BenShot's glassware is melded with imaginative hardware like bullets, arrow tips, and mini fire axes. (Courtesy of BenShot)
A few years ago, Bruce and Ben Wolfgram started debating about how to design the ultimate shot glass. Pierced with a bullet, a combination of the father and son’s two favorite things—guns and drinking—the pun-fueled drinking vessel would basically defy gravity and challenge logic with its curved exterior and heat-embedded bits of artillery. Bruce Wolfgram, a retired artist who had years of experience in creative design, was up for the task. After a lot of research, and more than a few piles of shattered glass, BenShot was born.
“This was more or less a project to break my dad out of a retirement funk,” noted Ben Wolfgram, an engineer by trade who was working at a robotics company in Philadelphia when the concept was launched. “He toyed around with it in his garage; torching and molding the glass until he got it just right. He made a bunch and brought them to a local gun show. They immediately sold out.”
News of Wolfgram’s glassware spread rapidly via word of mouth, and Bruce spent much of his time traveling to gun shows throughout the country. As sales increased, the father-son duo decided to create a website and bring their products to a wider audience. Ben quit his job, moved back to his Appleton, Wisconsin, hometown, and, together with his father, opened a glass workshop on the grounds of a repurposed furniture factory formerly owned by Thomas Edison. The vintage workspace and rural Northwoods surroundings provided a unique glass-working environment.
(Courtesy of BenShot)
“It was our goal from the start to make everything here in the United States,” Ben Wolfgram said. “We wanted to create jobs in our hometown and source all of our raw materials from right here in this country. In five years, this business has grown from a one-man operation in a garage to a full-time staff of 40 employees working in a 50,000-square-foot production facility. Nothing is outsourced, and everything we use—even our cardboard packaging—is made right here in the U.S.A.”
Embedded with a real, lead-free, .308-caliber bullet, and handcrafted with glass furnaces and lots of heat, each two-ounce shot glass takes about seven hours to complete. Etched and personalized upon request, some of their best-selling varieties include tumblers emblazoned with the American flag or printed with the Second Amendment. The BenShot inventory also encompasses pints, rocks, and wine glasses, and there are decanters and beer mugs, too. Just this past year, the Wolfgrams extended their offerings, embedding their glasses with miniature fire axes, fishing lures, broadhead arrow tips, golf balls, and hockey pucks. Custom orders have included glass sets embedded with pinballs, guitar picks, and a variety of nuts and bolts.
(Courtesy of BenShot)
“We wanted to make other designs that would represent other people’s passions and professions,” Ben Wolfgram said. “Guys are hard to buy for, so we started brainstorming about different likes and pastimes. Golf was an easy one and made a good corporate gift. We started thinking about our first responders because one of our employees was enrolled in the fire academy.”
Sketching out a small fire ax in-house and modeling it in Computer-Aided Design software, the younger Wolfgram printed it in 3D and then made a mold to cast the ax out of molten pewter. “It’s become one of our bestsellers,” he said. “And the fact that it’s made here from start to finish—like all of our products are—is probably one of its most attractive features.”
BenShot’s sales have since skyrocketed. Their craftsmanship and customer service have propelled the brand into a multi-million-dollar sales range and forced a relocation to a more spacious factory. Still located in Appleton and selling the majority of their products on BenShot.com, the company also markets its wares on Amazon.
“We have a lot of engagement from small communities across the country,” Ben Wolfgram said. “Firefighters, police, and military make up the bulk of our buyers, but all of our customers appreciate the fact that the product is handmade right here in the U.S.”
And the company places great importance on giving back to the community that supports it. “We are honored to team up with like-minded nonprofit organizations,” he added. “To date, BenShot has donated to more than 300 nonprofit organizations throughout the United States. We care deeply about the military, law enforcement officers, first responders, and mental health causes.”
For Wolfgram, it’s an extension of his product’s top-tier standards. “Our success hinges on the quality of our products and whether our customers get everything they were promised,” he concluded. “Our philosophy is to make an innovative product while still keeping jobs here in the U.S. We enjoy what we do, and it’s our goal to share our enthusiasm and excellence with as many people as possible.”
Jessica Jones-Gorman launched her career in journalism at a New York City daily newspaper more than 20 years ago. She has worked a general news beat, covered fashion, and written countless features about people who inspire and lead.
Saratoga Springs, New York, is a small east coast town famed for its horse racing history and replenishing natural spas. Situated right between Albany (New York’s capital city) and picturesque Lake George, Saratoga Springs has bountiful offerings for travelers of every age and background.
Below we’ll explore a very brief history of the small New York town before taking you on a journey to three of the most popular attractions the region has to offer. Get ready because this travel guide is full of exciting things to do in Saratoga Springs. We’re talking ancient mineral springs, spa resorts, and America’s oldest race track. Let’s dive right in!
Saratoga Springs, New York. (Veronica Yankowski)Saratoga Springs, New York. (Veronica Yankowski)
A brief history of Saratoga Springs, New York
The mineral-rich springs of Saratoga first attracted the interest of travelers in the early 1800s, although the health benefits of the springs were no secret to those before them. By 1831 a railroad was constructed, and a small hub of tourism quickly followed.
Fast forward to 1863, and America’s oldest race track emerged—the Saratoga Race Course. Shortly after came a slew of thoroughbred horse racing events, casinos, hotels, and eventually an entire town. The rest is living history.
Things to-do at Saratoga Springs
This exciting historical and cultural center is minutes from Albany and a short drive from iconic Northeast locations. Most notably, Lake George. Although health resorts and horse racing have long attracted visitors, there is no shortage of other activities to engage with today. From historical museums to boutique shopping and a lively bar and restaurant scene, fun activities in Saratoga abound.
1. Visit the natural mineral springs
As far back as the early 19th century, the natural carbonation contained in Saratoga Springs has attracted travelers. Today, the same natural springs draw an impressive crowd. If you visit Saratoga Springs, be sure to experience one or more of its 21 public natural spring locations. As expected, there is a wide range of spa activities and resorts situated around the springs, so prepare to rejuvenate!
Saratoga Springs, New York. (Veronica Yankowski)Saratoga Springs, New York. (Veronica Yankowski)
2. Indulge in horseracing
Aside from the mineral springs, horse racing and gambling have always been Saratoga’s vice, and there’s no shortage of historical evidence to prove it. Even today, guests can stop in at the horse tracks for some fun, and many do so. Most remarkable is the Saratoga Race Course dating back to 1863.
Saratoga Springs, New York. (Veronica Yankowski)Saratoga Springs, New York. (Veronica Yankowski)Saratoga Springs, New York. (Veronica Yankowski)
3. Visit downtown
Just like any modern-day city, downtown Saratoga Springs, New York, has no shortage of mouthwatering local restaurants and comfortable places to imbibe. That’s another reason why travelers have been stopping off here for over 150 years. Throw in a hefty dose of Victorian architecture, museums, boutique shopping, and a healthy sprinkling of hotels, and we have ourselves a perfect holiday destination.
Saratoga Springs, New York. (Veronica Yankowski)Saratoga Springs, New York. (Veronica Yankowski)Saratoga Springs, New York. (Veronica Yankowski )
Korean War veteran Sal Scarlato at the "mini-museum" he set up in his basement. (Courtesy of Sal Scarlato)
World War II Veteran
Editor’s note: Stanley Feltman passed away on September 23, shortly before this issue went to press.
(Dave Paone)
In 1945, at age 19, Stanley Feltman was a tail gunner in a B-29 for the U.S. Army Air Corps. He had flown about 15 successful bombing missions in the South Pacific, but come mission number 16, he wasn’t so lucky.
His plane, containing 11 crew members, was shot down by a Zero fighter aircraft of the Imperial Japanese Navy. All 11 men were able to escape the wreckage by inflating a dinghy and paddling away from the aircraft before it sank minutes later.
The dinghy was designed for six. That meant six were able to sit inside; but five, including Feltman, had to hang onto a rope that ran around the perimeter, with their bodies waist-deep in the water.
