Fall and the Cushman Collection

57 years ago, one of America's most prolific amateur photographers added an Autumn day in the Ozarks to his collection. The shots belonged to Charles W. Cushman, an Indiana University alum who willed over 14,000 Kodachrome slides to his alma matter upon his passing in 1972. It's a staggering body of color photography from the pre-digital era, and the school's Digital Library Program has worked to bring fingertip access to these works. With Fall colors at full-tilt, I thought it would be appropriate to share a few.

[Charles W. Cushman Photograph Collection]
Indiana University Archives


Adair County, OK


Oklahoma 62 near Muskogee

His focus was on road trips made in the United States and worldwide from the 1930s through the 1960s. For fans of mid-century motoring culture and roadside exploration like myself, and the Cushman Collection is a treasure. Even the Ozarks made it into his travels. Through the lens of heavily saturated Kodachrome color, he photographed his October 1952 drive across Oklahoma Highway 62, through Arkansas, and up to Springfield, Missouri, and beyond.


In front of Old Main at the University of Arkansas


Fiery foliage on US 62 near Eureka Springs, AR

Cushman photographed just about pictures of everything, not just the postcard vistas and urban scenes, but all the sights that comprised motoring America. Indiana History professor Eric Sandweiss is a study of Cushman, and penned an excellent overview of his work. The pictures are impressive in both breadth and quantity, forming a comprehensive documentary of American life and travel in the era before the Interstate highway system.


Downtown Eureka Springs


White River near Eureka Springs

If you're not careful, the site will consume an hour or two of your time. A less risky option might be to browse a slide show of selected photos put together by Indiana University.


Horsing around in Harrison, AR


Old Chevy, new mule in Harrison

Through Cushman's slides, we can see moments captured from the constant flux in human and natural landscapes. The takeaway is that a wealth of sights and experiences are ripe for discovery if you're willing to find them. I've quickly realized the Ozarks alone can afford a lifetime of experiences, and that I have a lot of miles to go.

the Rise and Fall of the Highway Hillbilly

In the public consciousness, the word "Ozark" is loaded with connotations ranging from pastoral serenity to malignant clichés. Like them or not, the stereotypes have been a pocket of regional uniqueness for over a century, a valuable sense of identity. As mass communication and entertainment advance social conformity across America, is our classic Ozarkness doomed to fade?


Hillbilly postcards, a staple of Ozark gas stations


The Arkansas Traveler painting

The history runs long. Square one is the tale of the wayward Arkansas Traveler, a gentleman finding himself a fish out of water among backwards Arkies in the mid-1800s. This story affected 150 years of stereotypes and inventions through song, art, and folklore, setting the tone for interaction between "civilized" America and mountain rural life. The fantasy fueled the hokey charm of mid-century standards like the Snuffy Smith comic strip, Lum and Abner radio show, and Beverly Hillbillies sitcom. For many, the Ozark Mountains represented the real-life home of halcyon hillbilly-ism.


Mickey Mouse at Disneyland? How about a pose with Abner? A snap from the Dogpatch USA writeup at the Arkansas Roadside Travelogue.


Miles from Dogpatch USA, a Li'l Abner-esq caricature still headlines a liquor store on Highway 59.

Ozarks entrepreneurs were happy to indulge. As in popular media, the Ozarks as an industry flourished in mid-century driving culture. On Scenic Highway 7 South of Harrison, Dogpatch USA operated a whole theme park operated based on the outlandishly hick serial Li'l Abner.


Ozarkland near Carthage, Missouri.

Another of the classic Ozarkbahn roadside treasures were the hillbilly knickknack repositories, like the Ozarkland store that still operates on US 71 East of Joplin. Native Ozarkians have often thrived on self-depreciating humor. Some justified, some imagined, all worth a buck. This turned the area into a highway of homespun crafts, souvenirs, and unique stops and sights.


Ozark Valley station off I-44 near Reeds, Missouri.

Unfortunately, the popularity of dowdy mountain kitsch faded. Dogpatch USA shuttered its cedar-shingle shacks in the early 1990s, and the appeal of hill-country eccentricity waned on the whole. Craft fairs and corny Branson shows remain, but the audience is not getting any younger. Many of the knickknack stores are either lightly shopped or boarded up.


