Old River Towns: Cahokia, Alton and the National Great Rivers Museum

Cahokia Mounds

30 Ramey Street, Collinsville, IL. 618-346-5160. (Off off I-55, north of St. Louis, in SE Illinois.)

https://dnrhistoric.illinois.gov/experience/sites/site.cahokia-mounds.html

More info: https://tinyurl.com/4wkaszzh

Gigantic earthen mounds along the Mississippi River are the site of a 1,000-year-old Native American city, once the largest in North America. It's little known but important, and recognized as not only a state historic site but a federal one as well, plus a UNESCO World Heritage site. So what is it, exactly? There are more than 60 earthen mounds spread over dozens of acres. The largest, named Munks Mound for a group of Trappist monks who once lived nearby, reminds me a little of the once jungle-covered temples of the Mayans, and you can climb it. There are some 170 steps, and Mab was all over that.

We had just started in the museum when she started getting antsy and wanted to do it: the call of the stairs. I wanted to go watch but she insisted I stay in the air conditioning of the museum, then she would come back for me and climb it again. (Nutter.) Well, I poked around a couple of exhibits but drifted back to the window. Of course, it being her, she was wearing a radioactive-pink shirt that showed up like a beacon from way, way off in the distance. She hadn't climbed in a while, but still scaled the mound like a shot. This largest ceremonial mound is shaped like a gigantic bird with outspread wings, with the staircase climbing up the tail and back and finally leading to the head which is the lookout. She got some cool footage on top and came back down again like a champ. Viva Mab!

Monks Mound in the distance.

Monks Mound, over the lumpy guy's shoulder.

Climbing Monks, Mabs-eye view.

               From Wednesday through Sunday there are walking tours at 10 and 1, leading over paved trails that are smooth and very accessible. You must reserve a place by calling 618-346-5160. Ours led by a volunteer who was an archaeology student from Southern Illinois University in Edwardsville. An academic or docent guide can really unlock and fill in background to what you’re seeing in front of you, so we were happy. For instance, she clued us in on what were the remains of a Stonehenge-like ring of stones that served as a calendar or sundial, and you could hear the ahhs from our group. There is also an augmented reality app for self-guided tours at your own pace.

               Nice museum with life-size displays including a walk-through the village. Pushbutton interactive displays of the city and nearby islands in the river, which were a real thing (still are). Tons of relics, tools, jewelry.

        Cahokia RV Parque

4060 Mississippi Ave., Cahokia, IL, 618-332-7700, Cahokiarvparque@gmail.com, cahokiarvparque.com

            This campground is a mile from the Mississippi, three miles from I-55 and about 10 miles from Cahokia Mounds State Historic Site. You can see some of the St. Louis skyline across the river. Mass transit into the city is available nearby, reporting to the website. Its location is a strong point, along with customer service. Two women in the office took special care and rearranged other spaces to get us into the best space for us and my wheelchair. Hands-on and showed us right into our space. The sites are back-in only unless you're lucky and find two unoccupied spaces side-by-side, but they arranged for a pull-through for us — on Labor Day! There’s a relaxed young-family atmosphere here, with a lot of dads playing with their kids, friendly folks out walking, and little rascals having fun at the playground a couple of spaces down. Nobody loud and rude or rambunctious.

               Site number 23 needs slight leveling. Concrete pad for the van with 7 feet of loading clearance for the wheelchair. The RV is parked on gravel. Thick, green grass on the sides has some serious hidden divots where I needed Mab’s help to get out of them. But this section of the park is like that, much of it needing work or under renovation. It’s a developing campground. There are dozens of sites, some with concrete pads, some gravel, some grass. Ours was a combination of the three. Thirty- and 50-amp electricity available. Water. No sewer at our site, but next-door has it. Verizon and T-Mobile working fine.

               Laundry room, small pool, Wi-Fi available (not guaranteed, says the website), propane station during business hours Monday through Saturday 9-6, Sunday 10 to 4. $45 per night.

 

             National Great Rivers Museum

    1 Locks and Dam Way, Alton, IL. 618-462-6979. Website: mtrf.org. Open 9-5 daily.

Great Rivers Museum, entrance.

The Great Rivers Museum stands near the confluence of the Mississippi, Missouri and Illinois rivers. The highlight here is a guided tour of the river lock on the site, a massive piece of infrastructure, hundreds of thousands of tons of concrete scanning the Mississippi River since 1990. The Army Corps of Engineers keeps the upper Mississippi 9 feet deep, to within 1 inch, and they do it through a series of 27 locks like this one. The locks are large enough to handle 200-foot barges passing through. The tour was accessible but we were only on the top of the thing: In normal times without COVID-19 they take you inside the workings, which I think I heard is accessible too but be sure to call first. It's nowhere on the scale of Hoover Dam but it's awesome to be on it, controlling the third largest river in the world.

Lock tour.

Infrastructure porn: a lock that riverboats pass through.

Same lock — I wish I got a picture of the barge soon to come.

Same lock: In the water are some of the crazy items that collect, like a bathtub (true story).

               The museum indoors is pretty good for showing the wildlife, history and commerce of the river. There are a couple of short movies and a simulator for the bridge of a river boat. The best thing was that a barge came through the locks while we were there, so we could watch it going through with all of our new tour knowledge.