And then there were the sharks. They had some repellent on hand, but it dissipated after time. At one point, another airman who was hanging on lost his grip and slipped into the shark-infested water. Feltman dived after him and brought him back to the surface. This act of bravery would earn Feltman the Bronze Star.
Several hours later, a submarine spotted them. However, its crew was on a mission elsewhere, and could not take them aboard. The submarine’s crew wired their coordinates to an aircraft carrier, which sent a PBY seaplane to pick up the stranded airmen after a total of about eight hours in the water.
When the United States entered the war on December 7, 1941, Feltman was only 15 and couldn’t enlist, although he wanted to. However, Americans could enlist at 17 with parental consent, which was his plan. Upon his 17th birthday, he told his parents of his intention to volunteer.
Eventually, Feltman found himself in the tail of a B-29 in the South Pacific. His job was to fire at oncoming enemy planes. Often, these were flown by Kamikaze pilots, who would purposely crash their explosive-laden planes into American aircraft carriers.
Feltman recalled his first encounter with the enemy. “I remember somebody saying, ‘There’s planes coming in at six o’clock,’” he said. “I sighted on a plane that I saw coming in. I didn’t know if it was the same plane that they saw because usually they had five, six planes at one time come at you. I fired; I saw the plane blow up, so I figured it has to be a Kamikaze plane. It just exploded.”
Feltman was only 18 at the time, and the youngest member of the crew. After he hit his target, he shouted, “I got him! I got him! I got him!”
Today, at 95, when Feltman thinks about those battles, he’s not so enthusiastic. He’s certain he shot down eight Japanese pilots and thinks there may have been two more.
“I never felt right by taking a life,” he said. “When you’re shooting planes down, you’re taking a life. That’s all. There’s nothing big about that.”
Korean War Veteran
Sal Scarlato (left) with a South Korean counterpart. (Courtesy of Sal Scarlato)
On June 25, 1950, North Korean soldiers crossed the 38th parallel, and the Korean War began.
Sal Scarlato was 17 at the time. He had known of a few boys from his Brooklyn neighborhood who were killed in combat early on, but this didn’t stop him and his pals from enlisting in the Marines after they turned 18.
Private First Class Scarlato landed at Incheon on April 10, 1952. He was 19 and in the infantry.
“All of a sudden, we got hit with small-arms fire and mortar fire,” said Scarlato. “We were firing like crazy. I had the runs. I urinated. I was crying. A couple of guys got hit.”
One night, Scarlato had outpost duty along the 38th parallel. “That night, the CCF (Chinese Communist Forces) really gave us a welcome,” he said. “When they came, I didn’t fire my weapon right away. I froze. So, the guy next to me—actually, he was my squad leader—hit me in the helmet. He said, ‘You better start firing that weapon.’ A couple of minutes later, he got hit in the belly. He fell right on top of me. And when the corpsman came, he said, ‘Give me your hand.’”
Scarlato applied pressure to the squad leader’s liver, which was protruding from his body. Right then and there, he died. “I cried like a baby,” he said. “After this, I was very bitter. I kept saying to myself, ‘What the hell am I doing here?’ And my officers always said, ‘You’ll find out. You’ll find out eventually what you’re doing here.’”
Scarlato witnessed countless casualties, and then, in July 1952, became one. Once again, Scarlato’s unit came under attack by the CCF. An enemy combatant tossed a grenade at him and two other Marines. It exploded, killing one of them and wounding the other two. Scarlato suffered leg, neck, and hand wounds, and a concussion.
A corpsman gave him a shot of morphine and sent him via jeep to an aid station. From there, he was flown via chopper to a hospital ship. He thought this was his ticket home, but the Marines still needed him. Being sent back to his unit made Scarlato bitter. “I hated everybody,” he said, even his South Korean allies. Scarlato once even spat on a soldier when he came close.
Scarlato soon discovered that the officers were correct, and he did indeed find out why he was there. On patrol one day, Scarlato’s unit came upon a small village where several civilians had been killed.
“There was a little boy, maybe 5, 6 years old—he had his hand blown off.” Scarlato immediately picked the boy up and put his severed hand in his own pocket. He bandaged the end of the boy’s arm and a corpsman arrived. The child screamed in pain the entire time. They flagged down a medical jeep and drove to a nearby orphanage that had medical staff.
The nurses placed the boy on a table. Scarlato and the corpsman turned and walked out, having done all they could. Then, Scarlato remembered he still had the child’s hand in his pocket. He stepped back inside, only to find out the boy had died.
This was the defining moment. Out of all the death and carnage Scarlato saw, this was the worst. Now, he knew that the reason he was there was “to save these people’s lives. Before that, I didn’t understand.”
At 88, Scarlato is still sharp as a tack and keeps up with the news, including about current U.S.–North Korea relations. He’s a member of the Korean War Veterans Association, and regularly raises money for Korean War monuments.
Vietnam War Veteran
Col. Robert Certain with his wife, Robbie. (Courtesy of Robert Certain)
It was late 1972, and as the holiday season approached, Colonel Robert Certain, an Air Force B-52 navigator, was preparing to return stateside from war-torn Vietnam. But just days before his departure date, this much-anticipated plan was abruptly changed. Instead of returning home, Certain was now assigned to a large-scale flying mission—one that would radically change his life.
As a navigator, Certain explained that his job was not only to get to the target on time, but also to ensure the task was accomplished in an equally prompt and precise manner. The logistics were critically important for this mission, he said, because he and his crew would be flying toward Hanoi, deep into what was then known as enemy territory. Even so, the newly assigned mission initially got off to a good start and seemed to go according to plan. And then, it didn’t.
When Certain and his crew had almost reached their target, the plane suddenly sputtered into a free fall. They’d been hit. With no time to waste, Certain knew there was only one way to survive the doomed flight—eject into enemy territory. And so, Certain explained, he wasn’t surprised when he was captured, along with another member of the crew. “We were just a few miles north of Hanoi,” Certain said of their precarious landing site, estimating it was within 10 or 20 kilometers of their original target.
Certain would eventually end up in the infamous prison sarcastically dubbed by Americans at that time as the “Hanoi Hilton.” But first, he was forced to endure hours of relentless interrogation. Then, he and his fellow captive crew mate were paraded in front of cameras at an international presser.
Though the North Vietnamese may have been “showing off” their catch of the day, Certain believes this exposure protected him and the other new captures from the type of well-reported, horrendous conditions earlier prisoners were subjected to. After about 10 days, his tiny, shared cell was upgraded to a much larger one, and the prisoners were eventually allowed to gather together on Sundays for a service of sorts.
If the watchful eye of the media played a part in the type of treatment Certain and other newer captives received as prisoners, undoubtedly, so did the actions of the American government. At that time, the United States was in dedicated negotiations to end its involvement in the war. After the signing of the Paris Peace Accords made it official, Certain once again began planning for his return home. This time, his plans were undeterred, and Certain was set free on March 29, 1973.
But this isn’t where the story ends. Certain, who was 25 when he was captured, returned to the United States and hit the ground running, but on a much different path. In 1976, Colonel Certain became Father Certain, an ordained Episcopalian priest. He went on to earn his Doctor of Ministry degree in 1999, and as a member of the U.S. Air Force Reserves, he served as chaplain for a number of U.S. bases, including what is now Andrews Joint Base. When former President Gerald Ford passed away in 2006, it was Father Certain who presided over his graveside services.
Certain retired from active-duty service in 1977 but went on to serve in the Reserves until 1999. His exemplary service earned him a number of prestigious honors, including the Purple Heart, Bronze Star, and Distinguished Flying Cross medals, to name just a few. He has also served as a CEO, director, or board member for numerous organizations and governmental committees, such as the Defense Health Board and the Pentagon Task Force on the Prevention of Suicide by Members of the Armed Services. Notably, he remains active as a board member of the Distinguished Flying Cross Society, comprised of medal recipients. Over the years, his 2003 autobiography, “Unchained Eagle,” has accumulated a prestigious—and rare—five-star average rating on Amazon.
