citizens below of the train’s approach. In a few moments, a cloud of silver phosphorescent smoke appeared above the tree tops that parallels the exact route of the present day Pennsy trail. “Here it Comes” was the cry from above and immediately the crowd below hushed and gazed eastward expectantly. For several moments, the only sound that could be heard on the platform was the muffled weeping of the gathered mourners. The crowd asked Captain Reuben Riley to read aloud excerpts from Lincoln’s second Inaugural address as the train slowly approached. As if in response to the impromptu ceremony, the train paused briefly at the station and the engineer removed his cap in respect to reverent gathering.
Reverend Manners stepped from the crowd and led the group in a prayer that began with “Thank God for the life of Abraham Lincoln.” The people now openly wept as the 10 car train departed westward towards Indianapolis. Unfortunately, there are no witness accounts from the train’s sojourn through Irvington. Other towns and cities along the route were bedecked in black mourning cloth, lit by trackside bonfires and oil lamps with platforms choked with adoring masses.
The train came to it’s final west bound destination under cover of a sheltered structure at Union Station in the Hoosier Capitol City. As the train arrived, guns were fired every minute, every city bell chimed continuously, and the Indianapolis city band played dirges at trackside. The train slowed to a stop as the smokestack puffed and hissed under the massive hipped roof of the old station, enveloping the platform and gathered dignitaries in a ghostly fog. As the final slow hiss of boiler steam escaped form the bowels of the Lincoln funeral train, the President of Chicago & Indiana Central Railway, D.E. Smith issued the following telegraph, “The funeral train arrived here precisely on time. There was a perfect torchlite along the along the whole route. Every farm house had its bonfire in order to see the train. Urbana, Piqua, Greenville and Richmond turned out their entire population. Nearly every town had arches built over the track.”
Extensive preparations had been made for receiving the President’s remains that Governor Oliver P. Morton decreed were to be “Consistent with the dignity and reputation of the state.” While Morton planned the festivities meticulously, he could not control the weather. As the daybreak rains poured forth, the bunting and other mourning signs and decorations were soaked and in most places sadly dragging on the ground. However, the rains did not deter the sorrowful pilgrimage of mourners packing the streets from Union Station to the Statehouse. The military guard was drawn up in a solid blue line on both sides of the street, posed with bayonets forward for five blocks from Illinois up Washington Street to the Statehouse doors. The heavy rain forced the cancellation of a much larger, planned official processional. Lincoln’s body was transferred by a guard of honor from the train into an hearse topped by a silver-gilt eagle, drawn by six white horses with black velvet covers, each bearing black and white plumes.
The body was escorted by Governor Morton and General “Fighting Joe” Hooker to the Indiana State House. Legend claims that we owe the title affixed to present day “ladies of the evening” to Gen. Hooker, an avowed ladies man. As proof of his attraction to the opposite sex, when the coffin was opened in preparation for public viewing, Hooker observed eight rosebuds clinging to the dead President’s body inside. He carefully plucked the flowers, believed to have been placed there while the body was in New York, and distributed them personally among several ladies present for the ceremonies. These women prized the memory of the encounter as well as the flowers for decades after the event.
News traveled slowly in those days and Indianapolis was the first major city to hear the news that the President’s assassin, John Wilkes Booth, had been captured and killed and the news buzzed through the excited crowd as they waited outside in the rain. The doors were opened at 9 a.m. as an estimated 120,000 people passed by Lincoln in less than 13 hours of public viewing. Roughly 155 people per minute (or 9,300 Hoosiers an hour) passed by the open casket as it rested in the old Capitol Building. By the time Mr. Lincoln’s body arrived in Indianapolis, his face was almost black from decomposition. A local newspaper reporter wrote that Lincoln looked, “…a good deal discolored and emaciated — wearing a haggard and careworn look, but otherwise rather natural.”