               Nearby Alton is an old, pretty river town with sloped cobblestone streets and historic shops and buildings. The Clark Bridge, with its tall, gently curving white cables, spans the Mississippi and complements the St. Louis skyline visible about 20 miles away. The bridge was built in 1994, a year after the historic flood. Mab and I saw that flood up close, and as we crossed the river the people of Alton were waging a heroic struggle to save their bridge. Apparently they lost, but the Clark Bridge, stretching across the sparkling waters like a graceful wing, is a beautiful replacement and tribute to the spirit of the town.

               Alton’s small-town community feel is on display in a life-sized statue of one of its favorite sons. Robert Ludlow was the tallest man in the world, ever, as his 8-foot-10-inch statue shows. There is also a bronze replica of his armchair. Folks say my wheelchair is big, but it's nothing next to this. The statue stands in the square next to Southern Illinois University – Edwardsville's Dental College, formerly a teachers college and was Ludlow’s alma mater. Still standing are a few of the old buildings, and a marker about the founding of the college. Across the street is the Alton Historic Museum. The marker about Ludlow said he was 54 when he died in 1940. He never stopped growing, and was in constant pain. Still he remained active in community groups and was described as amiable, definitely sounding like stoic. I found that touching.

SIU-Edwardsville Dental campus, Ludlow statue in the distance.

Bronze replica of Ludlow's armchair.

Historic building on campus.

Historic building nearby.

               Not far away stands the monument to the martyred newspaper publisher Elijah Lovejoy, who was killed by a white mob in 1837 for printing in favor of abolishing slavery. The monument is a column topped with a winged figure. The base of the column is guarded by two other winged figures. It is striking. Unfortunately it is also located in the old town cemetery, which is up some stairs and does not look to be accessible, so we had to admire it from the street, cranking our heads inside the car. A courageous man, who would be tearing it up if he were around today — and might even get himself killed again.

At the end of a beautiful day in a pretty river town, all you need are a couple of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the City Hall parking lot overlooking the bridge and the Argosy casino boat, while you watch the river endlessly flow. And of course Mab found stairs, 53 of them. Peanut butter stairclimbing powers.

               We ended the afternoon by driving a small stretch of the Great River Road. Watching the gigantic river so nearby and flowing under the late afternoon sun was the perfect capper for the day. The Great River Road is awesome every time drive it.

              

 

“A living hell”: Disabled People Are Rising From Their Wheelchairs … and They’re Not Happy About It (Satire)

                EPONYMOUS, COLORADO — “Shhh!” says 39-year-old Cy Chevsky, crouching by candlelight with his ear to his front entry door. With wild eyes and wilder hair, he listens for noises from outside. “They’re still there. Yesterday it was Maury Povich.”

“Maury Povich!” I say in surprise.

“Shhh!” Chevsky says, but it’s too late: The paparazzi begin shouting and banging on the storm door. Chevsky covers his ears and yells. “My life now is a living hell.”

A frame d photo on the foyer wall above shows a complete contrast: Chevsky smiling and stylish, sitting arm-in-arm with a beaming young woman and a gray poodle both seated on his lap. His wheelchair from the photo now sits empty in a far corner of the room, no longer needed since the day last April when Chevsky suddenly and unexpectedly rose out of it, never to return.

“It was the BEEP-BEEP-iest day of my life,” he says. “It ruined me.”

Doctors were as baffled as Chevsky was, so he began his own search for the cause of what the Internet was calling a “miracle.” But in the meantime his girlfriend left him over trust issues, his friends became unreachable, and traffic to his websites and social media accounts cratered when he was denounced as a fake.

“I worked for years after my spinal cord injury to build myself back up,” he says, “and while I did, I also built up a brand as a disability influencer. I put in so many hours. I believed in what I was doing — helping others — and it was a revenue stream for us. Now they call me a grifter.” Even his old dog, Muffin, who had cataracts, would growl whenever he stood up. Eventually she ended up spinning around and around in one spot until animal welfare could cart her away for her own safety.

Bewildered, Chevsky flailed around for answers until he was contacted by Dr. Victor Petroculus of Palm Beach, Florida. Petroculus took a particular interest in the outraged headlines coming from the tabloid press, because the same thing had happened to him 15 years earlier. His career as a premier ballet dancer had been cut short by a spinal cord injury he sustained while skiing, but he had successfully pivoted to a second life as a sought-after fundraiser and motivational speaker. Then, like Chevsky, Petroculus, for no known medical reason, spontaneously rose from his wheelchair. “I lost one career to the accident,” he said, “and another when I stood from that miserable chair. … I remember thinking, I have to get the remote.” In a template for what would happen to Chevsky, Petroculus met with rage and ruin. And like Chevsky, he’s none too happy about it. “Worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” Petroculus says, “bar none.”

Petroculus used his contacts from the fundraising world to gather information and look into similar cases he found. He consulted with medical experts and others over five continents. It led to his founding The Research Center for Unwanted Healings, operating in a state-of-the-art ADA-accessible cardboard box in Palm Beach. “We’ve got Wi-Fi,” he says. Work at the center reveals a startling phenomenon: Globally, one to three people with disabilities are healed spontaneously and inexplicably every year. And the cause? “Our best knowledge in the field says it’s from old prayers by third parties. There must be millions of them up there, swirling around like moths.

