February 17, 2009
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I proceed at my own risk, mindful of the possibility of property damage, personal injury, and DEATH.
Posted on the grounds of Bald Knob Cross. Alto Pass, Illinois. February 15, 2009.
Bald Knob Cross. Alto Pass, Illinois. February 15, 2009.
In terms of the public safety around the cross the [Cross and Grounds] Committee will be authorized [by the Bald Knob Cross of Peace Transition Board of Directors] to erect signage and a barricade around the grassy area below the cross to prevent and discourage close proximity to the structure until such time the panels can either be secured or removed.
comments
42 Responses to “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,”
Leave a Reply
Did you use the words, “Bald Knob” and “erect” in the same post?
Yes, yes you did.
That bald knob cross of peace could be the Angel of the North in a more culturally subsidised country.
This is so good on so many levels that I’m about to have a seizure.
If you die from falling Cross debris, do you get a free pass into Heaven?
Has the Virgin ever appeared on Bald Knob Cross?
“The Cross structure has fallen into disrepair.”
“Do Not Proceed if you are concerned about your safety and/or property.”
Wow.
Cindy, there was a sign like that put up on the door of a local bar in Brooklyn. They dug out in the yard out back to lay foundations for an extension of the bar (a one storey shack) and then the back wall of the bar fell down. So the city smacked an order on the front of the bar, saying something similar to the picture above. This happened a couple of days after I left Brooklyn this last time, so I don’t know what they did to repair anything, except put up a holding fake wall and halt proceedings out in the yard, have a few strong tokes and let the locals back in again.
I think what I find so delightful about this sign is its careful language. They don’t want to be too directive (“if you are concerned…”), and they’re careful to say that the cross structure has fallen into disrepair, not the cross itself. I picture someone fretting over the wording for hours.
Cindy, the language is fine indeed, and that’s a fact. Presumably there are those who care little for their safety and/or property, though whether those might be god-fearing believers or atheistic sinners — well, one might ponder long and hard.
Lucy, you know, the Angel of the North comparison came up in several other conversations about the Bald Knob Cross.
And yes, Annie, it’s true: ‘bald knob’ and ‘erect’.
On the day these photographs were taken, a bit of twisted debris (one of the enameled sheet-metal panels) from the cross structure had in fact fallen to the ground, and only after departing the site, alas, did a brilliant scheme come to mind: Salvage the debris and use a pair of tin snips to fashion a number of crude little cross structures from it, then sell them on eBay as pieces of the true cross structure.
It’s not too late to go back.
My experience suggests that it’s never too late.
I lived in the region of the Bald Knob Cross Structure off and on for a number of years. A friend — a regional historian — who has lived up in the hills round there for going on thirty years speaks of the Cross Structure as “that white blight on our beautiful hills”. She has spoken at times of a sort of anti-Cross Structure fund-raising campaign, a foundation whose aim would be to dismantle the White Blight. I wonder . . . but no . . .
I seem to have a memory of having been to this place. But I’m not sure. I lived a third of my life in Illinois. So it’s likely we “passed by” in travels at one time or another. It feels right. I remember standing at the foot of it looking up. I don’t think it was in disrepair at the time. Maybe I’m having one of Cooper’s memories.
*For the record, the furnace just came on and I hear an alien radio station fading in and out of the white noise.*
*I also smell maple syrup.*
Rick, I suspect you may recollect a pilgrimage between Rockford, Illinois and the Arkansas Ozarks.
Does ‘Easter sunrise service’ ring a bell?
If it does . . . well, last time I was up to Bald Knob, the bell didn’t have no clapper on it no more.
Yes, yes. I just looked at the map. In the days before I-55, most of our route followed Hwy. 51 from Rockford to Cairo, then south and west across the boot-heel. I remember that bridge at Cairo, girderey and vertiginous. How it arcs across the sky miles above the Ohio/Mississippi.
I adore the bridge at Cairo — both bridges at Cairo, truth to tell. Matter of fact, I know more about Cairo than anyone else here at clusterflock, I reckon.
Mmmnh-hmmmnh. I do mean the very same Cairo (“Care-oh”) as in Eudora Welty’s “Why I Live at the P.O.”
He would of gone on till nightfall if Shirley-T. hadn’t lost the Milky Way she ate in Cairo.
I used to have a book of photographs of a civil rights march in Cairo, Illinois, back, I suppose in the late fifties. It was crazyshit. I had no idea it was that bad that late up north.