No need to replace the sign if there isn't any traffic

What happened? Urbanization and cultural homogenization eradicated much of the real hillbilly lifestyle, while the image itself faded as entertainment left colloquial whimsy in favor of bombastic realism. Fictional hillbillies of radio and television moved from the wooded hollers to the trailer parks, dens of meth use and obesity. The billies of the hills are now absorbed into the wider notion of "rednecks" and "white trash." A Cops-ready double-wide domestic dispute could happen anywhere in America, and the sense of Ozark place and humble virtue is diluted. The contemporary touchstone of the hackneyed, People of Wal-Mart, shows the common portrait of backwards America. Plenty hick, but the benign folksiness is long gone.


Ozark Village near Sarcoxie, Missouri, closed on a weekday. For good?

A young-ish traveling salesman - a button-up salesdouche - once told me in a Tulsa bar that Arkansas was full of corn. I found this disheartening. This was an embarrassment to elementary-grade geography, for one. Worse, it was fully ignorant to the Ozark stereotype pop culture had worked so hard to endow. If the average goon can't get his platitudes right, the Ozarks might as well be no different from the rest of the flyover America. However hokey or contrived, holdouts of regional subculture add a sense of humor and identity we would miss if we abandoned them.

So, are we losing touch with the novelty of rustic old mountain culture? The roadside landscape isn't promising, but it's still worth stoppin' for.

Hobbs State Park II: Shameless Sequel

Thanks to the hearts and minds won in the previous post (or in spite of it), today Hobbs State Park earned the "Park of the Year" award for its region.

[Morning News: Hobbs Chosen Park of the Year In Region 1]

This Saturday they will share the euphoria with their first ever autumn festival, titled "Fall in Love with Hobbs." Wow, I'm not sure I'm ready for that level of park commitment just yet, but it sounds like a fine time. The lineup features a blend of folk, history, nature, and guided trail walks.



Whatever your penchant for park-loving, I won't judge. When I'm not driving the Ozarks, I sometimes hike them, too. A favorite is the Shaddox Hollow Nature Trail, an easily accessed 1.5-mile loop to Beaver Lake and back. The Spring months boom with wildflowers and dogwood blossoms, and mid-October is a smart bet for Fall foliage.



You will also see a slate of limestone outcroppings characteristic of the Ozarks. The path winds past bluffs holding a range of water-carved formations, like the above nature-made keyhole. What would you find if you unlocked the Ozark Mountains? Dwarves? Bring your giant key and find out. Probably dwarves.



Along with hiking, another amusement of mine is finding old cars abandoned to nature. While discarded junk has an edge of anti-naturalism, vehicles are treasures that spur the imagination (and tetanus if you're clumsy). What kind of stories are in a car's past? How did it get all the way out in the middle of nowhere? The Bashore Ridge Loop passes an early fifties Chevrolet truck shed of everything but its cab and a squirrel-gnawed steering wheel. A healthy distance away, I found a shot-riddled hood buried under leaves. Not in a matching color, but definitely belonging to a Chevy truck of similar vintage. The Ozarks are a goldmine for hillbilly paleology.


Piney Road and church, Townsend Ridge Road

The Hobbs in-roads aren't bad, either. When you can catch a break in traffic, Highway 12 and its side tours to trail heads are driving excellence. In the Hobbs hills, you'll find elevation changes, regular steering inputs, and all the usual cachet of entertaining roads. Just be prepared to have your fun spoiled by prolific dawdlers, sheriff's deputies, and deer.



At least you have plenty to explore upon arrival. The Hidden Diversity Multi-Use Trail has 23 miles of hiking paths and loops with the double benefit of allowing horseback riding and mountain biking. Though rustic, calendar scenes are not the mission of this trail. For example, the Bashore Ridge Loop simply treks through dry, hilly woods to Beaver Lake and back. Aside from the occasional grown man in spandex pants pedaling by, the forest is plain, undisturbed, and open for whatever personal enrichment you can conjure. You might savor unseen nature or unravel a grander personal philosophy. Or forget to spray Off on your ankles and participate in the circle of life for local bugs. Whatever your delight.



To quote the park's trail guide:

The theme for this park is not one large mountain or lake or river or forest or historical event or the myriad of plants and animals above and below the ground. It is the sum of all of these. It is diversity. “With awareness, the diversity of life here inspires wonder and discovery.”