“Just as well-meaning bystanders sometimes give unwanted help without asking — or too much help,” Petroculus says, “so it’s common for people with disabilities to be prayed over even when it’s not wanted. We’re finding that a small but devastating number of these virulent prayers are circulating for years, decades, maybe even centuries. And occasionally one will find home even after its been long forgotten.” The results, he points out, are devastating.

Mothy prayer says, "I'm coming for you."

In Chevsky’s case, the devastation comes with a frozen Gofundme account, the loss of his disability-based remote job for a government agency, and vandalism on his home, where neighbors did a surprise home-makeover accessibility renovation 13 years before. He may lose his Medicaid benefits too, and that agency further warned in a letter that it could claw back benefits already paid.

Even worse, he says, is his loss of identity. “I don’t know how to do anything,” he says. “So much of my life’s work was oriented toward dealing with my disability. In that realm I was an ace.”

In his darkened home, Chevsky says, “Even my dog left me.” He admits that sometimes, he curls up at night in his old wheelchair. But his whisperings are interrupted by more sharp banging directly on the front door. Chevsky jumps, as intense shards of light penetrate his home from around the edges of the door.

“Cy Chevsky! Mr. Chevsky, I know you’re in there,” says a voice booming through the door. “Mr. Chevsky, it’s Maury Povich! Come on my program, submit to a lie detector test. I’ll make it worth your while. I won’t go away without an answer, Mr. Chevsky. Mr. Chevsky!”

 

My Superpower Is Nothing To Sniff Your Nose at

First, I want to apologize to all of you because I've not been around the past few months. I’ve missed hanging out with you. I haven't had the chance because I have been working on big things, hush-hush kind of things, but I'm among friends now so I can tell you. I'm a superhero now. Our market research with sample groups has been so positive that we are attracting capital investment. Superhero entertainment is a hot and still-growing multibillion-dollar industry, hungry for new ideas and diverse representation. Picture this: A person with a disability — a quadriplegic in a wheelchair, no less — who deploys high-tech gadgetry to manipulate and control his environment. Plus I have an attractive but tough love-interest with MacGuyver-like instincts and a snappy tongue, but more about her later. I've been meeting with my consulting team. My designers have come up with a sleek brownish costume — but I don’t want to reveal everything too soon. My writers are coming up with catchy taglines and scripts to pitch. My agent has feelers out to Marvel, DC, the CW, ABC, BBC, CBC and the CDC: This crimefighter is branded! The only thing I need — and it's a mere formality at this point — is a superpower.

So, how hard could this be? In our formative years and into adulthood they tell us to find our talent and pursue it: the thing that makes you you. Hm … to me, that was a toughie. As my English teacher, Mr. Lemon, who was tortured by Jesuits when he was a schoolboy, said as he was passing along his cup of cheer to the next generation, "You'll never amount to anything." Well, for a long time it looked like old Lemon was right. Some around me were good at figures and cyphering, and they became engineers or accountants. But no no no no, I wasn't good at that. Some were faster, stronger or more nimble, and they became athletes. No no no no, I wasn't good at that either. Design? Acting? The arts? No no no, no no no!

But there was something I was always good at — and I mean very good at, though I didn't want to be. So often we desire one thing, but life has entirely different plans for us. This thing has followed me around throughout my life. I try to run away from it but it's always there, hanging around me like a cloud, reminding me, and everyone around me, that it's there. I thought it was curse, just like I used to think of my disability too as a curse. But here was something that followed me throughout life, through my nondisabled to my disabled life.

To seek my destiny, I was looking up at the stars and finding nothing. But I had to learn that my calling had been with me all along, right under my nose. Actually, under my shoes. It was there the whole time, but I’d been holding my nose to the truth. Because always, from the earliest age, I was the one who would step in it. This is my singular talent. To my horror, finding thick, lustrous layers of it slathered up and down the soles of my brand-new school sneakers like my grandmother's rich apple-butter, and so zesty it makes my eyes water and my vision shimmer like a desert mirage. I never tracked it on my mom’s carpet, but I did on my friend’s mom’s carpet, her metallic baby blue shag that she lovingly raked every day in parallel rows with a dedicated matching baby-blue garden rake, but all of that care and refinement was laid waste by my awesomely awkward powers. The power that stirred horror into those around me, who fled like I was Godzilla and they were the people of Tokyo, all gagging. My unbridled powers knew no borders or boundaries: At the beach, I did it. At my prom, I did it. While holding my baby goddaughter when she was being christened outdoors: did it did it did it.

And the inclusive, accessible, truly ADA angle to this is that it’s followed me up to and into my progressing disability, through shoes, cane, walker and wheelchair. It's like the Riddle of the Disabled Sphinx: What steps in poo on 2 legs, then steps in poo on 3 legs, then steps in poo on 6 legs, then steps in poo on 4 wheels? It's me! The answer is me.

When I exile myself into the wilderness, to remove myself from the company of man and his pooping pets, I will run over the scat of deer, possums and raccoons; wombats and armadillos; and all of God's creatures that defecate. So this is the thing I am definitely good at, if you can say that a talent like mine is good. And I hated it. Who wouldn’t, right? That is, until one particular incident turned my thinking completely around. When I awoke that morning, it was a proclivity. And when I went to bed, it had become a superpower.

This was the worst of splooshes, it was the best of splooshes. It was fresh, it was enormous, and in my leather-soled dress shoes, it was what we call a slider. This was the magnificent poo of destiny. The ulti-poo. The poo that made me the man I am today.

