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"Fred! Another ballcap???"
"It's a Lincoln Highway ballcap. It's historical," I told Honey, trying to wheedle my way out of trouble.
Ballcaps are on my yard sale "not allowed to buy" list, along with screwdrivers and ladders.
"My husband has a ladder problem," my wife will loudly tell anyone within hearing when I eye one at a yard sale. From the look of pity on their faces, I'm pretty sure they think she said "a bladder problem."
I bought the ballcap at a yard sale in Beaver, Pa., for a dollar, which is the going price for ballcaps at yard sales. It looked new and never worn.
"The Lincoln Highway ran through here," I explained to the two young men from whom I bought it. They said the hat had belonged to a grandfather. They knew nothing about the Lincoln Highway, but acted interested when I reeled off a capsule history.
When I started to explain to my wife why the Lincoln Highway is important enough to risk violating her "no more ballcaps" rule, she cut me off.
"I know what the Lincoln Highway is. It's a highway," she said curtly.
"No, no, it's more of an idea."
And so it is: a very American idea, an expression of can-do American optimism, of our love affair with automobiles and the freedom of the open road.
The Lincoln Highway has a particular historical connection to East Liverpool, Ohio, in the person of Henry C. Ostermann, consul-at-large and secretary to the Lincoln Highway Association.
Based in East Liverpool, Ostermann was the face of the Lincoln Highway, its promoter to the general public, the one who spoke to local civic groups. He was the man on the ground, the man who knew the Lincoln Highway and the people living along it better than anyone because he travelled it over and over again in all seasons and all kinds of weather.
He lived the Lincoln Highway, and it killed him.
On June 8, 1920, Ostermann was driving through Iowa on an unpaved section of the Lincoln Highway (not exceptional since hardly any of it was paved) when his Packard touring car with its powerful "twin-six" engine rolled over. His body was brought back to East Liverpool and buried in Riverview Cemetery.
Though it is credited with being the first transcontinental highway, nearly all of the Lincoln Highway's 3,331 miles from New York City to San Francisco were on local dirt roads. Ostermann's advice to motorists was to find a place to hole up for a couple of days when it rained, else they'd be stuck in deep mud.
The exceptions were short brick-paved or graveled sections as the route passed through communities. Proud at being on the route of the first "coast-to-coast highway," a few bought the dream and bricked their stretch. It would be 10 years before the federal government accepted the role of builder of America's main highways.
Given the abysmal condition of roads, the undependably of cars and tires of that era, and the almost complete lack of infrastructure in the form of repair shops and gas stations, what's amazing is that the Lincoln Highway Association convinced Americans that it was possible to load their families into cars and drive them to the West Coast. Many tens of thousands of them did it.
Today, thousands of antique car enthusiasts belong to a reborn Lincoln Highway Association and get together to drive them over stretches of the original route.
There is not space here to properly tell the story of Ostermann and the Lincoln Highway. A feature article with lots of old photos would seem to be in order.
Some teasers:
–Lincoln Highway Day in East Liverpool was officially celebrated in 1915 with a parade, souvenirs, ceremony and community celebration . . . which turned to community mourning when four schoolchildren lost their lives.
–As the Lincoln Highway came from Pittsburgh through Beaver, Pa., to East Liverpool, it followed roads on the north side of the Ohio River except for one 18-mile stretch. Where did it leave the river, and why?
–With construction of U.S. Route 30 in Pennsylvania, the Beaver loop was abandoned in 1928. The Lincoln Highway was routed through Chester, W.Va., and across the Chester Bridge to East Liverpool. A whimsical Chester structure would thus become a famous Americana landmark known to generations of travelling Americans.
— Lincoln Highway's unique status was reinforced when thousands of Boy Scouts installed concrete markers along the route. Where may some still be found?
The Lincoln Highway is a great tradition, and East Liverpool can claim a big chunk of it, thanks to Henry C. Ostermann. Their story deserves to be retold.
A ballcap from a yard sale was just the spark required.
(Fred Miller's third book of stories, "A Dead Carp on Shadyside Ave." is $10 and available locally at Calcutta Giant Eagle, Pottery City Antique Mall, Museum of Ceramics, Frank's Pastries, Davis Bros. pharmacies, Connie's Kitchen restaurant, and the Old Ft. Steuben gift shop.)