Yet despite his many successes, Certain admits to one failure. “I’ve tried to retire,” he said with humor in his voice, “but I’ve been a failure at it.” Officially though, Certain is indeed now classified by the military as retired, and lives with his wife of many years, Robbie, in Texas.
Gulf War Veteran
Air Force Lt. Col. Rob Sweet (center right) with his family after he took his final flight on June 5 this year, at the Moody Air Force Base in Georgia. (Andrea Jenkins)
It was February 1991, and U.S. Air Force pilot, Lieutenant Colonel Robert Sweet, was on his 30th mission in Desert Storm. The goal, simply put, was to eliminate enemy targets. However, his arrival at the targeted area was met with such heavy fire, he was ordered to leave because, as he explained in a press statement later, “if the target area is too hot, you have to leave. It’s not time to be a hero.”
As he and his lead flight captain, Stephen Phillis, made their way out of the area, he caught sight of what he described as a “pristine array of (enemy) tanks that had not been hit.” He found this downright shocking, he said, “because by that point, everything had been bombed for the past 30 days.” After Sweet began to attack the tanks, an exchange of fire erupted, and the A-10 Thunderbolt he was piloting was hit from behind.
He attempted to keep the damaged plane in the air, but he quickly realized it was not salvageable, and in order to survive, he would have to eject into enemy territory. “I tried a couple of things, and basically, it wasn’t going to work, so I punched out,” Sweet said, explaining how he landed face-to-face with more than a dozen irate Iraqi soldiers, southwest of Basra, Iraq. He was captured and held prisoner for 19 days under brutal conditions, including beatings, starvation, and exposure to disease.
It was clear, he said, that he now had to fight to keep himself both physically and emotionally strong. But it was also clear that the military had prepared him well beforehand for this type of situation. “There were very few surprises,” Sweet said of his time as a prisoner. “The SERE (Survival Evasion Resistance and Escape) we have is outstanding,” he said of the U.S. military’s training. “There were very few surprises in the jailhouse. I knew what to expect.”
And although his expectation included casualties, Sweet still found himself reeling after learning that Phillis had been killed in action. “I had survivor’s guilt, and it took me a long time to get over that,” he said.
Sweet spent 19 days in captivity before being released as part of a prisoner exchange. But it wasn’t without some long-term aftereffects. Most notably, he realized the importance of making good decisions under pressure and taking life as it comes. “Bloom where you’re planted,” he advised. In the military, that often includes assignments to undesirable locales. “Make the most of them and move on,” he said.
And that’s exactly what Sweet himself has done. After spending 20 years on active duty and 13 more as a reservist, Sweet retired in June 2021, making him America’s last POW to be actively serving in the Air Force. After this acknowledgement and congratulations at his retirement ceremony, General Charles Q. Brown captured the sentiment of the nation when he said simply, “We thank you for all you’ve done.”
Dave Paone is a Long Island-based reporter and photographer who has won journalism awards for articles, photographs, and headlines. When he’s not writing and photographing, he’s catering to every demand of his cat, Gigi.
Joni Williams started her career as a real estate reporter. Magazine writing soon followed, and with it, regular gigs as a restaurant and libations reviewer. Since then, her work has appeared in a number of publications throughout the Gulf Coast and beyond.
Yolanda Kennedy in her Navy uniform. (Courtesy of Yolanda Kennedy)
Yolanda Kennedy once built torpedoes for the United States Navy. Now, she’s building a better future for more than 100 young people each year.
The youngest of nine children raised by a single parent in Cherokee County, South Carolina, Kennedy always displayed a passion for learning. “I was a pretty good student” with a strong aptitude for mathematics, she said, earning business and middle school education degrees and teaching math in her hometown of Gaffney.
Growing up in a region rife with poverty, Kennedy was mindful of how her mom had to stretch a dollar. Although Kennedy yearned to go to college immediately, “I didn’t want to put the struggle on her,” she said, and instead signed up with Uncle Sam. Her first Navy assignment took her to Hawaii, where training in electricity and electronics prepared her to help build the Mark 46 antisubmarine torpedo. She later served as a military paralegal before retiring to her hometown after 20 years of service.
Disturbed by the memory of a sister who was kidnapped and murdered, “I knew I wanted to do something for the community,” Kennedy said, so she dug into her pocket to start a community center. Its mission is fundamental: help young people—from preschool through college—become more educated and responsible so their aspirations can become reality.
Launched in 2008, the Academic Technology and Wellness Academy (ATWA) provides about 135 students a year with free or low-cost programs that expand upon the curricula of Cherokee County’s public and private schools. ATWA offers after-school care and tutoring for kids aged 4 to 13; “life lessons” on topics such as behavior, money, and etiquette; Teen Talk Tuesdays via Facebook Live; pregnancy prevention classes; and a summer camp providing instruction in reading, writing, and mathematics along with field trips. Transportation from area schools to ATWA is free, as are hot, balanced meals.
Kennedy mentoring a teen at the ATWA. (Courtesy of Yolanda Kennedy)
While her focus is on young people, Kennedy also stages a Feed The Veterans event each November to demonstrate the community’s appreciation for their sacrifices.
At ATWA, Kennedy makes it a point to withhold program fees if it appears a family is incapable of paying. That’s especially true of tutoring. “We just help them as they need help,” she said. “Mostly, it’s math, and since I’m a math professor, I don’t mind helping.” Over the years, the academy’s growing popularity has prompted local philanthropists and businesses to support it. “We never turn a child away, whether they can pay or not,” Kennedy emphasized.
Kennedy takes a selfie with children at the ATWA. (Courtesy of Yolanda Kennedy)
“Her program has just been very successful with both of my grandsons,” said Vickie Littlejohn, grandmother to a 6-year-old who sang in the academy’s choir and a 14-year-old with Asperger syndrome who blossomed when the robotics team he joined won an inter-school competition. “It just made such a big difference in his life and it prepared him for school as well, interacting, because he goes to a regular school,” she added. The robotics program helps students enhance their teamwork and creativity and deepens their problem-solving skills. It is headed by Tony Adams-Wray, Kennedy’s husband.
While last year’s COVID-19 lockdown prompted a scaling-back of in-person programs, it also gave Kennedy the opportunity to introduce the Teen Talk series, which proved to be a big hit. During the one-hour interactive sessions where teens are mentored by their peers and adults, discussion topics are chosen based on “what’s troubling teens today,” said Shanese Dawkins, the series’ director. Over the past year, talks were given 48 out of 52 weeks.
“We had a young lady on. She was pregnant as a teenager [. . .] dropped out of school for a little while, went back, got her GED [. . .] went on to get her master’s and then she got her doctorate,” Dawkins noted. Another speaker, a graduate of Gaffney High School who received a four-year college scholarship, explained to young men how athletics is not the only pathway to success.
Jonna Turner, ex-CEO of the Cherokee County Chamber of Commerce, believes the innovative curriculum at ATWA not only helps kids overcome childhood challenges, but also prepares them to enter the job marketplace. “What she’s doing is preparing these students to be productive citizens,” Turner said. “So I feel that with Yolanda’s mission and her passion and her vision to educate students of all ages, and the partnerships that she is growing in the community with manufacturing companies, with community colleges, [and] four-year institutions, I mean, that is a definite investment into the future.”
“We’re just trying to reach as many youth as we can,” said Kennedy.
Neil Cotiaux is a freelance journalist whose work has appeared in newspapers, magazines, and business journals, mostly in the Southeast and Midwest. His work has largely focused on community and economic development, immigration, and health care. He works out of Spartanburg, South Carolina.
Navajo Code Talker Peter MacDonald Sr. at his ranch, located outside Tuba City, Arizona. (Tom Brownold for American Essence)
In war, information can be more valuable than tanks, planes, ships, or soldiers. Information sent and received without detection can mean the difference between victory and defeat, even between life and death.
Protecting information means developing elaborate codes. One code, which Native Americans developed and used, played a pivotal role in helping the United States win the Pacific front during World War II and bring the conflict to an end.