I was running late, and in a very Clark-Kentish way. I had a hot date, with somebody way, way out of my league. Intelligent, capable, independent, who had traveled the world, a beautiful fair-skinned brunette with smoky eyes, and she was an actress! Oo, she was exotic. This was such an improbable date, I was still stunned she said yes, so I could not be late.

So of course I was running late, and her neighborhood was notorious for its lack of parking. This is a whole other story, but I made a deal with God, or the devil, whoever was manning the window that day, and I shoehorned my car into a space, and dashed from my car to her apartment building.

The other thing about that block was that it was around the corner from the lakefront, lined with expensive high-rises filled with wealthy folks and wealthy folks' doggies who all had to go walkies somewhere. That is how trickle-down economics works, folks, and Mab's block of older buildings for working-class folks had only thin strips of grass along the street. Something had to give. I had picked up my lovely date, on time (thanks, deity!), and while I basked in her presence and attention, I let my guard down. You all know what happened next.

As brown bombers to go, it was a legend. I’ll spare you descriptions, only to say that for a second or two I was literally surfing on it. I remember trying to wipe it off, to scrape it off, but I was swallowed in its vortex. Probably there were other active bombs all too, all waiting to be tripped off, because quickly it had spread to my other shoe. Of course I couldn’t let on what had happened, but inside I was having a poo panic attack, at least until we got in the car together and I had to roll down the window, apologizing profusely. "Do you want to take a walk instead, or do this some other time?" "No, we have reservations," she said, "don't worry." OK then.

We pulled away and went to the newest Mexican restaurant in the neighborhood, thankfully not far away, which had a wall of windows and bright sunshine illuminating the bright, colorful murals on the walls, and unique specialty dishes. She was dazzling and delightful. 

But our date was on a downward spiral. Neighboring tables made comments about a distinct odor in the air. I made sympathetic expressions to them, “I know, right. Ew.” And it became difficult to enjoy the fresh salsas we ordered, because of my gagging reflex. Later, in the movie theater, I took off my shoes and slid them under the empty seats a few spaces away. A couple of women actually sat next to the stink chair. After a short time, they wrinkled their noses and left for other seats.

Fast-forward, I somehow got through the disastrous date until finally, mercifully, it came time to make my escape… I mean, say good night. I saw her to her door and when I was turning away, she stunned me by asking me out. I was taken so unawares that she had to repeat herself, and eventually said, “But if you don't want to go …”

You could have knocked me over with a feather. So I said the worst possible thing: “Really?”

Her jaw dropped. “If you don't want to go,” she said, “I'll just find a friend —”

“No no no, I'll go. I'm just surprised,” I said, “after all this putridness and all.”

She said that the way I dealt with it and joked around about it all evening was endearing. “You could have done typical guy-stuff, but you didn't.”

I don’t know what the lessons are here. I’m not proud. I did a lot of squirming, but 24 years ago today, I placed a ring on that girl’s finger! All because of my unique talent.

Don't you know I saved the mementos, those shoes, and have them to this very day to remind me about my realization about myself? No, of course not, I threw those shitty things out! But I got the girl, and I got3 a newfound superpower that nobody else has — and I'm leaning into it, baby, or stepping into it, or rolling into it, or whatever. I gotta be me, and this is me.

The Lawyer in His Lair: Lincoln, Springfield, and Honestly Laid-Back Camping

  Take I-55 North from St. Louis and after a while you start seeing a lot of stuff named after a local lawyer. Lincoln is his name, and Springfield, Illinois, was his hometown in the years before he hopped a train to Washington to helm an absolute headache of a job. The State of Illinois dubbed itself the Land of said Lawyer, and Springfield, 90 miles northeast of St. Louis, is its capital. With museums, capitol-related tours, Route 66 hangouts, lake recreation and loads of Lincolnalia everywhere, Springfield is definitely worth a day-visit, weekend or even more. We had both been there before, but now we had only one day and I wanted my gal to at least see the lawyer's house, which still stands proudly and is maintained as a national historic site, and maybe we could fit in the fantastic hologram-powered presidential museum, another must-see.

Did I say we only had a day? We had a short day. This was a rough trip. We've been doing this for almost four years now, and it was bound to happen. We were headed north for the summer, and packing for six months away is difficult on her, plus the rainy weather made things sloppy and stressful -- at one point the right rear tire got buried in the mud -- and the accommodations were difficult when one of the RV campground operators shoehorned us into a soggy, inaccessible spot even though I had reserved an accessible spot weeks in advance. For every all the angels I've met in this bumpy ride called life, there are some devils thrown in too. Just like they'll screw over the elderly, some will prey on the disabled. Simply by not listening and being greedy, Jerry at Southgate RV Campground in Fayetteville, Arkansas, really ****ed us over. Watch out for the Jerrys out there.

