Today turned out to be a great day to be on the road. The weather was warm (very) and sunny, and our GPS kept us entertained for the entire day by feeding us spurious, erroneous, or downright fictitious directions.
Our route this morning started out on Indiana Route 23 that we easily found right outside the confines of our camp. Trouble was, we didn't realize we'd found it because it was called something else on the street signs. The GPS said that we needed to turn on Route 23 when we had traveled just three miles, so when she told us to turn in 2/10 of a mile, we did so. Then she immediately told us we had goofed.
Once more on the main road, which, unknown to us, was actually Route 23, she told us turn left on Route 23 in two more miles. This time we did it right, and only then realized that we had been ON Route 23 all along. By turning we were just following the route as it turned a corner.
Our destination for the morning was the Studebaker Museum in South Bend, Indiana. Fortunately, the GPS took us right to the front door, even though it involved several changes of direction. She does that sometimes when she wants us to lower our guard and trust her next time. We were a little leery, as always, when we weren't sure there would be sufficient parking for our rig, especially in downtown situations. We need not have worried. There was more than ample parking south of the main museum building, and additional parking across the street. We were able to park across several normal spaces in the lot across the street and that particular lot was not filled all morning.
The only bit of unpleasantness that we experienced at the Studebaker Museum was with the ticket seller at the front entrance. She appeared to be on a one-woman campaign to mislead us. Our intention was to visit the Studebaker cars part of the museum, but she went way out of her way to not discuss that. Instead she made every effort to sell us tickets for the history museum and a Victorian house tour that we were neither interested in, nor had we sufficient time to pursue.
In the end we paid more than we should have for our two-hour stay by $7.00, which we really didn't catch onto until later. But we would hasten to add that the Studebaker car museum was so fabulous, that had the ticket taker not mislead us, we probably would have donated at least $7.00 in one of their donation boxes as we walked around. Should you ever visit South Bend, and want to visit the Studebaker Museum part of their museum collection, I suggest that you strenuously let them know that's all you want.
We were told that the Studebaker museum is one of only three accredited automobile museums in the country. Coming from Nevada and having access to the fabulous National Automobile Museum in Reno, we know a great museum when we see one. The Studebaker Museum was three floors of some of the finest displays of automobiles we've ever seen. Many of the automobiles displayed are arranged in realistic streetscape displays complete with appropriately-dressed manikins, much as you might see in Reno. Though the cars are little more tightly packed than Reno, the effect is still wonderful.
The first thing I did as we wandered the automobile display areas was make friends with Aaron, the chap who was charged with keeping the displays shipshape. Aaron was wonderfully understanding of all our questions of him, and we were soon discussing the pros and cons of owning antique vehicles. He told me about his good friend who was trying to restore a Model A Ford, and I told him about our collector cars. Later, as our walking tour ranged through the three floors of displays, we ran into Aaron a couple more times and before long we were like best buddies.
The story of Studebaker is very, very interesting as it all started with a wheelbarrow. Although the Studebaker family had been involved in blacksmithing and wagon building, even in their homeland of Germany, their fortunes in America had not improved measurably by the time of the California gold rush. At that time, John Studebaker announced that he was going west to seek his fortune as a gold miner.
As John stepped off the stage in Placerville, California, the descending passengers were interviewed by the owner of a blacksmith business in Placerville. The blacksmith was looking for someone to build wheelbarrows, he said, that could be sold to the thousands of gold seekers. John heard the man's proposition, but was anxious to reach the gold fields himself. John quickly turned the man down. But by the next day, John had second thoughts. He agreed to take the job. It would turn out to be a wise decision.
By the fall of 1857 John’s savings from building wheelbarrows had increased to $7,000. It was about then that John received a letter from his 26-year-old brother Clem, who was making wagons with his brother Henry in South Bend, Indiana. Clem wrote Johnny saying their company could only turn out a dozen wagons a year because the brothers had to do all the work themselves. Neither could they buy supplies in large lots because of a lack of money. Clem told John that while they were doing alright, but they could do so much more if they had the capital.
Instead of only building a dozen wagons a year, Clem envisioned building 100 or even 200 wagons each year. A sound thinker, John knew that South Bend was the perfect town in which to build wagons. The young wheel-barrow maker made a decision. He would work right there in Placerville until the next spring, saving all the money he could. Then he would be able to travel to South Bend with $8,000 in his pocket. This he would put into H. & C. Studebaker.