In the process, it became the only spoken code in military history never to have been deciphered.
Members of the Navajo tribe combined with the Marine Corps to create a code using the Navajo language. The Navajo Marines who employed that code became known as “Navajo Code Talkers” and participated in every Marine assault in the Pacific, including Guadalcanal, Iwo Jima, and Okinawa.
The code “saved hundreds of thousands of lives and helped win the war in the Pacific,” said Peter MacDonald Sr., a 93-year-old Marine veteran and one of only four Code Talkers still living.
At Iwo Jima, six Code Talkers sent and received more than 800 messages without making a mistake.
“Were it not for the Navajos,” 5th Marine Division signals officer Major Howard Connor once said, “the Marines would never have taken Iwo Jima.”
A Spark of Genius
The idea to use Navajo came to a civil engineer in Los Angeles. Philip Johnston, the son of a missionary, grew up on a Navajo reservation in Arizona and maintained contacts with Navajo friends. Johnston, who fought in World War I, had learned that the U.S. Army used the language spoken by the Comanche tribe for military communications during field maneuvers.
After the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor in 1941, Johnston contacted the Marines and presented his idea in 1942. The Marines asked him to organize a demonstration, so Johnston chose four Navajos who were working in Los Angeles’ shipyards at the time.
The demonstration succeeded. The Navajos decoded and transmitted three lines within 20 seconds.
MacDonald Sr. with his veteran insignia. (Tom Brownold for American Essence)
So the Marines approved Johnston’s plan and recruited 29 Navajos to write a code book. But since Navajo was only spoken, not written, the authors devised an alphabet for written communication and colorful descriptions for military terms.
For example, the Code Talkers used the Navajo word for chickenhawk to describe a dive bomber.
“We had a lot of chickenhawks on the reservation,” MacDonald said. “They fly high, but when they see a raven down below, they dive real fast, and they have a nice lunch. So by using the action of the bird and the action of the airplane, we can help us memorize what those code words are.
“Code words were not very difficult to remember because they were all based on something that we’re all familiar with. All the names of different airplanes took the names of different birds that we are very familiar with on the reservation.”
Breaking New Ground
The armed forces used other Native American languages as codes during World War II, but Navajo provided several advantages. First, it remained an unwritten language. Second, only about 30 non-Navajo Americans understood the language when the program began. Third, Navajo’s grammar and syntax differ dramatically from other languages.
Though the program began in 1942, MacDonald had no idea it existed when he joined the Marines in 1944.
“It was top secret to begin with,” he said. “None of us knew that there was such a program until after we passed boot camp, combat training, and communication school. Only after that were we then introduced to a very private, top secret, confidential, Navajo code school.”
At that school, instructors who served overseas taught the students how to use and pronounce code words, how to use the new alphabet, how to write legibly on a special tablet for the code, and how to practice their new skills.
Working Under Fire
The Code Talkers who graduated became as indispensable as rifles or mess kits.
“Every ship used in the landing—battleships, cruisers, destroyers, submarines, aircraft carriers—all had Navajo Code Talkers along with the English [language] network guys,” MacDonald said. “Every Marine air wing, Marine tank unit, and Marine artillery unit also had Navajo Code Talkers assigned to them.”
So how did the whole system work under fire?
“There are two tables [where Marines worked], one for the Navajo communication network, a second table for the English communication network,” MacDonald said. “As soon as the first shot is fired, messages are coming in Navajo as well as in English. All Navajo messages are received by Navajo Code Talkers.
“The message comes in, you write it down in English, and hand it over your shoulder to the runner standing behind us. He takes it up to the bridge and gives it to the general or the admiral. He reads it, he answers, and the runner brings it back down to us.”
The runner had his own special way to determine a communication’s importance.
“If he says ‘Nevada,’ ‘New Mexico,’ or ‘Arizona,’ we send a message back out in Navajo code,” indicating the message was important, MacDonald said. “If there is a top secret or confidential message that needs to be sent to another unit or another location, it’s given to a Navajo Code Talker.”
By the time World War II ended, more than 400 Marines served as Navajo Code Talkers. Their secret vocabulary grew from 260 code words used during Guadalcanal, the Code Talkers’ first battle, to more than 600, MacDonald said.
Preserving a Legacy
Yet not until 1968, when the government declassified the program, did Americans know about the Navajo Code Talkers. Now, 80 years after serving, the surviving Code Talkers are trying to preserve their legacy for future generations.
“We have been going across the country, via invitations, to tell our story,” MacDonald said, “and we are making headway to get American people to know this legacy.”
MacDonald Sr. with his grandchildren. (Tom Brownold for American Essence)
Part of that campaign involves plans for building a museum dedicated to that legacy.
“We found that many Americans and foreign nations didn’t know anything about this unique World War II legacy,” said MacDonald, who is spearheading the project. “The museum will tell the story of who we are, our heritage, our culture, our language, and the sacrifices we’ve made like so many other peoples.”
Those sacrifices enabled the United States to help protect the world from tyrants, he added.
Joseph D’Hippolito is a freelance writer based in Fullerton, California. His work has been featured in The Wall Street Journal, The Federalist, The Guardian, The New York Times, and the Jerusalem Post, among other outlets.
Cadet Tom Fryer shakes hands with President John F. Kennedy at the U.S. Air Force Academy graduation in 1963. (Courtesy of Wes Fryer)
This year marks the 60th anniversary of the start of President John F. Kennedy’s administration. When he took office in January 1961, he ushered in a new sentiment for the country. That sentiment was all about youth.
At 43, JFK was the nation’s second-youngest president, and he was good-looking to boot. The First Lady was also young and good-looking, and their two young children were adorable. It was all about youth.
JFK succeeded President Dwight D. Eisenhower. While both had served in the military during World War II, they were from opposite ends of the age spectrum. Eisenhower, known as Ike, was a career soldier, and had reached the rank of five-star general in the U.S. Army by the end of his military career. JFK, while an officer in the Navy, was far younger, and only rose to lieutenant during the war.
“What had happened in 1960 was that the junior ranks of the military in World War II replaced the generals,” said James Piereson, a historian and fellow at the Manhattan Institute. “That was part of the generational change that happened. Kennedy was, of course, quite pro-military,” he said. “JFK gave luster to military service,” he added, having “very much campaigned on his war record” in 1960.
So, what was it like being young and in the service during the Kennedy administration?
Bob Hogan was a gunnery officer and lieutenant junior grade on active duty in the Navy from 1960 to 1963, essentially the entire duration of JFK’s time in office. He was commissioned at age 22. “I was blown away by JFK’s Navy war record, his charisma, style, and wit,” he said. “I was immensely energized by his call to service, and really believed in it. His seeming idealism, his patriotic values—I was completely taken in.”
Tom Fryer had the thrill of a lifetime when JFK handed him his diploma and commission. They shook hands at Fryer’s graduation ceremony from the U.S. Air Force Academy in 1963. “I felt so honored, so humbled,” said Fryer, who was also 22 at the time.
The American president is also commander-in-chief of the nation’s military. In October 1962, JFK had to make some difficult decisions in that role. The United States and the USSR were fighting the Cold War. Nikita Khrushchev was JFK’s counterpart in communist Russia. A U-2 reconnaissance photo of Cuba confirmed that Khrushchev had placed nuclear missiles on the island, just 90 miles off the coast of Florida.
JFK responded by ordering a naval blockade around Cuba, and essentially told Khrushchev that the missiles had to go. If they didn’t, there would be war. A nuclear war.
This period, known as the Cuban Missile Crisis, was essentially a naval operation. But the entire military, worldwide, was ready for deployment, including a possible invasion of Cuba.
Harry Moritz was at Morse Intercept School at Fort Devens, Massachusetts, at the time. “One day, we marched back to our barracks and were held for an announcement. We were asked if anyone spoke Spanish. Several guys raised their hands. They were pulled to one side, told to pack their gear, and they were sent on a ‘special assignment’ TDY (temporary duty station). They disappeared and were never seen again,” he said. “We non-Spanish folks stayed in Morse school, and in the dark, like the rest of the USA, crapping our pants.”
