Just returned from a motor trip to Spokane and back, via Interstate highways 15 and 90. What I saw, basically, was pavement and more pavement, with the occasional exit ramp leading to what appeared to be a forest of towering signs advertising hotel accommodations, fast food eateries and gas stations. Actual town centers have been bypassed, including the historic main street of Wallace, Idaho, which lies underneath the overpass. Briefly, I caught sight of what appeared to be a downtown fair in progress; however, by the time I did so, I’d already passed the exit.
The only actual place I visited was Blackfoot, Idaho, the business district of which consists mostly of shuttered shops and the occasional elderly pedestrian. I pulled over to stretch my legs and discovered I was in the parking lot of the Idaho Potato Museum. Admission was free and the door was open, which resulted in me buying a T-shirt advertising the fictitious Potato University. I shall wear it proudly, as my pioneer ancestors once wore homespun garments fashioned from repurposed burlap.
I grew up in a town the size of Blackfoot at a time before it, too, was bypassed. I was fortunate to know all the shopkeepers, one of whom sold me my first camera, a Kodak Brownie Holiday. Because I didn’t have ten dollars to my name, the proprietor of Barney’s Photo Shop allowed me to pay for it in five monthly installments of two dollars each. Try negotiating a deal like that at your local Walmart Super Store!
I feel fortunate to have grown up at a time before the advent of Walmarts and franchised eateries like McDonald’s, where one can order a burger that’s exactly like the one you were served the day before. I resisted the temptation to dine at Martha’s Café, in part because I found the statue out front frightening. But now that I’m back home, amid familiar surroundings, I regret not having taken a chance on the unknown.
Another man who felt fortunate to grow up in a small town was Adolph “Addie” Tressl, who in his backyard built a replica of the Blackfoot in which he grew up. Back in 1975 he gave me a tour, and I found myself wishing that I, too, had come of age in turn-of-the-century Blackfoot. Of course, I’d have had to move away in order to attend college—because, unfortunately, Addie’s Tressltown didn’t include a Potato University.