Perhaps the most noteworthy visitors that day were the “Colored Masons” who formed a respectable procession lead by a copy of the Emancipation Proclamation and carrying banners reading “Colored Men, always loyal” and “Slavery is dead.” By 9 p.m., the crowds diminished, allowing those remaining mourners the luxury of having a long look at the remains. The doors of the State House were ordered closed at 10 p.m. and once again the soldiers were assembled and posted along the return route to Union Station. At 11:50 p.m. the Lincoln train left Indianapolis bound for Chicago. During the night the train passed through Augusta at 12:30 a.m., Zionsville at 12:47 a.m., Whitestown at 1:07 a.m., Lebanon at 1:30 a.m., Thorntown at 2:10 a.m., Lafayette at 3:35 a.m. and Battle Ground at 3:55 a.m. In Michigan City at 7:40 a.m., an impromptu funeral was held and Mr. Lincoln’s coffin was opened one last time in the Hoosier State as mourners filed through the Lincoln train car to view the dead President.
The Indianapolis Daily Sentinel reported in the May 1, 1865 edition of the newspaper that the ceremonies of the previous day, “All in all the multitude presented the most grotesque and ridiculous appearance we have ever witnessed. Wet, tired, cold and famished, beduabed with mud and filth, they presented a sorry sight indeed. No more inclement and uncharitable day could have been, and no more enthusiastic mass of sightseers could have been collected together.” Ironically, while the crowds waited in the rain soaked muddy streets for a last glimpse of Lincoln, pickpockets worked the crowds. It wasn’t all chivalry and solemnity, folks.

Teach Your Children Well

Al Hunter — Thu, 23 Apr 2026 05:08:16 +0000

Recently I took my wife and daughter out antiquing on a sunny Saturday morning. Coming off the coldest, bitterest winter I can remember, we really were just itching for a reason to get out of the house. We piled in the car and drove over to Dayton, Ohio to a modest little antique flea market at Hara arena that we had never visited before. We found our usual assortment of stuff we really didn’t need but were thrilled to find. My daughter was delighted to show me a 50¢ find that she was particularly proud of, a small tannish hardcover book titled “Health and Sanitation Through the Public Schools of Kentucky.” I think I said something like “that’s nice, dear” and walked on to look for more treasures.
It wasn’t until I got home and started to unpack our bags that I realized that this little book was very cool indeed. As I leafed through the pages, even though the book was dated January of 1920 inside, I saw many things inside that were familiar to me. Many of the subjects covered within its pages have been featured in articles I’ve written in the past. Written by Dr. WL Heizer, executive secretary of the Kentucky board of tuberculosis commissioners, and Mrs. V. O. Gilbert, Kentucky state superintendent of public instruction, the book was printed and distributed to every elementary school kid in the state of Kentucky. The general theme of the book is eugenics, an antiquated term that makes most who know it’s meaning shudder.
Eugenics was one of the earliest forms of racial cleansing ever introduced in this country. Popularized at the Indiana State Fair by events known as “Better Baby Contests,” a relic of those troubling times remains there to this very day. The Hook’s Drugstore Museum is housed in the old Better Babies building just off 38th Street in Indianapolis. Another theme running through the book is the anti-tuberculosis league that proliferated during the same period. These are the folks responsible for the popular “No Spitting on Floors and Sidewalks” signs that could be found all over the city back in the day.
Although issued in Kentucky, the book might as well have come out of Indiana because the instructions and edicts found within could easily be transferred to the Hoosier state. Within the first couple of pages the underlying motive of the book becomes quite clear with a picture of the lily white group of participants of the “Baby Health Contest” at the Kentucky State Fair 1917. The object of the volume becomes perfectly clear in the very first line of the book’s foreword: “In presenting this bulletin to the teachers and children of the public schools, we hope to be the instrument in saving many valuable lives and much sickness, suffering and needless expense.”
The first half of the 200 page book devotes itself to whitewashing the subject of racial cleansing by explaining acceptable ways to raise a “perfect child” and by identifying unacceptable traits mistakenly identified as defects. “It is the privilege of every baby to be well born; that is, it is entitled by right to have strong, healthy parents, free from inheritances of insanity, degeneracy, feeble mindedness, or the heredity of social disease. It is very necessary, then, that marriageable girls should know that these defects can be transmitted to their children, and, in the selection of a husband, it should be the ambition of a girl to select the kind of husband that would insure to her descendants a freedom from these preventable and awful handicaps.”