Gary Mahone was a Morse interceptor, stationed in Hakata, Japan. “During that time, we were on red alert and worked 12-hour shifts, 24/7,” he said. “All leaves and terminations were canceled. Very tense times.”
The Air Force Academy that Fryer attended was in Colorado, not far from the North American Aerospace Defense Command (called NORAD), which conducts aerospace warning and control for the United States. “If the Russians would have come after us, that was a prime target,” said Fryer.
However, according to Fryer, Soviet missiles weren’t all that accurate at the time, so if they fell 15 miles short of their target, the academy could easily be hit. “In preparation for that, we held some drills,” he said. The academy was built with underground tunnels that distributed its utilities. Top brass decided the safest place for the cadets was in these tunnels, which no one really knew about.
Hogan was on a destroyer, which was part of the task force that was going to invade Cuba. His ship was the submarine screen and would provide shore bombardment should the invasion happen.
Hogan spotted a Russian submarine tailing them. “I heard his torpedo doors open,” he said. That meant the Soviets were preparing to attack. Hogan had his hand on the trigger, let his captain know he had positive identification, and requested permission to fire.
Had permission been granted, this very action would have kicked off a nuclear war. However, he was “in a system” and “the system has its rules; you follow the rules.” He would have obeyed the order to fire if it had been given.
“I was (expletive) my pants,” Hogan recalled. “There was a long pause, and the captain said, ‘Classify your contact as a whale,’” instead of an enemy submarine. “I was really glad when the captain chickened out.”
With a nuclear war between the two superpowers looming, Khrushchev eventually gave in and agreed to remove the missiles.
Veteran Joe Schmidt of N.Y. (Dave Paone)
Joe Schmidt was a 21-year-old signalman on a destroyer in the blockade. His job was to directly communicate with the Russian merchant ships as they removed the missiles from Cuba. “With a flashing light, we would send a message to them, and we had to ask them, ‘What is your cargo?’” he said. The expected reply was, “Missiles.” Schmidt would relay that message to the captain, who would relay it to the naval air station in Key West, Florida.
It was understood by everyone involved that the Soviet merchant ships were carrying the missiles and nothing else. “Anything coming out of Cuba at that point was only coming out with missiles on it. They weren’t bringing cigars,” said Schmidt with a laugh.
Key West would then dispatch a P2V Neptune anti-submarine aircraft to fly over the Russian ship to photograph its cargo. The only time Schmidt was in contact with a Soviet ship, it was after midnight and completely dark.
“They had these huge searchlights on the wingtips,” he said. “And they lit that ship up—that plane lit it up—it looked like it was 12 o’clock in the afternoon with those lights.” Even though the two sides spoke entirely different languages—ones that don’t even share the same alphabet—there was a code that both understood, which made communication possible.
JFK’s presidency is fondly referred to as “Camelot,” and the consensus among those who served in the military during his administration is that, for different reasons, it was an exciting time. As Hogan put it, “Best and worst experience of my life.”
Dave Paone is a Long Island-based reporter and photographer who has won journalism awards for articles, photographs, and headlines. When he’s not writing and photographing, he’s catering to every demand of his cat, Gigi.
Al Freni, with his iconic photo of President Dwight D. Eisenhower and grandson David, and the Speed Graphic camera he used to shoot the picture. (Dave Paone)
On a summer’s day in 1955, the stars aligned for an airman second class at the Lowry Air Force Base in Denver, Colorado. This was just before the days when Camp David became the official presidential retreat, and President Dwight D. Eisenhower used a property near the base known as the “Summer White House.”
Twenty-one-year-old Al Freni was assigned to the president as his official photographer. On August 16, he and several other photographers were shooting Eisenhower (known as Ike) and his grandson, David, as they were recreating on a nearby ranch, owned by one of Ike’s friends, Aksel Neilsen.
Freni took the picture that would kick-start his career. It’s of the pair fishing at a pier, bonding as grandfathers and grandsons do. This picture would be republished in books and magazines and exhibited for decades thereafter.
Freni’s story begins in 1933, when he was the second son born to Italian immigrant parents in the Jackson Heights neighborhood of Queens, New York. His birth name was Alfredo Giuseppe Freni, but several years later, an editor felt it would take up too much space in his publication and, in an Ellis Island-style move, insisted he simply go by Al Freni.
At 10 years old, Freni purchased his first camera, a Clix Deluxe, for $1.79. Soon after, his older cousin purchased a basic darkroom kit for Freni, and he started developing and printing his own pictures in the bathroom and what was the coal bin in his family’s house.
Completely by chance, famed Life magazine photographer Alfred Eisenstaedt lived in an apartment building two blocks from the Freni household. Upon learning this, Freni scraped up a dime to purchase the latest issue, never having heard of Eisenstaedt before.
Freni attended the School of Industrial Art (now the High School of Art and Design) in Manhattan for high school, where he took four photography classes per day and was named “most probable to succeed” upon graduation in 1951.
At this point, the Korean War was on, and Freni was of draftable age. For the next two years, he worked two different jobs but decided to enlist before he was to be drafted. He joined the Air Force in 1953 with the plan of working as a photographer.
The Air Force had a different plan. They trained him as a turret mechanic for B-47 bombers. After nine months of it, Freni had had enough and was seriously considering going AWOL. “I couldn’t stand what I was doing,” Freni said. A fellow airman suggested he speak with the base chaplain. Freni took that advice, and the chaplain, a colonel, pulled some strings. He offered Freni a position working for the weekly Air Force newspaper, called Airmen. Freni jumped at the offer.
As airman first class, Al Freni is pictured after his promotion in 1955. (Courtesy of Al Freni)
The good news was Freni was the No. 2 photographer of a two-man photo department. The bad news was that meant he had to shoot the less-glamorous and more difficult assignments, including climbing up a ladder to the roof of a hangar to photograph the president’s plane upon arrival.
“Then the magical thing happened,” said Freni. “The photographer that was assigned to cover the president in 1954 got his orders. They shipped him out. I graduated to base photographer.”
That meant whenever Eisenhower vacationed at the Summer White House, Freni was the official photographer. “Here I am, not even 22 years old,” said Freni, “and I was assigned to be the presidential photographer.”
The day of golfing, horseback riding, and fishing was a photo-op manufactured by the presidential press secretary at the time, James Hagerty. It was so manufactured that, according to Freni, the White House had live trout trucked in and released into the water to ensure the younger Eisenhower would catch a fish.
While the entire day was manufactured, the moment Freni captured was real. David had walked away from his grandfather, and the other half-dozen photographers there, and stood on the pier alone. Ike walked over and joined him. Freni saw this unfolding but was the only photographer to act. “I saw a picture,” Freni said. He then shot the photo that would bring him his most recognition.
All of Freni’s photographs taken while in the Air Force were shot on a Speed Graphic camera, which he purchased in 1949. It was the camera photojournalists had used for decades. It was big, heavy, cumbersome, and took one sheet of film at a time, so photographers spent a lot of time inserting and removing the frames that held the film. If a flash was needed, individual flashbulbs were inserted before and ejected after each use.
The fishing photo ran on the front page of Airmen, as well as the Rocky Mountain News, a Denver daily newspaper. Eisenhower loved it so much that he requested 40 prints. It took Freni three days, but he made 43 11-by-14-inch prints in the darkroom by hand.
An appointment was set up for Freni and the public information officer, a major, to meet in the president’s office, where Eisenhower would sign one of the prints for Freni to keep. Freni got a haircut, shined his shoes, and put on clean fatigues. When they walked into the room, Eisenhower said, “Come in, Sergeant,” and the major’s face turned white.
Freni believes this was the commander-in-chief’s subtle way of saying to the major, “Promote this guy.” Whether it was intentional or not, the major did, indeed, promote Freni soon afterward.