Not everything was terrible. We got to see our nephew's Little League game on a beautiful evening in Waco, and in Fayetteville, Arkansas, reunited with friends whom we hadn't seen in 20 years! I hadn't realized it had been that long until we sat and reminisced, and of course like true friends tend to do, we gabbed away like no time had passed at all. Dick was a biker and Itera was a nun. They met and got married a week later, and that was over 50 years ago. Back when we lived across the street from each other, Dick was a Dean at DeVry Institute of Technology and loved using his know-how to come up with accessibility devices for me and my progressive condition: an adaptive, locking door-latch and adaptive wheelchair controller -- both beautifully machined -- as well as an adaptive spoon and a refrigerator door-opener, which you had to see to believe ... but it worked! Itera has the giving heart of a saint and was learning how to do energy work, so she would come over and spend hours working with me, in peaceful sessions that would leave us both blissed out. Today they are as welcoming and generous as ever, and these were more great times together. It's turned out to be one of the real jewels of traveling in our little trailer is actually visiting and spending time with loved ones instead of always saying we're going to, but never doing it. This visit meant a lot to us.

But arriving in Illinois was its own relaxing reward, with its comfortable weather and gentle green farming landscape. We went to call on said lawyer at his home. Dude was not around. I figured it was cool to stretch out in his backyard for a few, and catch some rays. I knew there was a tour going inside the home, and what if they came out the back door and were like, "Hey you, shoo, shoo!" But in my shades I was too cool to think about it, busy basking in the power of Lincoln rays.

The Lincoln Home National Historic Site surrounds the home for two square blocks, and is made up of crisscrossing Eighth and Jackson streets lined with two dozen restored homes and out-structures. The area is closed to traffic, so you can go along on the packed gravel streets or on the plankboard sidewalks, both in good shape for easy wheeling in a power chair at least. In a manual chair ...?

        From a wheelchair-accessibility perspective, you'll have to decide which you will do, streets or sidewalks, because it's one or the other: Apparently there were no curb cut-outs in the Great Emancipator's day, right? If you're on a sidewalk or on a street, the only way to cross over into the other is by going to the end of the block. You'll want to do both levels.

Now the home itself is only partially accessible. The Lincolns lived there for 17 years and they added on a second floor, which is not accessible to wheelchairs. The first floor is accessible to manual chairs only: No power wheelchairs or scooters. I'd seen it already in my other, walking life, and my queen was taking a pass that day. There are workarounds, but it's always a bummer to see or hear the word, "NO." From our experience, National Park Service usually does a good job with accessibility. My accessibility questions were answered by the Illinois Department of Natural Resources like so: 

"Most power wheelchairs are unfortunately unable to go inside the Lincoln Home due to their weight and their width. If you have a particularly light (65 pounds or less) and narrower power chair, it may be able to fit. (You can send me the specifications of the chair to check, if you would like.) As many of the structural components of the Lincoln Home are original, including the doorways, this unfortunately affects what devices can be used inside the home. Manual wheelchairs, as long as they can fit inside the Lincoln Home doorways, can go inside the home. We have a measurement device at our visitor center we use to check if a guest's manual wheelchair can fit through the doorways. If their wheelchair cannot fit, we also have manual wheelchairs guests can check out free of charge to use.

"When using a wheelchair on the Lincoln Home tour, the individual using the wheelchair (and another individual in their party, if desired/applicable) will receive their own tour guide for the duration of the tour. The rest of the tour group who are not using wheelchairs will go with another tour guide and enter the home using the steps that lead up to the front door. The party that includes the individual in the wheelchair will enter the house through a different entrance, one which uses a wheelchair lift to lift the individuals to the house's first floor level. (The house is raised and on a slight hill.) The first floor of the home tour will be given, and then the tour guide can offer showing pictures of the second floor with narration, to any individuals who choose not to go upstairs.

"Please just inform the person at the Visitor Center front desk that there is an individual in your group that cannot go up and down stairs, and they will communicate with the appropriate staff to prepare the lift. ...The maximum length, I have been told, that wheelchairs can be to fit is 29.5 inches. ...

"We may be able to make it work with 2 individuals in wheelchairs, but any more than that really cannot fit on one tour due to the size of the rooms and the room partitions. ... If this applies to your party, please let me know and we can discuss potential options."

Tall tales be spoken here: the Railsplitter's porch. (Shhh, I'm creeping in the backyard.)

Jennifer Caldwell of Illinois DNR adds more:

"The courtyard and the main level of the house can be accessed by wheelchair. The wheelchair accessible entrance is through the carriage house, which is at the back of the property near the railroad tracks.  The narrowest of the doors/gates along the path is 32 inches wide.

"There is a lift on the north side of the house for guests unable to use the stairs. It is 32 inches wide by 48 inches deep and can accommodate up to 750 pounds.  The lift provides access to the main floor of the house.  Our staff are happy to help direct guests to the lift and assist with lift operation.

"Due to the varying elevations throughout the home, only the main level is accessible by wheelchair.  This includes the reception/fountain area, mother's bedroom, dining room, Victorian room, living room, kitchen and conservatory hall.  For other areas that are not accessible, we can provide live virtual access to those parts of the tour via iPad. (We will provide the iPad and other necessary equipment for this.)"

Contact her with your questions at jennifer.a.caldwell@illinois.gov or 217-685-9554.

Around the historic site, two of the houses are wheelchair accessible and in the cleverest way (see photos). 

I've never seen anything like them — literally, I could not see these lifts until my wife pointed out that they were there. Covered in matching board-work and swinging gates, I love these lifts.

        The houses have exhibits inside, and by the time we poked around the nooks and crannies, gardens and backyards of the tiny village area, the Butterball turkey timer in my head popped out, meaning, "Museummed out. Find another available brain." It usually takes a couple of hours to reach that point, but it was fun and I was done.