Although the book was distributed to grade school kids, some of the content is obviously aimed at their parents. For example, “It becomes the duty of the father or mother of the marriageable girl, to make a fairly close survey of the intended husband, going into the family history to determine whether or not there is a line of degeneracy, insanity, feeble mindedness or epilepsy to be found among his immediate family… A careful history of the intended husband, relative to his moral life and that of his forefathers, should be taken, with a view of avoiding the strains of moral degeneracy commonly found in the children of moral defectives.” Some of those “defects” sound ridiculous to us today and include common childhood traits like night terrors, thumb-sucking, sleeplessness, chafing, stuttering, cross eyes, knock knees, pigeon toes, and bow legs.
The second half of the book is devoted to personal hygiene and disease prevention. However, the volume devotes considerable amount of time to subjects that today sound archaic and horribly out of touch. On the section titled “Bites of Animals,” the book directs “The Safest Rule is to prohibit the keeping of domestic animals about the place, such as dogs and cats. They are usually useless and a nuisance and add to the expense of the household.”
Today it seems that every man under the age of 40 is wearing a beard were heavy mustache, so I found it interesting that the subject of shaving in this volume was heavily frowned upon. Again, this book was issued to school children which makes the following all the more humorous, “From a health standpoint, very little excuse can be found for a person maintaining a heavy beard or mustache. The hairs collect dust and dirt. Very frequently when eating, milk or other food becomes entangled in the growth and it is troublesome to remove thoroughly such substances. The smooth shaven face is the easiest one kept clean and it is not nearly so apt to become infected with germs of consumption. lagrippe or pneumonia…The bearded face is becoming relatively rare, and unless it is worn for cosmetic purposes, the beard will tend to disappear as health laws are more thoroughly understood and applied.”
The book continues with more of the same and the last quarter of the book is devoted to the proper construction, care and use of sleeping porches, quarters and tents built outdoors for the use and isolation of sick children. The illustrations and real photo images of these precariously constructed additions, some 1 to 2 stories above the ground, look quite dangerous and in some instances appear to be worse than the cure. Woe to the child with claustrophobia or a fear of heights! Also in this section can be found diagrams, details and instructions on the proper dispensation of backyard outhouses for the health and well-being of the family and community instructing that outhouses should be “self-cleaning and fly proof.”
The book is subtle, but unmistakable, in its delivery of the eugenics message. No doubt the personal presentation of a brand-new hardcover book for students to take home to rural Kentucky households was a thrill to the child and a wonder to the family back in the day. There’s a good chance that this book might’ve been the only other book in the family home other than the Bible.
This particular book was presented to a little girl from South Fork Kentucky in Owsley County, once the home of Daniel Boone. In a childlike scrawl on the flyleaf page the original owner has written “Mae Griffith. Her book. South Fork Ky. Jan. 8, 1920.” twice. Pauline Mae Griffith was born on April 21, 1909, making her 10 years old when she received this book. According to my research, little Mae got very sick shortly after she took this book home to proudly show her family.
Her family moved to Granville Ohio in late 1920/early 1921 where Mae died “of disease” on August 2, 1921 at the age of 12. She was buried four days later on August 6, 1921 in Maple Grove Cemetery, where she rests to this day. One thing’s for sure — this little book somehow made the 100 mile journey from Granville to Dayton, Ohio to land in the hands of my own little girl. Don’t worry Mae, Jasmine will cherish it just as much as you did.

