Sunday Archive XXI: American Braves, Part One of Four
American Braves (AKA: “The Amish Down Under”), in four parts. This is from October 31st, 2000, so it predates my online presence (Dirtyfreaks.com, the precursor for GS, started up in April of 2001).
I’d been working for years on many projects – some on my own, and some with friends. One such project was the “American Highway” project, where I pictured myself getting paid oodles of money to drive around the country and write about weird shit. I’ve got lots of “American Highway” outtakes, and will go ahead and put as many as I can tolerate here in the Sunday Archive.
American Braves was a trip I took with my Aussie and Spanish friends. The general plan was to head up to Lancaster, PA, and then just sort of wander aimlessly for a weekend. The foreign folk love the ridiculous Amish.
(If you’re actually paying attention to the shit I’m posting, you might see some of “James” in Liam. Liam, along with my Sri Lankan friend, is a definite influence for the character that would eventually emerge on dirtyfreaks.com.)
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Indian Steps
“This is America,” my Australian friend, Liam, muttered.
We had pulled over at a gas station in the suburbs of Baltimore, the car facing a Target superstore and a chain of fast food restaurants. Behind us, Interstate 83 hummed with the gentle breath of Saturday traffic. We had just set out for a tour of Lancaster, Pennsylvania – the Dutch Country. Two days and one night among the Amish. Along with the Australian, our Amish raiding party consisted of Donald and Teresa, archconservatives from Spain. I was the token American in our group, tagging along because I had a sweet tooth for forgotten Americana. I was also in possession of the cynical attitude that nothing would be pure. The Amish, their religion and the big open countryside were there for the benefit of the tourist — the modern American Brave.
“Everything has to be so large, so overstated.” Liam muttered, “What do you get out of that?”
“Prosperity!” I barked, turning towards the sun and taking a deep breath. “My god, Liam. Fortune and glory! This is the course of empire!”
Liam squinted at me until the tank was full. Without taking his eyes off of me he replaced the nozzle, tore off his receipt and walked to the driver’s side of the car.
The route was laid out several days before: I-83 north to PA 74, a two-lane highway that would take us past the Indian Steps Museum. Whenever I travel the States, I do my best to visit at least one Indian monument. The Indian Steps Museum looked to be well out of the way so I was insistent that we locate and catalog the site before it faded away forever.
The Indian Steps, themselves, are crudely cut footholds in the granite alongside what is now the Susquehanna River. The fishermen who made these cuts and gave the river their name came from the Susquehannock tribe, an Iroquois tribe that migrated to the area sometime between 1300 and 1500 AD. When they arrived, the Susquehannocks discovered an unrelated tribe living in the area. Their first act was to brutally annihilate this foreign tribe and this they did so successfully that all traces of that early tribe are now lost.
By the late 1600’s, the Susquehannocks ruled large tracts of Pennsylvania and Maryland. When white settlers discovered that the Indians were expert and surprisingly well-armed warriors, our only recourse was to weaken their tribe with alcohol and Christianity. Our attempts were successful, which lead to the unfortunate subjugation of the Susquehannocks by their cousins, the tribes united under the Iroquois Confederacy. Another powerful Appalachian tribe – the Seneca – eventually absorbed the survivors. They, in turn, were all sent away to reservations. The Museum doesn’t address the ultimate fate of the Seneca but I’m sure it was horrible – they’re probably out at Fort Stinking Desert, Nevada.
The Indian Steps Museum presents the traveler with a comprehensive and fascinating collection of Indian weaponry (that is, sharp rocks) and a 375-year old Holly tree. The Holly tree is hard to find and, to my knowledge, doesn’t exist. When I asked about it, the lady at the counter gave me a look reserved for killer hornet nests.
The museum is far enough off the map to allow for an adequately eccentric display. It is housed in a three-story, 18th century stone house. The suggested donation is one dollar and there’s a small box for this donation beside the guest book. The first floor consists of a small gift shop featuring the ever-popular rubber tomahawks and, a new one to me, “deer hunting boomerangs”. Just off of the gift shop is the Nazi Room. This is well worth the dollar. My traveling companions and I assumed the room was used for seminars or video presentations of some sort. A fancy TV and VCR sat on wheels at one end of a huge, granite table. The oval-shaped table, surrounded by large stone chairs, summoned images of King Arthur and questing knights. There’s a powerful feeling that you’ve crossed some sort of time portal when you enter the room. Suddenly, this North American mission house becomes a chamber in a medieval castle. The windows are hand-painted stained glass, drawings and tapestries adorn the walls. Various photos, looking to be about 70 years old, portray rugged mountaineer men standing in front of the Indian Steps. On the corners of these pictures are darkly emblazoned swastikas. Above the entryway, a large swastika is painted on the wall. Beside it is painted the dictionary definition of a swastika, sheepishly explaining that it really means “good luck”. That’s all, nothing more. Please make sure your papers are in order before leaving the room.
True enough, though, the swastika was a symbol commonly used by the Iroquois. You can find the swastika around the world, representing luck or fortune to countless peoples and religions. In Germany, the symbol comes from ancient Norse mythology. All this is well and good but, the fact remains, the people in the 1930’s photographs at the museum are all white and Germanic. I can just see them sitting around that stone table, dressed in black, working out the final resting place of the Holy Grail.
The actual site of the Indian Steps is hard to get to and defended by an entrenched team of Waffen-SS. Unless one wants to play the Lyme disease game, the best thing is to stick to the museum. The old house features two floors worth of pottery shards and arrowheads. One room addresses the onset of European settlers. Strangely, the paintings and drawings depict the first European settlers in the area as leering Conquistadors instead of the famous John Smith (the first white man to make contact in this area) and, later, settlers under British Lord Calvert’s flag.
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To get to the Museum, follow PA Route 74 get off on Route 425. 425 is a large horseshoe meandering through endless cornfields and new forest. Follow your heart and, eventually, the road sidles up beside the Susquehanna. Shortly after, you’ll see a sign for the Indian Steps Museum.