During a stopover in New York on his way back to South Bend, young John Studebaker saw carriages in Central Park. He made a mental note that while the West would need heavy-duty wagons, light buggies might also be needed in Council Bluffs, Sioux City, Denver, or Sacramento. The company would go on to produce wagons of all descriptions, as well as sleighs for winter travel. By the time of the American Civil War, Studebaker was a well-known name for reliability. The company motto was "Always give them more than you promise."
A major leap forward came from supplying wagons for the Union Army in the Civil War (1861–65). By 1868, annual sales had reached $350,000. That year, the three older brothers formed the Studebaker Brothers Manufacturing Company—Clem (president), Peter (secretary), and John (treasurer). By this time, the factory had a spur line to the Lake Shore railroad and, with the Union Pacific Railroad finished, most wagons were now dispatched by rail and steamship.
The automobile age was at first resisted by Studebaker. As inventors like Henry Ford tinkered away on their versions of the horseless carriage, Studebaker stuck to their wagon making. But soon that began to change, though at first John Studebaker viewed the automobile as complementary to the horse-drawn wagon, pointing out that the expense of maintaining a car might be beyond the resources of a small farmer.
In 1918, when the history of the firm was published, the annual capacity of the seven Studebaker plants was 100,000 automobiles, 75,000 horse-drawn vehicles, and about $10,000,000 worth of automobile and vehicle spare parts and harness. In the preceding seven years, 466,962 horse-drawn vehicles had been sold, as against 277,035 automobiles, but the trend was all too clear.
The regular manufacture of horse-drawn vehicles ended when the removal of the last wagon gear was ordered in 1919. To its range of cars, Studebaker would now add a truck line to replace the horse-drawn wagons. Buses, fire engines, and even small rail locomotive-kits were produced using the same powerful six-cylinder engines.
After eating lunch in the Studebaker Museum parking lot, punctuated by a coincidental visit by my buddy Aaron whom we had met in the museum (below left), we headed south on Indiana Route 31 until we reached Interstate Route 30 west. Route 30, some of which aligns with the old Lincoln Highway, was to be our home for the rest of the day as we coursed west toward the Illinois town of Joliet. The road is a bit stop light-ridden, but we had hopes of seeing some vintage architecture along the way. By late afternoon we stumbled over a camp just outside Joliet, and settled in for the evening.
We only stopped once to stretch our legs about 2:00 p.m. when I saw a giant empty church parking lot. Parking the rig next to the church, we headed for the only shade on the grounds -- the cemetery. Though it sounds a bit odd, I like to wander through old cemeteries and occasionally photograph one or two of the oldest headstones. Later I try and look them up on Ancestry.com. This time we discovered that all the stones looked like they were new. But as we wandered looking for older dates, a man on a faded red mower caught sight of us and came charging over to see what we were up to.
When he'd pulled up in front of us and turned off his mower, he said, "Are you looking for anyone in particular?"
We told him no, that we were just strolling and looking for the oldest of the stones.
He pointed up the hill to the east of us. "The oldest ones are over there," he said. "There used to be a couple of older churches just over the hill from there. The buildings are gone now, but the stones date way back."
Our intention was to thank him for his information and move on, but before we knew it, we three had launched into a half-hour discussion of everything from genetics, to the various small towns in Sicily. Turned out that Alan was half Sicilian and half Lithuanian, had recently traveled to that famous island off the coast of southern Italy, and was anxious to tell us all about his travels.
Alan told us he was working three days a week helping to keep the cemetery looking tidy after having his own landscape business for forty years. We told him about our travels, and he told us about his. He told us he'd like to retire in Florida, but it wasn't going to happen soon. We told him we didn't like the humidity and preferred the west. Then he told us about how he had a relative in San Diego and had also visited Tahoe recently. We talked and talked and talked, and the three of us just enjoyed our time under the shady cemetery trees, surrounded by people who had nothing but time on their hands.
Finally we told Alan we had to get our steps in and get back on the highway. I gave him our card, we shook hands, and once more found that our day had been made by a chance encounter in a parking lot.
It's an amazing feeling to get to know someone so rapidly, and yet you feel like you've know that person for years. The same thing happened with Aaron in the Studebaker parking lot at noon. When I gave him my card, shook his hand, and thanked him for making my day, he shook his head. "NO," he said with a huge smile. "You've made MY day."
Twice today we got to experience the humanity of a stranger. There is no greater gift anyone can get. When you go out on the road, we hope you experience the same thrill. And when you do, we wish you Happy Travels!
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