Glen Campbell, The Wrecking Crew and Alzheimer’s

Al Hunter — Thu, 16 Apr 2026 05:08:19 +0000

Glen Travis Campbell was born on April 22, 1936. He started playing guitar at the age of four. While still a teenager, Campbell moved to Albuquerque to join his uncle Boo’s band. By the age of 22, Campbell had formed his own band. In 1960, Campbell moved to Los Angeles to become a session musician. By early 1961, Campbell’s skills were in high demand and he soon became an integral part of a legendary group of studio musicians known as The Wrecking Crew. Campbell played guitar on recordings by Bobby Darin, Ricky Nelson, Sonny & Cher, the Mamas & the Papas, Dean Martin, Nat King Cole, The Monkees, Nancy Sinatra, Merle Haggard, Jan and Dean, Elvis Presley, The Carpenters, Frank Sinatra, and Phil Spector.
Look at that list again. Betcha didn’t know Glen Campbell backed The King and was part of Phil Spector’s de facto house band known as The Wall of Sound. Keep reading and you’ll discover that Campbell’s guitar prowess doesn’t stop there. The Wrecking Crew were also sometimes called the Clique or the First Call Gang. They were a loose-knit circle of Los Angeles’ top studio session musicians whose services were constantly in demand by the biggest names in the business. While the musician’s roll of The Wrecking Crew changed often, the result of their work never did.
Often appearing anonymously with no credit in the liner notes, The Wrecking Crew backed dozens of popular acts on numerous top-selling hits of the era. If you needed a hit in the 60s and 70s, you called The Wrecking Crew. When you hear pop classics like “Be My Baby,” “California Girls,” “Mrs. Robinson,” “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin’,” “Viva Las Vegas,” “Mr. Tambourine Man,” “California Dreamin’,” “I Got You Babe,” “Surf City,” “Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In,” “Help Me Rhonda,” “”Rainy Days and Mondays,“ or “These Boots are Made for Walking,” you’re listening to The Wrecking Crew. They were sometimes used as “ghost players” on recordings credited to rock groups such as the Byrds, the Monkees, and the Beach Boys. At one point in the 60s, the Grammy Award for Record of The Year was awarded to a song performed by The Wrecking Crew seven years in a row. They are considered the most successful session recording unit in music history.
At the height of their careers, it wasn’t uncommon for The Wrecking Crew to work 15-hour days, recording hit records in the morning, radio ads through lunch, television spots in the afternoon, and performing backup for various touring acts before bedtime. Before the decade was out, they had clocked well over 10,000 hours of studio time and worked on hundreds of hit singles, including 40 chart-toppers, nearly doubling the Beatles.
Besides Campbell, the Wrecking Crew’s ranks included keyboardist Leon Russell and drummer Hal Blaine, who is reputed to have played on over 140 top ten hits including 40 number ones. Other musicians that constituted the unit’s ranks were drummer Earl Palmer, saxophonist Steve Douglas, guitarist Tommy Tedesco, guitarist and bassist Carol Kaye, as well as keyboardist Larry Knechtel (later a member of Bread).
During 1964-65, Glen Campbell became a touring member of The Beach Boys. When Brian Wilson suffered a panic attack during a flight from L.A. to Houston on December 23, 1964, he stopped performing live to concentrate solely on songwriting and studio production. Glen Campbell was called in as his temporary stand-in for live performances, before Bruce Johnston replaced him. On tour, Glen played bass guitar and sang falsetto harmonies. As thanks, Wilson produced Campbell’s 1965 single “Guess I’m Dumb.” Campbell also played guitar on the band’s Pet Sounds 1966 album, widely considered to be one of the most influential albums in music history. In April 1966, he joined Ricky Nelson on a tour through the Far East, again playing bass.
A year later, he recorded the song “Gentle on My Mind,” which earned the Grammy for Best Country and Western Recording. Campbell’s next single, “By the Time I Get to Phoenix,” also earned a Grammy Award for Best Pop Vocal Performance. As Campbell racked up the accolades, the Country Music Association honored him as the Entertainer of the Year and, in 1968, Campbell released his biggest hits to date: “Wichita Lineman” and “Galveston.” Campbell made history in 1967 by winning four Grammys total in the country and pop categories
In 1968, Campbell made a guest appearance on “The Joey Bishop Show.” The Smothers Brothers saw the performance and offered Campbell the opportunity to co-host “The Summer Smothers Brothers Show.” Campbell’s ease, humor and musical skill charmed audiences and impressed CBS executives, who offered Campbell his own prime time variety show.