The afternoon was getting late and we walked around town. About five blocks away, we stumbled unto the Illinois State Police Memorial Park, at 722 S. Sixth St. It's on the corner of two reasonably busy streets, but set far enough off to be dignified and peaceful. It included enough human elements to make it quite touching, and when the evening bell started tolling at the nearby Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception, I found myself very moved by it all. There is also an Illinois Police Officers Memorial not far away, at 840 S. Spring St., beside the Illinois State Museum.

Another few blocks and we reached Frank Lloyd Wright's Dana-Thomas House (phone 217-782-6776), now a state historic site, at 301 E. Lawrence Ave. Built in 1904, it was interesting seeing a museum-piece home -- oooh, it's Frank Lloyd Wright -- set within a neighborhood that's historic but a little worse for wear. I wheeled around the thing is much as I could, even around the back, to see all the different angles it presents. Unfortunately we were there after hours. From the website, the interiors look amazing although completely inaccessible. No response to my inquiry, so I'm guessing my conclusion is right.

Four blocks away, we came to the Illinois State Capitol building, at 401 S. Second St. At 361 feet, the Illinois State Capitol is the taller than the U.S. Capitol in Washington, D.C. Its central dome and towers are finished with a layer of zinc that provide its trademark silvery sheen which does not weather. On dreary, bad-weather days the dome looks heavy and leaden, or ironclad and oppressive -- which probably lies in the eye of the beholder depending on what the legislature inside has been up to lately, eh? But it was a bright, sunny day, which squares up with what I've seen coming out of there lately, and those towers were gleaming. Check out the features of the accessible tour here. A couple blocks away a Pride concert was blasting loud. It was a groovy, gorgeous day and folks were out enjoying it.

Camp A While, 1779 1250th Ave, Lincoln, IL 62656. 217-732-8840.

Thirty-five miles northeast of Springfield along I-55 lies a fantastic overnight spot, and it's the owners that make it so. It's a tiny place, maybe a dozen sites in all, very clean, quiet and well-maintained, ringed by trees and farmers' fields. It's a quarter-mile off the expressway, and with a historic pedigree as a traditional stopover spot along old Route 66 just a third of a mile away. Camp A While has been around for decades and was listed in all the old guidebooks. Full hookups, back-in spots of shallow gravel. The owners are hands-on and customer-service-oriented. You call them 15 minutes before arriving -- they insist on it in order to manage the available space, but it's well worth the call because they back you into the spot and see that you are set up with everything you need.

They are completely attentive to accessibility. After hearing my questions on the phone, they arranged a spot with a concrete pad where we could drop the wheelchair ramp, and checked that the gravel was OK with us beforehand. Sites are mostly level, with 15 feet of grass between them, fine for the wheelchair to get around, and there's always many empty spaces around so that the overall atmosphere is relaxed and quiet, never even close to crammed feeling. They get a lot of overnights to and from Florida, and workers. Last but not least, Wrigley, the camp dog, comes around to greet you, and if he likes you, maybe share one of his stuffed toys. He's a smooth operator, and he and my Queen are fast friends.

When we unloaded, two hot-air balloons drifted across the farmers field across the road, which kind of captured the cheerful mood after our short-but-sweet day. One of them had a likeness of the lawyer. While you're there in the town of Lincoln, you can drive through town on Route 66 to see the world's largest covered wagon. Guess who that wagon is driven by? It ain't Wrigley.

Is There a Doctor in the House?

Wheelchair life is one big video game

Written in the thick of the pandemic, and dedicated to Judy Heumann, who fought to make grocery stores and everything else accessible.

When I write, I'm trying to open minds by sharing my experiences. And now, my friends, I'm going to do just that for you. I want you to see things through my eyes -- but I'll need your help. If you'll look behind my ear, there's a little latch. I'm quadriplegic and can't reach it myself. So, if could you get that for me? Thanks! It pops right up and the whole top flips off… Like so! Now you can climb right into the captain's chair you see there behind my eyes. Go on, get yourself a seat. Get comfortable. There. Flip it back closed, and all right! You'll find emergency exits to your left and to the right. Now, strap yourself in: It's gonna be a bumpy ride. 

We've been keeping Covid-cautious, but today's a special mission because we're out of staples here at the house. But even more importantly, my wife is out of Dr. Pepper, and caregivers and lovers cannot exist by bread alone. So it's Diet DP STAT! I mean, you haven't seen my wife without Diet DP. Yike! We'd better hurry. Let's go!

We push through the front door and already she has the wheelchair lift lowered. We'll back onto the wheelchair lift. Then up we go into the van, and into the back of the van, making sure there's room on all four sides for the tiedowns. Then, kick on the jams and we're on our way. 

Now, rules of the road. These country roads are bumpy, so you have to hold on tight. So I want all of you to do an exercise with me right now. I want you to tighten your stomach muscles. Go on. Pull in your belly button to your spine, and push your elbows into the armrests. Can you feel how tight your belly is right now? Good, because brace yourself! here come the railroad tracks! Arrgh! It's rough riding with me, but hang in there, 'cause we're just getting started. I promise I'll try to warn you of potholes, all right? 