Ike wrote, “For Alfred Freni, with best wishes, Dwight Eisenhower.”
Thirty-nine years later, the grandson, David, signed the photo, writing, “For Al Freni, who took my favorite picture.”
Freni’s photograph is at the Dwight D. Eisenhower Presidential Library, Museum, and Boyhood Home in Abilene, Kansas, and at the Eisenhower Historical Site in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. It’s been published in one of the titles in the Time-Life series, “The Fabulous Century,” as well as many other books and magazines.
Freni has had a long career as a professional photographer in New York. For many years, he had a combination studio-office-darkroom in the Time-Life Building, seeing Eisenstaedt regularly. As a true New Yorker, he never left his Queens neighborhood and now lives in the building where Eisenstaedt lived. But it’s the fishing picture that Freni remembers most fondly.
He often states how “one two-hundredth of a second” can change a person’s life. That one two-hundredth of a second certainly changed his.
Dave Paone is a Long Island-based reporter and photographer who has won journalism awards for articles, photographs, and headlines. When he’s not writing and photographing, he’s catering to every demand of his cat, Gigi.
Spreading friendship and love. (Courtesy of the Stowes)
Tea has always been a part of the Stowe family. What initially started as a traveling tearoom in 2011, bringing tea and baked goods to families all over Middle Tennessee and parts of Alabama, has transformed into what is now a physical tearoom on a 68-acre farm in Campbellsville, Tennessee. Three Sisters Tearoom is run by Jennifer Stowe and her three daughters, Julia, Andrea, and Meredith.
The Stowes would drive in the family car and set up base at various sites, including local senior centers, nursing homes, and libraries, to bring tea and cookies to local communities. The family would organize discussions about the history of tea, teach patrons about the different kinds of tea, and offer tea tastings.
The girls enjoying a cup of tea outside their Airstream camper trailer in 2011. (Courtesy of the Stowes)
Three Sisters Tearoom
After the family’s barn burned down in 2014, they had the idea of rebuilding and transforming the place into a physical tearoom. “We just thought maybe we didn’t need to travel so much bringing tea to people—we could have them come to us,” said Jennifer, mother to the three girls. Despite sitting on a large farm, the tearoom itself is tiny, with maximum indoor seating accommodating up to 20 guests at any one time. Weather permitting, there are an additional eight seats outdoors. “Six years on, that little tearoom has been home to all of our events and gave our traveling tearoom a home,” said Julia.
The three sisters: Andrea, Julia, and Meredith. (Courtesy of the Stowes)
All three sisters have a role in the tearoom, from greeting guests, to baking the numerous sweet treats on offer, to washing dishes after a long day of entertaining guests. “Meredith was only six when the tearoom first opened. She was our greeter and just hugged everybody! And a lot of our clients are seniors, some of them widowed, so it meant a lot to them, getting a hug from a little girl,” Jennifer told me.
Jennifer’s second daughter, Andrea, is responsible for the analytical and organizational aspects of the family business, like filling out the spreadsheets, scheduling, sending newsletters, and other administrative duties. Julia oversees the baking. “She has mastered the scones. We have our signature lavender white chocolate scones, which she makes so well with lemon curd,” said Andrea. The youngest sister, Meredith, still greets all the clients, even at the age of 13. She also irons all the tablecloths.
Julia’s famous lavender white chocolate scones. (Courtesy of the Stowes)
Operating a family business has its advantages. Jennifer said if she didn’t have the chance to run the tearoom with her daughters, she probably wouldn’t run one at all. “For me, it’s really the best situation. I get to do something that I love, express creativity, extend hospitality, and work with my most favorite people in the world.” The tearoom simply serves as an extension of the Stowe family home, and this translates into the domestic comfort and warmth it provides to its patrons.
The most important part of running a tearoom is building a community, Julia told me. “It’s very much a place to build friendships, and seeing people through the years who were strangers now become very dear friends, both with us and each other, is a treasured aspect of having a tearoom.”
A Place of Deep Friendship and Community
The tearoom served an important role to the local community after the pandemic lockdown restrictions were lifted. “Mom brought a lot of joy into their lives,” said Meredith. “It was just a time for them to come and enjoy peace, and spend time with people after being home for so long.”
Jennifer explained that a lot of women who visit her tearoom have suffered many heartbreaks and tragedies, whether that be losing their husbands, jobs, or other family members. However, the tearoom offers them much-needed solace and friendship.
One of the most touching aspects is the uniting of patrons, regardless of age or experience. “When you see a senior and young adult who just find similar passions and can converse about it, that, to me, is just amazing,” said Meredith.
Three Sisters Tearoom patrons share many smiles around the tea table. (Courtesy of the Stowes)
The tearoom also offers events, one of their popular ones being their Afternoon Tea Flight, which involves learning about a different country each month. “We enjoy tea the way they would have it, and we eat their food,” said Jennifer. The owners provide a small presentation on the origin of the tea, along with cultural aspects like music, food, and even the use of incense. The tea flight starts from China, continuing all the way through Europe, and eventually landing in the United States. Each attendee receives a little passport and gets a stamp for every Tea Flight attended. Jennifer said it offers customers the opportunity to experience different cultures, something they may never have gotten the chance to encounter coming from a small town.
They have even featured yak butter tea, a popular beverage in the Himalayas of Central Asia, particularly in Tibet. This drink was traditionally drunk by the Tibetan people of the North to provide energy and to keep warm in the harsh winters.
Literary tea events are another community favorite, where, according to their website, ladies of all ages are invited to join book discussions over delicious cream teas. The event features a perfectly curated, themed menu that reflects the essence of the book.
Fresh Produce Straight From the Farm
Three Sisters Tearoom uses locally produced ingredients in all the items on its menu, including eggs, greens, tomatoes, corn, potatoes, rhubarb, peppers, and even fruit. The family grows just about everything on its 68-acre farm.
Andrea tending to her tomato plants on the family farm. (Courtesy of the Stowes)
The family also owns many animals, including chickens (for meat and eggs), ducks, and a small herd of Highland cattle (for milk and meat), as well as a few dogs and cats.
The tearoom is sometimes closed for a week or two during the height of summer, when the garden is bursting with fresh produce. This allows the family to finish canning and processing the food and to get ready to open again the following week.
Looking to the Future
Over the years, the Stowes have brought much joy to the lives of everyone they have encountered. They grew from a simple traveling tearoom to building a beautiful paradise for the local community to visit and relax in. But their journey doesn’t end here. The family has plenty of exciting plans for the future, from organizing tea talks on the road to taking their love for tea into classrooms, libraries, and historic homes in the form of educational classes and lectures.
Jennifer has also written many titles and tea-themed books, like “Book of Days: An Artful Guide to Life-Long Learning,” “Afternoon Tea: Rhymes for Children,” “Infused: Tea Time in Fine Art,” and “Wee Bites and Nibbles: Manners and Menus for the Tiniest Tea Drinkers.” Her daughter, Julia, is a graphic designer and frequently aids in the artistic production of the books.
The family’s old barn was repurposed into a tearoom. (Courtesy of the Stowes)
Other short-term plans involve planting more perennials to liven up the grounds, building a courtyard garden, and building an outdoor room where they can serve tea and host more people.
Outside of the tearoom, the girls share their admiration for tea with their friends in college and while traveling. “It draws people and builds relationships, even outside of the tearoom business,” commented Andrea.
“Our tearoom is certainly very dear to my heart,” said Julia. “And whatever different paths it may take in the future, it will still be part of our lives in some way.”
The Conley family at their orchard in Athol, Idaho. (Ben Norwood)
The fundamentals of life at Athol Orchards are simple: a tight-knit family, a love for all things apple, and a deep appreciation for mountain air and American soil.
Located in the northern reaches of Idaho, Athol Orchards is owned and operated by the Conley family: Erreck, Nikki, daughters Mackenzie (13) and Madelyn (10), and Nikki’s mother Carole. While it is most known to the public for its historical apple varieties, delectable apple cider syrup, and Idaho-harvested maple syrup, the Conley family looks at the orchard as a token of the American dream: strong family foundations, plenty of hard work (oftentimes backbreaking, as Nikki said), and the traditional, family-owned farm life.