Debuting in 1969, “The Glen Campbell Good Time Hour” was a combination of musical acts, comedy segments, and glamorous guest stars. The show, which was produced by The Smothers Brothers, became a No. 1 hit in the U.S. and the U.K., making Campbell an international star. Although the variety series was canceled in 1972, the success of his No. 1 singles, “Rhinestone Cowboy” (1975) and “Southern Nights” (1977), further cemented Campbell’s status as a crossover success. Along with his television success, Campbell starred on the big screen. He began his movie career opposite John Wayne in 1969’s True Grit. The Duke himself picked Campbell to play alongside him in the film, after his first choice, Elvis Presley, demanded top-billing over John Wayne. Campbell was nominated for a Golden Globe award for his debut performance.
During his 50 years in show business, Glen Campbell recorded and released more then 70 albums. He sold 45 million records and accumulated 12 Gold albums, four Platinum albums and one Double-platinum album. He also sang on four motion picture soundtracks. He placed a total of 82 singles on the Billboard charts, 29 made the top 10 and nine hit number one. He released 15 video albums and has been featured in 21 music videos.
And what about Glen Campbell’s connection to Indianapolis? They begin with Campbell’s August 30, 1969 appearance at the State Fair Coliseum. He returned five years later for a September 15, 1974 concert before an audience of 11,637 at Market Square Arena. It was the first ever concert held at the new venue. 37 years later Campbell was one of the first musical acts at the new Carmel Palladium. On June 4, 2011, Glen Campbell took the stage to perform a medley of his greatest hits. The audience was shocked when Campbell came across as unprepared and disoriented. Despite the assistance of three teleprompters, Campbell forgot lyrics to songs he had been singing for 40 years. He clanged countless off-key guitar notes that he could have played in his sleep back in The Wrecking Crew days. He struggled to communicate with T.J. Keunster, his music director and keyboardist since 1977 and he disconnected with the crowd of devoted fans who would have once been satisfied to hear him simply read the phone book.
It was in this atmosphere of negative publicity, fueled by rumblings of drunkenness and drug abuse, that Campbell’s wife Kim confirmed that her husband had been recently diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. According to his family, symptoms of the disease had been occurring for years, becoming more and more evident as the years progressed. As a result of this disclosure, Campbell embarked on a final “Goodbye Tour” with three of his children joining him in his backup band. This tour included a brave return to Indianapolis on June 11, 2012 when the 76-year-old Campbell played the Murat a year after he went public with his Alzheimer’s battle.
His final show was on November 30, 2012, in Napa, California. In April 2014, news reports indicated that Campbell became a patient at an Alzheimer’s long-term care and treatment facility. On March 8, 2016, Rolling Stone reported that Campbell was living in a Nashville memory care facility and that he was in the “final stages” of his disease. He was unable to communicate with people and could not understand what people said to him. However, although his family reported the Rhinestone Cowboy’s demeanor as “happy” and “cheerful,” he could no longer play the guitar. In August 2017, he passed away at the age of 81.
The Alzheimer’s Association Greater Indiana Chapter offers free education for families affected by Alzheimer’s disease and other dementias. Topics range from the basics of Alzheimer’s and how to identify the 10 warning signs to legal and financial planning and how to communicate throughout the various stages of the disease. Contact the Alzheimer’s Association 24/7 Helpline at 800-272-3900. For a full listing of education programs, meeting dates and locations of support groups in the area, visit www.alz.org/indiana or call 800-272-3900.
The Association also hosts support groups across the state for unpaid care partners, family members and friends of individuals living with Alzheimer’s and other dementias. Support groups are free and designed to provide emotional, educational and social support for caregivers. Attendees will develop coping methods, encourage self-care, learn about community resources and optimize care techniques. While sharing personal experiences is encouraged, it is not required. There are no fees to attend programs or support groups.
