Old Trapper's Lodge Statues

On our way to the Reagan Presidential Library, we made a detour to Pierce College in Woodland Hills, California where, tucked away near the animal barns, a collection of creepy sculptures pays homage to our pioneer past. Created by Burbank motel proprietor John Ehn, this hodgepodge of brutes, saloon girls, cowhands and virtuous frontierswomen once adorned the grounds of his motel, the "Old Trapper's Lodge." Like the old west, Ehn's statues are violent, sad, heroic, bursting with energy and politically incorrect. Very, very politically incorrect.

When it comes to storytelling, however, political incorrectness can beat the crap out of political correctness any day. In Ehn's world, "Pegleg Smith" and "Big Bear" growl their way through a bloody wrestling match that will, no doubt, end badly for both of them. These "Mighty Americans," as the statue's pedestal describes them, would want the government to keep its hands off their Medicare if they lived today, and the figures in the adjacent "Kidnap" statue seem equally uncomfortable with behavioral constraints imposed by "the man." Nearby, an anthropomorphic tombstone eulogizes another American archetype:

IRON FOOT EVA

(1800 - 1830)

 300 LB. GIANTESS

 POETESS-SINGER

 AND

 BLACKSMITH

 KILLED ON

 HER WEDDING

 DAY BY

 UNKNOWN

 RIFLEMAN

Similar tales adorn the faux tombstones blanketing the hillside, and Ehn's lonely, hardened pioneers gaze with detached interest at his imaginary burial mound. They seem resigned to an early, violent death and don't really give a damn that their days are numbered.  They are here now, and they will wring every salty drop of life out of this uncharted wilderness as long as their guns have bullets. They are Americans, after all, and long-term planning just isn't in our DNA.

Keeping with our national predilection for living in the moment, the state of California declared Ehn's collection of statues at the Old Trapper's Lodge to be a "State Cultural Landmark," and then promptly sent the bulldozers to tear them down, according to Roadside America.  It was the late 1980s, and I imagine that Burbank was eager to add another Dollar Store in the name of economic progress. How the statues ended up at Pierce College seems to be a bit of a mystery, but as Gary, his brother Jay and I spent the morning getting acquainted with Ehn's assemblage of gritty go-getters, we gave thanks that this piece of our politically incorrect past had been preserved.

Concrete Park

Gary and I left the home of our friends Laura and Scott in Ashland, Wisconsin one Sunday afternoon this summer and decided to head back to St. Paul via Phillips, Wisconsin, where Laura had assured us we would find a magical place called Concrete Park.  Earlier in the day Laura had directed us to Tetzner's Dairy, just outside of Washburn, and we had shamelessly purchased the last of the homemade ice cream sandwiches from their self-serve freezer.  Tetzner's runs on the honor system - you write down what you purchased on a tiny envelope, put your money inside, and stick the envelope in a metal box.  The ice cream sandwiches looked so tasty, we stuffed an extra dollar in the envelope, and the frosty treats did not disappoint.

Good ice cream invariably leads to giant roadside architecture, especially in the upper Midwest.  It was no surprise, then, that we soon stumbled across a larger-than-life representation of our national bird. With the memory of creamy strawberry ice cream still haunting our tastebuds, we sped through Park Lake, Wisconsin on our way to the mecca of glass and concrete in Phillips.  "Honey, look!" I cried.  Gary turned his head and gasped.  "Turn around!" we shouted simultaneously.  There, on our right, was the giant eagle. With clockwork precision, we jumped out of the car, grabbed the tripod, set up the camera, and we had our photo.

We continued our journey south on Highway 13 and soon arrived at our destination.  Laura had not led us astray. Concrete Park was, indeed,, magical . . . and magnificent. Created by self-taught artist Fred Smith, this giant collection of haunting sculptures depicts real and imagined icons of American history, from Paul Bunyan and the Statue of Liberty to Abe Lincoln and his lovely wife, Mary Todd. For good measure, Smith added some regular folk, doing their logging and other chores, and a menagerie of horses, dogs, deer, fish and other critters.  And Ben Hur, of course, because what collection of visionary art is complete without Ben Hur?

Smith had been a farmer, logger, musician and tavern owner during his long life, and he used the empty beer bottles from his tavern to decorate his creations.  According to the Kohler Foundation website, Smith got the inspiration for his first sculpture from an image of a deer leaping over a log that he noticed on a boy's sweater. Gary and I wondered what he might have created if he had seen an image of adorable kitties appliqued on a woman's sweatshirt.

Despite the lack of cats and kittens represented in Smith's museum, we couldn't get enough of these mystical creatures and wandered through the park much longer than we had intended.  Fortunately, there is a restroom on site, and a picnic area and nature trail for those so inclined.  There's even a gift shop, which was closed during our visit, which made us very sad.  A visit to the Friends of Fred Smith website revealed some of the items we might have purchased if had been open.  It's a fact - we'll be back!