We turn out onto the state highway. We pass the rusted woodmill. The homesteads with shaggy trees. There's a few ranches and an old family cemetery we go by. Seven miles into town, New Albany, Texas, population 2041. There's not lot of money for roads and everyone drives big trucks. So, watch out, POTHOLE! Whew! I told you it would be a rough ride, right? And don't relax, because pulling into the Dollar Store is an even bigger one -- BRACE YOURSELF! I warned ya. But tell you what: Hang in there, and I'll pick up a treat for youinside. The fun part is still to come. Now let's park this beast, mask up, and get this done. 

OK, it's time to play a game. Remember Pac-Man, the classic arcade game? You know the one. Well, this will be like Pac-Man, but it's in 3D. You and I are going to navigate the maze of aisles, looking for our treasures -- which today are going to be Noodles, Fruit, and Protein Bars. All the while, we'll have to dodge the obstacles we find, and especially avoid the "Blue Goblins," the folks not wearing masks, which these days, is pretty much everyone. The clock will be ticking, so we gotta be quick. Take too long, and you could catch Covid: Game over. Meanwhile, Mab will be working on a list of her own, and afterward we'll meet up and get the heck out of there. So get ready. Player One, begin! 

We go down the first aisle. Waka waka waka waka waka. That's the noise I make behind my mask. It's from the old Pac-Man game, remember that? You should see the stares I get when people see me go by: "What the?" Waka waka waka waka waka waka! But we can't have too good of a time: If I don't keep my eyes on the road, I tend to crash into stuff and then it's, "Clean up on Aisle 1!" But already we've found our first item, and that is Pad Thai Noodles. Of course I can't reach them, and I can't write it down, so I memorize P for Pad Thai Noodles, and then it's off to the next aisle. Waka waka waka waka waka.

Aisle 2, there's a pallet in the middle of the aisle. Skip! Go to the next section. All right, now we're in produce. Hmm, the apricots look good. OK, A is for apricots. So we already have P, and now we have A. But we also have, like, a family reunion happening here on the left. and on the right, incoming! A goblin! Back up out of there. Beep-beep-beep-beep. Waka waka waka waka waka waka!

Next aisle. We get three-quarters of the way down and there's a shopping cart that I can't quite squeeze past. (Game show loser sound.) Turn around, go all the way back to the beginning of the aisle.

Next aisle, coast is clear! Let's go, go, zigzagging through the next couple aisles, looking ... and there! It's our final treasure. The protein bars. Actually they're called Lara Bars. L is for Lara. So we've got P, we've got A, and now there's an L. P-A-L, that spells "pal." Let's find Mab and we'll track down pal. Come on! Waka waka waka waka waka. And of course, she's secured the prime directive, which is a grocery cart full of Diet DP, liquid gold, Texas tea. Mission accomplished! Let's pay up and blow this popsicle stand. Waka waka waka waka waka waka.

All right, here we are, safely back in the van. And since you were such a good sport, I got you that treat I promised. It's a Twix bar. And I hope you like to share, because remember ... I know where the potholes are!

Sitting Up for What You Believe in — a Self-Advocacy Win

  Ask and ye shall receive, especially if you ask again and again, or maybe not. Sometimes you have to keep on asking.

This might be a little long but it's a big win and maybe somebody else is challenged or frustrated getting medical professionals to hear them too. I am getting a new wheelchair. After five years you are eligible for one under Medicare. Nancy, my chair, is 5 years old and I'm generally happy with her. I named her for the clinic office manager who fought so hard to push the procurement process through the bureaucratic whirlpool that it was stuck in: I was literally calling the equipment provider, who told me, "You've got to call your insurance company," and then the insurance company would tell me, "You've got to call your provider," and back and forth and on and on. Until Nancy, sweet but dogged, stepped in and started knocking heads together. Actually I never knew exactly what she did, but a few weeks later I had a sparkly new wheelchair, with blue highlights almost the color of the eyes of, you guessed it, Nancy. I wonder how Nancy's doing.

I got the idea of an upgrade from Dr. K when I asked about improving my posture. I don't sit up as straight as I'd like, but it's workable and after a few years I am comfortable in it. But still, posture is a big deal when you're sitting as much as I do. She gave me the once over, and stopped at my chair. She looked like she ate some bad seafood. "How old is that chair?" she said, but her voice said, "You dragged that skanky-ass thing in my clinic?"

I said it's only 4 years old. Don't mess with my Nancy, right?

"You bring this up with me again next year. You need a new chair." And sure enough, at my next appointment she urged me to get a new chair, that new refinements are built into the new chairs all the time. Besides I needed better posture, and the experts at TIRR Memorial Hermann would set me up/sit me up in the best way possible -- and there, I knew she was right. "If you're eligible," she said, talking about insurance, "then you should get it."

When I got home I straight-away made an appointment at the ceiling clinic so we could order my chair. Alas, poor Nancy, you're going out to pasture.

The seating clinic at TIRR Kirby Glen in Houston is top-notch, in my book. Last year, they literally changed my life. I drive my chair with a head array, with drive sensors in the pads of the headrest. I press my head to the right and I go right. I press my head to the left and I go left. It took time to get used to, but it's a setup that keeps me going. Problem was, everything was setup for me and my condition four years ago, which apparently is not the same as me and my condition now. As I would tire throughout the day I began leaning to my left side, so that I could not reach the right side of the headrest as easily. Imagine paddling a kayak with one oar shorter than the other. You might just go around and around in a circle. On a weekend night, I would really be in my glory: After an evening of drinkies – it can get cold as the campfire logs burn down -- you might see me at 2 AM, circling around and around down the road, loping my way gradually home. My buddy patiently walked beside me, probably getting dizzy watching me. Great guy that he is, he would escort me all the way home before I ran into a ditch. There are stories round these parts. … 

Head array: Each button and pad controls something different.