In the beginning, many told Nikki and Erreck they’d bitten off more than they could chew. But since moving to Idaho from the West Coast in January of 2016, the family has been chipping away at their vision, little by little; just six years ago, Nikki was a professional graphic designer working in a Northern California metropolis, parked in front of a computer day in and day out, while memories of the quiet Californian mountain town where she spent her childhood bloomed in her mind.
Nikki with her husband, Erreck, and two daughters, Mackenzie and Madelyn. (Ben Norwood)
“When I was 3 years old, my family wanted to seek a quieter life for me and my siblings, so we moved to the eastern foothills of central California in a little town called Springfield. It was the ideal small town,” said Nikki. “The Sequoia National Forest was pretty much our backyard, and we had a lot of these multi-generational, commercial apple orchards that were being grown in high-elevation mountains there.”
Crisp apples and fresh mountain air are braided into Nikki’s childhood, so much so that she often asked her father if they could become apple farmers. The glow of a computer screen became a headache as the mother of two pictured the quality of life she wanted for her daughters.
Building an Orchard From Scratch
Nikki and Erreck didn’t have a lick of agricultural experience of their own—Nikki herself had cycled through graphic design, teaching, and the medical field, trying to find her lifelong career—but while the orchard dream was still far removed from reality, it remained within arms’ reach.
“We wanted to seek a quiet life for our kids. A slower life, away from the big population densities in California where we were. I don’t know if this happens to all parents, but our minds really started changing in the ways we thought about the world, after watching how things have changed and the world got so fast, unpredictable, scary.”
Northern Idaho checked all of Nikki’s boxes for climate, environment, safety. She, her high school sweetheart, and their kids headed east. And with the town of Athol nearly rhyming with the word apple, it just felt a universal sign to Nikki that it was time to make her childhood dream come true.
Crucial to this was her husband’s willingness to change his own career path, move states, and walk alongside his wife in her new endeavor; while apples alone may not have been a convincing-enough argument, Nikki finding her true calling surely would. Erreck is a 23-year Air Force veteran who remained in government work until joining Nikki in the full-time orchard venture. Carole lives on the orchard and assists in the operation as well, helping with gardening, watering, and tending the berry patches.
The apples and their byproducts are just a delicious bonus. “I’m the dreamer and Erreck is very much the doer. Everything we’ve done, we’ve done together right alongside our girls,” Nikki said.
Nikki Conley chose a small town in Idaho to start her orchard, after years of toiling in front of a computer as a graphic designer. (Ben Norwood)
What to most people is just a household kitchen staple is to Nikki a fruit with a rich, intricate history, which has fascinated her for years. There are multi-volume book series, historians, and national conventions dedicated to the apple, and the varieties grown at Athol are unlike those found on grocery store shelves. Some varieties were lost and found again when abandoned American homesteads, dating back to the 18th century, were rediscovered and explored—the ancient apple trees found on those homesteads were “gifts from our ancestors,” Nikki said.
“I learned about all of these lost, old, historical varieties that really tied in with my love of American history. All the pieces started to fall into place for me.” Nikki now delights in sharing her knowledge through her orchard, which she said also functions as a living history farm.
Back to Nature
Preserving history and providing agricultural education are important, Nikki explained. Agricultural exposure in public school is minimal, and, with the threshold to enter the commercial farming industry so high, she wants impressionable young children to learn the vital role that agriculture—not just commercial farming—can play for a person, a community, and America as a whole. “We want to change the way kids see agriculture, whether it be becoming beekeepers, having their own orchard, or raising Nigerian goats for cheese and raw milk. Public education doesn’t have the time to touch on agriculture anymore, and that’s why we need to hold on to the family farms in our country,” she said.
Nikki does not aspire to run a commercial apple farm. She sees herself as a curator of apples, and her farm a preservation orchard, with its 1.5 acres and 120 trees, holding space in the present for apple varieties that held so much significance in the past. She has plans to plant more trees on an additional 16 acres next spring.
(Ben Norwood)
Athol Orchards is perhaps most known for its signature apple cider syrup. A lover of natural and holistic ingredients harvested straight from the earth, Nikki didn’t like the thought of her family using artificial syrups, so she set out to create a syrup product from her apples. She did not expect that she would soon be selling out of the product at farmers markets—where customers gushed that the syrup was happiness in a bottle or like Christmas for the tastebuds—and shipping to all 50 states and internationally.
Nikki took a similar approach with maple syrup, the supermarket varieties of which can be loaded with additives, after a visit to New England where maple farms thrive. “The whole idea and tradition of maple syrup stuck in my heart just as fast as the apples did,” she said.
A Rewarding Dream
So, what is it like living in the shadow of the Rockies, where your nearest neighbors are apple trees? It is an “amazing silence,” Nikki said, free of the traffic, construction, and general cacophony that steals the quiet away from urban places. The morning of her American Essence interview, she rose early to find wild turkeys foraging the orchard for fallen apples while her Nigerian dwarf goats brayed to hail the morning; in the mountains, the nighttime often leaves a milky fog behind that casts the forest surrounding the orchard into haziness. Elk may emerge to try to sneak a few apples off the trees, and while the Conley family has not yet experienced any firsthand, moose, wolves, and cougars loom in this very much still wild and untamed land.
Metro California, choked and uncomfortable like a person pulling at a turtleneck, seemed a distant memory.
“The forest is quiet, and the atmosphere is cool. The earth is damp, you can smell the soil under the grass. We are a forest-edge environment, which means we let the native grass and wildflowers grow in the springtime,” Nikki said.
The most rewarding of it all has been watching her family slow down—not only watching her dream of apples and syrups blossom, but her dream of true, unadulterated happiness find its way into her daughters’ hearts.
“It’s been a very fulfilling thing for my kids to watch us develop this business. They’ve now realized that they can be entrepreneurs themselves, and they don’t have to work for somebody else, or work for the system. They can build a life for themselves and have a life that they want. They’ll be able to provide for their own families and not have to work on somebody else’s clock and somebody else’s dime,” Nikki said.
The local community has welcomed the orchard and the Conley family with open arms, their message of a more purposeful, slower life included. Nikki recently experienced an accident that left her injured, and the community swooped in to help with farm operations. “People are tired and weary of this fast-paced world. They’re losing connection to humans,” Nikki said. “Our farm has become this place where people can come, and they don’t take out their cell phones, and there’s this kindness and this camaraderie that takes place here.”
Athol Orchards has provided so much more to Nikki than apple pie and maple syrup. She and her family love this land from mountain peak to soil, growing their roots deeper than those of their apple trees. And while Nikki’s father—who played such an important role in taking her to orchards and hearing her childhood dreams of becoming an apple farmer—passed on long before the orchard came to fruition, Nikki looks out over her work and knows he’d be proud, perhaps even smiling down.
Savannah Howe is a freelance magazine journalist currently calling the cornfields of the Upper Midwest home. When she is not telling America’s stories, she can be found on the hunt for the best sushi or coffee out there.
Nadine, Chris, and PK Isac at their family home in Goshen, Connecticut. ("Gobble: The Quintessential Thanksgiving Playbook")
The Isacs have always treasured the Thanksgiving holiday season as an important time to reflect on all things they are grateful for. Their appreciation has only increased after the untimely passing of Peter Isacs, a loving husband and father, in August 2020, due to an aneurysm.
After Peter passed away, the family were bracing themselves for a difficult Thanksgiving. But Nadine and her two sons, PK and Christopher, decided to channel their grief into something positive. “Historically, in our family, when one of us has a good idea, we all tend to remember it as our own. We have since joked about which one of us actually initiated the idea for this book, but we now know in our hearts it was Peter,” they wrote in their new book, “Gobble,” scheduled for release in October. “We’re very grateful for the inspiration that we had to write this book,” said Nadine in a recent interview.