The Alzheimer’s Association is the leading voluntary health organization in Alzheimer’s care, support and research. Today, more than 5 million Americans have Alzheimer’s disease, including 110,000 Hoosiers. Their mission is to eliminate Alzheimer’s disease through the advancement of research; to provide and enhance care and support for all affected; and to reduce the risk of dementia through the promotion of brain health. If you or a loved one are experiencing the early signs of dementia, please contact them immediately. If not for yourself, do it for Glen Campbell.

Reggie Harding & The Supremes, Part 2

Al Hunter — Thu, 09 Apr 2026 05:08:57 +0000

Detroit 7’0″ high school phenom Reggie Harding had a brief, but hauntingly promising, stint with our Pacers fifty years ago during the team’s first season in the upstart ABA. He had recently been cut loose by the Chicago Bulls after just 14 games into that milestone season of 1967-68. Harding had been the first player in the history of pro basketball to sign a contract as a high school player. He was selected by the Detroit Pistons and played parts of four seasons in the NBA. He lasted only 25 games with the Pacers; his career was over by the age of 26. He became legendary for his “world’s dumbest criminals” style antics off the court that began well before he left high school.
Here was a man who drew guns on teammates, became addicted to heroin and repeatedly robbed stores in his own neighborhood thinking no one would ever finger him for the crimes despite being the only 7-foot tall black man in the area. He paid for his crimes with a bullet in the head fired by a man he believed was his friend and he died at the age of 30 on a trash strewn street in the Motor City on September 2, 1972. Although Reggie’s exploits are viewed somewhat comically after all these years, mainly because no one got hurt, there was at least one incident pinned on Reggie Harding that is sad and damaging in the worst way.
In 1960 Reggie Harding was a prep star for Eastern High School. They were in the second of four consecutive Detroit Public School League men’s basketball season titles from 1959-62. Reggie averaged 31 points and 20 rebounds per game while shooting an astounding 60 percent from the field for the Indians. He would earn first team high school All-American status by Parade Magazine that year. However, those sparkling hoops credentials weren’t enough to hide the tarnished image Reggie carried around with him.
While a sophomore, Reggie had been arrested in upstate Michigan in the summer of 1959 for stealing a truck and was sentenced to probation. Reggie’s size (He was 6′ 11″ as a freshman) taught him that he could intimidate adults on the streets, let alone kids in the hall. If Reggie wanted your lunch money, or your car keys, Reggie got ‘em. He didn’t even need a weapon. His most often used tactic was to simply grab his prey by the shoulders and lift them several inches off the ground.
In 1960, when Reggie was 18, he was arrested for the charge of having “carnal knowledge” of a minor in Detroit. According to court records, the victim was a 15-year-old named Jean. During his trial for statutory rape, Harding admitted to the encounter but claimed it was a consensual act. At the time, Reggie Harding was ranked as the best prep player in the state and he was acquitted. That same year, Reggie allegedly raped a 17-year-old Detroit girl named Florence Glenda Chapman, better known as Flo Ballard of the Motown super-group The Supremes.
In 1958, Florence Ballard was a junior high school student living in the Brewster-Douglass Housing Projects in Detroit. There she met future singing partner Mary Wilson during a middle-school talent show and they became friends. Named “Blondie” and “Flo” by family and friends, Ballard attended Northeastern High School. Wilson soon enlisted another neighbor, Diana Ross, then going by “Diane” for their group named “The Primettes.” The group performed at talent showcases and at school parties before auditioning for Motown Records in 1960. Berry Gordy, head of Motown, felt the girls were too young and inexperienced and encouraged them to return after they graduated from high school. Flo dropped out of high school while her group-mates graduated.
In the summer of 1960, just weeks after meeting Berry Gordy, Flo went to a sock hop at Detroit’s Graystone Ballroom. She had attended with her brother Billy, but they accidentally lost track of each other in the crowded dance hall. She began to walk home in the dark but accepted a ride home from a young man whom she thought she recognized from the newspapers, a local high-school basketball player. According to her friends and family, that man was Reggie Harding. Instead of being driven home, Ballard was taken north of Detroit to an empty parking lot off Woodward Ave. and Cantfield Blvd. where Reggie raped her at knife point.
