Listing Through Life

On more than one occasion, when I’ve told people I’ve been to Louisville, they’ve asked if I’ve visited the “old candy store” across the river. I hadn’t, but now I have. The business began in Louisville in 1858 and moved to Jeffersonville in 1891. The two buildings the business currently occupies were built right after the Civil War and have been flooded by the Ohio River on three occasions. The red marks next to the door indicate the flood depths in 1880 (bottom mark) and 1884.

The left-hand building, with the candy displays and soda fountain, was packed. We fought our way through into the other building. The back half is a museum of old candy packaging and advertising.

The front half of that building is where the candy is made. Several women were making Modjeskas — marshmallows dipped in caramel — that are named for a Polish actress who performed in Louisville in 1883.

We bought a box of an assortment of their specialties. The turtles and caramels were good. My wife enjoyed the cinnamon. The Modjeskas didn’t thrill either of us, but our daughter liked them.

We also bought a bag of amazing toffees.

We drove from North Bend, Ohio to Clarksville, Indiana on the southernmost roads I could find. For much of the time, the Ohio River was visible on our left. It would have been a scenic drive except for the low, gray clouds and constant rain.

The next three photos were taken in downtown Rising Sun, Indiana.

The next four photos were taken in Madison, Indiana. Hen & Ben, the Shoe Men went out of business in 1937, but their fame lives on thanks to this ghost sign on the eastern end of town.

We parked downtown to visit the worst antique store I’ve ever been in. A larger collection of worthless junk, I’ve never seen. But it was filled with people buying Christmas presents.

We wanted to visit Louisville in the morning, so we found a room at a Comfort Suites across the river in Clarksville. It was more than a little creepy. The hotel was back in a dark corner at the end of a road with four buildings — an abandoned restaurant, a hotel that looked in good shape but was absolutely dark and empty, a Day’s Inn that was open but only had two or three cars out front, and our hotel, which only had four cars in the lot. I walked into the lobby and said to the woman behind the desk, “I’d like a room, and judging by the parking lot out there, I’m guessing you have one.” She shot me a stern look and said, “We do at the moment.”

We headed a couple miles away to a Chick-fil-A for supper, then back to our hotel, which now had an additional car in the lot. I’m pretty sure that no more came in, unless they came in late and left early. I posted the following question on facebook:

When you check into an empty motel, do you think:

A. Good. This will be a quiet night.
B. What does everybody else know that I don’t?
C. I’m probably going to be murdered tonight.

In fairness, the room was somewhat spartan but clean and comfortable.