So last year my seating tech at Kirby Glen and my private DME provider who often works with him gave me a new seatback that wrapped around my sides for more support. The result was that I sat up much straighter and more securely. Sitting straighter meant I had better access to my drive controls, i.e., the pads of my headrest, so that I could drive better and more safely. I could go more than 20 feet at a time without having to reposition myself or take a breather. I could go over a bump and not have to stop for 10 seconds to get myself together again. Instead of moving forward in Spirograph loops, I was going wherever the heck I wanted to, even older bumpy hiking trails in state and national parks. In fact, I've grown so used to trails on our camping trips that when I get home I have to keep going out for 2-3 miles every day or I get all stir crazy. That's a gigantic difference! In short, life is so much better now and it's because of two guys. So yeah, I was happy I was going to see them at Kirby Glen again to get fitted for a new chair.

Before the appointment I printed out a list of my questions and issues for everyone in the room, because that's what I do. It's completely anal, but I learned to do it because I always forget to bring things up in the office. We get more done this way. My tech snatched up his copy and said, "We like lists." On it I included features I wanted included on my new chair -- like the things that suck the worst about my current chair (sorry, Nancy) and what I want different in the new one. We took my measurements and I chose which options I wanted, kind of like when you're buying a new car, which is fun. There are a lot of colors available now too. I was admiring the red with metallic gold highlights I'd chosen, kind of Iron Man-y. "This is pretty wild," I said.

The tech laughed. "Not really."

"Old-guy wild, OK? I'm an old guy now."

He laughed. But here's why he is very cool: As I'm telling them the things about Nancy that I want different on my new chair, they started fixing up Nancy too -- something I really was not expecting. "What else you want?" they said. I told them again how they literally changed my life, but mentioned that my posture was bad.

"How so?" was their response, which was weird because whenever I catch myself in the mirror, I cringe. Shoulders hunched, arms lying like dead fish in my lap, and my head and neck craned forward. These guys can't see anything wrong here? And they are seating experts? The same ones who helped me so much last year? At that point I was remembering that I brought up the same issue with them the year before. Hmm.

Slumping 24/7.

They watched me take a spin around the small office area, and I'm paraphrasing from here on, but they said, "It looks like you are set."

"I don't want to be set," I said. "I want it changed."

"But it could mess with your driving, and you're driving well. Are you comfortable?"

"I am comfortable, but I could be better. I want to be better. I want to sit up, I want to breathe more deeply. I want better digestion."

"Are you sure?" they said. "A lot of people don't do well with change."

"I've got no problem with change. I want to sit better."

"But everyone has their own way of doing things. It may not be physically perfect-looking, but it's what works for them. Are you the type of people who can deal with change?"

"Yes," my wife and I both chimed in. "I want to sit better. Can we adjust the headrest a little and see how I do with it right here?"

Finally they got up and reached for the tools. They started on my headrest.

It was that kind of back and forth and back and forth until they really heard what we wanted AND my wife and I both (it was definitely a team effort) convinced them that we were for real. Obviously they'd been burned when making adjustments to people's very personalized setups. Experiences like that would tend to make a seating tech gunshy, right? But finally they took up their tools and made adjustments. Now the headrest is further back and in a more natural position, and after a few hours of getting used to it, I'm driving fine. On my next visit we'll move it back still further. Very happy.

Me jumping for joy: a seat elevator to reach the peanut butter.

Same thing with my armrests and my hands always being in my lap. For one thing it was terrible posture and was contributing to my poor digestion and poor breathing, which you can hear in the lack of power in my voice. Another concern I had was the cell phone mount that would go on my new chair and threatened to make the profile of my chair even higher and unable to fit underneath our furniture and countertops. Already Nancy was just able to scrape under our dining table. Any taller and I would lose more access in my home. So, the seating techs heard this and got to work trying out a couple of ideas. The phone mount would go on my armrest and unfortunately we could not lower the armrests at all, but what the techs did was to angle the front of the armrests down slightly. This accomplished a lot of things. The slightly lowered position allowed my arms to stay up on the armrests better, and suddenly my permanently shrugging shoulders now looked squared-away again -- I forgot what that looked like, but man it felt great. My posture is so much better. Plus, when we arrived home we found out that I could easily get underneath my table and desk now. Before, I had to have things perfectly positioned in order to just barely squeak in. Win-win.

Wow, were we happy that day. It was like getting parts of the house back again. And we didn't even have to call some expensive remodeling contractor. The crazy part was that I had asked for these things for a couple years at least, and from a couple of different DME outfits, including these guys. But here in one 90-minute session they fixed all of it. Why now? One, I guess we were being persistent. Two, was bringing my wife along so I had backup and another voice and set of ears. Three, was overcoming the techs' misgivings about messing with a setup that was adequate but not perfect. They explained that it was because of their experiences from working with a lot of people with a lot of different setups. To break through their protective shell, we had to keep requesting and reassuring them that change was what we truly wanted. By doing so, we scored a jackpot.

In a few weeks Nancy will be grazing in a meadow as my backup chair. And now I'm also more confident that my next chair will be even better. Straight up.