For the next several weeks, Ballard secluded herself in her room, away from friends and family. She even hid from her bewildered band mates when they came to call. Eventually, Ballard told Wilson and Ross what happened to her. Although the girls were sympathetic, they were puzzled by Ballard’s subsequent behavior; she had always been strong and resilient, but now her personality had changed. Wilson described her friend Flo as a “generally happy if somewhat mischievous and sassy teenager.” Now she was sullen and withdrawn, prone to sudden rages and arguments with no explanation. One thing didn’t change for Flo though — she never mentioned the rape again.
The girls continued working after the assault with Florence as the group’s original lead vocalist and Diana and Mary singing lead on alternating songs. Despite Berry Gordy’s reluctance to work with underage girls and admonition to come back after their high school graduation, the group persisted on getting signed to Motown by sitting on the steps of Motown’s Hitsville USA building and flirting with Motown’s male artists and staffers as they came and went. When a staff producer would come outside looking for people to provide background vocals or handclaps, the girls were the first to volunteer. In January 1961, Gordy agreed to sign The Primettes on the condition they change their name. Flo Ballard chose the name “The Supremes.” Gordy agreed to sign them under that new name on January 15, 1961.
The group struggled in their early years with the label, releasing eight singles that failed to crack the Billboard Hot 100, giving them the nickname the “no-hit Supremes.” During this period, they provided background vocals for established Motown acts such as Marvin Gaye and Mary Wells. In the spring of 1964, the group released “Where Did Our Love Go,” which became their first number-one hit on the Billboard Hot 100, paving the way for ten number-one hits recorded by Ross, Ballard and Wilson between 1964 and 1967.
According to Mary, Florence’s vocals were so loud that she was made to stand 17 feet away from her microphone during recording sessions. Florence’s voice (which went up three octaves) was often described as “soulful, big, rich and commanding,” ranging from deep contralto to operatic soprano. Flo was known for her trademark onstage candor (which included telling jokes), she became popular with audiences and most of the jokes were in response to Diana Ross’ comments. As Flo’s jokes became more frequent, Miss Ross was not amused. Florence acknowledged the widening gap between the trio when she told an interviewer that she, Diana and Mary now had their own hotel rooms unlike in the past when they all shared one room. To combat these issues and silence those demons from her past, Florence turned to alcohol which resulted in constant arguments with Mary and Diana. Flo’s shot clock was winding down.
Eerily, Reggie Harding’s rise in pro basketball paralleled Flo Ballard’s rise in the music industry. Reggie was signing with the hometown Pistons at the same time Flo was signing with the hometown Motown records. By 1967-68 while Reggie was struggling with the Bulls, Flo was struggling with The Supremes. As Reggie missed practices and plane rides, Flo missed rehearsals and performances. By March of 1968, Reggie was out of pro basketball and Flo had left The Supremes. Both became addicts; Harding to heroin, Ballard to alcohol. By 1972 Harding was dead and Ballard was on a slow march towards an early grave.
Mary Wilson would later attribute Ballard’s self-destructive behavior to the rape by Reggie Harding when she was a teenager. Ballard’s adult personality had turned to cynicism, pessimism and fear or mistrust of others. After Harding’s murder vacated the headlines, newspapers revealed that former Supreme Flo Ballard, with three children and no career, had now applied for public welfare relief. As a member of The Supremes, Flo sang on 16 top-40 singles (including 10 number-one hit songs). In January of 1969, Florence performed at one of President Richard Nixon’s inaugural galas. Two years later, Flo’s home was foreclosed and she was an alcoholic. Florence Ballard died at 10:05 a.m. on February 22, 1976; her official cause of death, following years of alcoholism and mental stress, was coronary thrombosis, a.k.a. a heart attack. She was only 32 years old. Florence is buried in Detroit Memorial Park Cemetery located in Warren, Michigan. Florence Ballard’s grave is just a short walk from Reggie Harding’s.