All this time I thought Cairo was in Mississippi. Also, I assumed (from Miss Welty’s story) that it was pronounced K-Row.
The things I learn on clusterflock.
Cindy, I’ll bet there’s a dozen Cairos in the US of A, all with different pronunciations.
[...] That’s ‘Care-oh’, Illinois. [...]
Lucy: the book featuring Preston Ewing’s photographs of Cairo?
You go down to Cairo, I think you stand a good chance of finding him doing research in the library most any day you stop down.
Cindy, you’re close. Dang close. Just that you say “Care-oh’ in a soft, lazy kind of way. You say K-Row — if you got an accent like mine, you risk sounding too much like a damn Yankee.
That is crazyshit. I believe that is the one, yes. I think I got it in the Moma shop, on sale or something, of all places. Really? That is very interesting. (My word of the day today is ‘really?’)
Oh, Lucy, there are many Cairos in the US, but the only one that counts is the one in Why I Live at the PO. And now, thanks to Miss Sheila-T, I know where it is and how it is pronounced.
It’s very discombobulating, though, to have thought something was one way, only to find it’s the other.
Lucy, I reckon you may recall Let My People Go: Cairo, Illinois, 1967-1973. Oh, girl, I could take you all around Cairo.
It’s a good book. The rest of y’all, y’all go buy it.
P.S. I used to go scrabbling around all kind of derelict buildings in Cairo back when I had me a job down near there that offered me all manner of good reasons for scrabbling.
Y’all, the abandoned hospital and its birthing room — oh my my. That and the quarters where the dentist had his practice and his home and made hot love with his mistress there amongst the false teeth.
Mom says “KAY-ro.” (I said “Ky-ro” once, and she laughed ’til she cried.)
That was it! That was the book!
KY-ro means you’re silly. KAY-ro means you’re pretty much in the know.
CARE-oh means you’re an insider.
Well, that makes me feel better. I’ll work towards CARE-oh, but at least I know KAY-ro won’t get me in trouble. And I just won’t mention anything about Mississippi.
Well, Lucy, that’s pretty damn fine.
Preston Ewing is the ‘unofficial historian’ of the real true history of Cairo. He’s a very important man.
I would run into him every now and again. Last time was maybe four years ago — in the Cairo Public Library. I recollect talk of documenting blues musicians who came up through Cairo and played there way back in the wayback days.
The temptation, Cindy, is to say it like you’re talking about Karo Syrup. And that’s way better than pronouncing it as though it were in Egypt. The Egypt in north Africa, I mean. Not the so-called ‘Egypt’ region of Illinois.
But you say ‘CARE-oh’ and people there will just love you all up.
Wanna meet me in Cairo and eat us some pie at Shemwell’s? You too, Lucy!
I will come. I am ready.
Lucy? You like catfish?
If you don’t, I know a diner that advertises “Government-Inspected Meat”.
Ok, I will have the catfish, thank you.
I’ll have the catfish, AND some hushpuppies.
Lucy’ll eat catfish. We got that straight. But if CIndy don’t want no fish nor fowl, we could run over to Missouri to Lambert’s (Home of Throwed Rolls), and I expect she could eat a mess of vegetable sides.
Our fellow ‘flocker Vin Reddy, he knows all about Lambert’s. He knows it’s good. He grew up ’round there.
Lambert’s is good because they do really and truly throw rolls. The waiters entrusted with throwing rolls are mostly guys on the high-school baseball team. They don’t miss. They don’t lob you in the eye.
Hushpuppies. Ooh, Rick. Ooh, baby.
Ooh, y’all. Gettin” close to askin’ ’bout favorite recipes for chicken-fried steak.
Hushpuppies! Rick, you motherfucker!!!
Lambert’s. Oh, yeah. Get hot and drool.
And I know what you mean, Lucy. I’m hot and drooling for hushpuppies now, thanks to Rick — but there are no hushpuppies in sight!
Hot. Drool.
I could make a happy meal of throwed rolls if they’d give me some sliced tomatoes and onions. Hushpuppies and cole slaw make for a damn fine meal, too.
Real live catfish will bite your toes if you’re not careful.
[...] The Square Pants leading to Square Butts in the latest BK commercial (featuring Patrick the pink anus) seems to address a lot of issues I’ve covered. Trust me, I hate being right. Oh, and lastly, guess what the name of above abandoned cubic cross structure in Alto Pass, Illinois is [found while looking for "knob heaven"]? Nope. Guess again. Oh, just give up. It’s the Bald Knob Cross. [...]