“Gobble: The Quintessential Thanksgiving Playbook” serves as a guide on how to organize the perfect family Thanksgiving. It covers everything from festive games and activities to laying out a beautiful table for the occasion. The book also discusses the importance of setting family traditions for the holiday season, from taking a short stroll between dinner and dessert, to starting a “gratitude” tablecloth and getting everyone to write one thing they are thankful for every year.
Embracing Family Traditions
(Photo from “Gobble: The Quintessential Thanksgiving Playbook”)
For example, the Isacs put up their Christmas tree the day after Thanksgiving in their Litchfield Hills, Connecticut, home. They say they do this for several reasons: the first is to be able to enjoy the tree for as long as possible; the second is to enlist the help of guests to put up Christmas ornaments. “It’s a great way to kick off the Christmas season,” they stated in their book.
For both PK and Christopher, Thanksgiving has always been a favorite holiday, as it is a time to focus on family. “Traditions are a really effective way to share that love,” said PK. Christopher believes that traditions serve as a way to bond and for family members to express gratitude for each other. “Living in gratitude helps one appreciate the good times and get through the bad. Gratitude can be very similar to empathy in a lot of ways, especially when you’re with family and you’re sharing in the gratitude for the opportunity to be there together, grateful for everything you’ve done for each other, and grateful for everything that you’ve gotten out of the past year,” said Christopher.
Treasuring the Final Moments
Nadine remembers the days leading up to her husband’s passing as a particularly special time for the whole family. “We were in the middle of a pandemic, and had we not been, the boys would probably not have been home.” She is grateful for this time, as it allowed the family to be in each other’s company. “We had some incredible family time leading up to this death,” she recounted. The evening that Peter passed away was the most poignant day to her. “It was a gorgeous August day. If you could design a day for your last day, it would have been designed the way he lived it,” she said. He started the day by reading the newspaper and then riding on his tractor—something he loved to do.
“In the evening, we went to our meadow and had a beautiful summer dinner all together. And then, ironically, he came up and watched his favorite movie with the boys, which was ‘Star Wars,’” Nadine chuckled. After that, he told his family he loved them and got into bed. An hour later, he was gone.
The family shared many warm memories about Peter and his love for food, family, and tradition. Chris said, “My first memory of helping out in the kitchen was doing the onions, carrots, and celery and chopping them up for my dad, who was making stuffing for Thanksgiving.”
Fostering a Love for Thanksgiving
(Photo from “Gobble: The Quintessential Thanksgiving Playbook”)
The boys’ father was influential in fostering a love for Thanksgiving. “He was the one who taught us about food, about wine. That all comes from him,” added PK. Every Thanksgiving, each member of the family would assume different roles to help prepare for the occasion. Chris would help with cooking, while his brother PK displayed a keen interest in wine and bartending. Nadine said, “As soon as he was of legal age, and maybe even a little bit before, PK started studying wines. My husband really knew wine, and he also instilled in them an interest in history and geography.” PK spent many hours in the family library, sifting through books about wine regions, varietals, and vinification techniques, while his younger brother Chris studied cookbooks.
Nadine was renowned for creating beautiful table arrangements for the festive season. During holidays, it was common for friends and family to use Nadine’s decorations as inspiration for their own table settings at home. Peter’s mother and grandmother served as influential figures for Nadine, who considered them incredible entertainers and hosts. “I always admired them for the tables they set,” she said.
The Isacs’ appreciation for food and wine has been passed down through the generations. PK and Chris’ grandfather (Peter’s father) kept many books about wine and was awarded the title of Chevalier du Tastevin, a French award given to top wine enthusiasts. While attending Tulane University, both boys hosted elaborate dinner parties for friends, using their cooking and bartending experience from helping out at Thanksgiving.
Gratitude remains a big part of the family, even outside of Thanksgiving. Living through the pandemic and losing a family member has provided the Isacs with a new perspective and a heightened appreciation for each other. “It’s been such an incredible experience,” said Nadine. It has allowed the family to spend more time together while prioritizing good health and maintaining personal connections. “We’ve always taken for granted being in the same room or, you know, giving a hug to someone or just getting together. And I think all of us right now are appreciating that like we’ve never done before,” said Nadine.
Each region of America likes to put its own spin on how to incorporate the fall bounty into a delicious pie. (Lux Aeterna Photography)
As American as apple pie. It’s an expression commonly used to describe something that completely encapsulates the American character.
But surprisingly, the kinds of apples we commonly see in our markets and grocery stores are not actually indigenous to the United States. The crab apple is the only species in the genus Malus that is native to North America; it was English settlers who brought cultivated apple seeds with them. According to the University of Illinois, the first apple trees were planted by pilgrims in the Massachusetts Bay Colony. Americans soon started grafting different cultivars, and today, there are roughly 2,500 varieties grown in the country.
Meanwhile, the earliest forms of pie were oblong—meant to transport food easily and preserve food for longer periods in the age before refrigeration. The crust was often inedible.
The first truly American apple pie recipe appeared in “American Cookery,” by Amelia Simmons, published in 1796. The cookbook is considered to be the first to use ingredients and cooking techniques distinct from the English tradition. True to American taste, the recipe called for cinnamon and mace—the outer covering of nutmeg—as spices.
Expressing Ourselves
Why did the apple pie become America’s signature dessert and a symbol of Americana? Ken Haedrich, author of several pie cookbooks, including the most recent “Pie Academy,” believes the versatility of the pie is a reflection of America’s love for self-expression.
“We’re all cowboys, you know. We like to do our own thing. And an apple pie is great for that. You can use virtually any type of apple that you want, any type of sweetening, any type of thickener, you can put a top crust or no crust, you can put a crumb topping,” explained Haedrich, who describes himself as a “pie apostle” and runs an online forum devoted to helping bakers with pie-related quandaries. “I think this is one of the things that has made apple pie the quintessential American pie—the fact that we can shape it into anything we want it to be.”
(Courtesy of Storey Publishing)
Pie is not only an expression of individual personality but also of America’s different regional attributes. In parts of New England where there is a lot of dairy production, a tradition emerged to place a slice of cheddar cheese on top of apple pie. “You start to get this confluence of regional ingredients with apples, and you’re going to find that in every part of the country. They will have their own sort of variations of apple pies based on what else grows there or the area is known for,” Haedrich explained.
Some in New England also use maple syrup as a sweetener, while in parts of the country with large Amish communities, such as Pennsylvania, Ohio, and other parts of the Midwest, apple custard pies are common due to their dairy farming.
Pie is a reflection of the American penchant for self- expression. (Lux Aeterna Photography)
But there are other fruits of the harvest represented through pie. In the South, pecan pie is the ultimate fall dessert as the nuts are harvested during that season. In the Pacific Northwest, Rebecca Bloom, founder of the Piedaho Bakery based in Hailey, Idaho, throws in cranberries with local Jonathan and Jonagold apples and thyme for a fall treat. The pie company also uses flash-frozen berries from Washington in pies that are served throughout the fall and winter. Bloom loves the wild huckleberries that grow in Idaho, but she has yet to find a way to source them adequately to make pie—though she hopes “one day maybe we will find a treasure trove of them!”
(Lux Aeterna Photography)
And in Indiana, the Hoosier sugar cream pie—made simply of cream, sugar, flour, and spices—emerged during lean times when eggs and fresh ingredients were not available, explained Capri Cafaro, cookbook author and host of “Eat Your Heartland Out,” a podcast on Midwestern food traditions. “We’re dealing with ingredients that […] could be utilized […] with the resources available to people,” she said.
Also in the Midwest, other types of pie became popular due to the waves of immigrants who settled in the region and introduced their culinary traditions, explained Cafaro. In the Upper Peninsula region of Michigan, handheld pies called pasties reign supreme. They are typically savory and trace back to immigrants from Cornwall, England, who came for mining jobs during the mid-1800s.
But the custardy, delicious pumpkin pie did not emerge as a classic fall dish until Thanksgiving became a regional holiday in New England during the 1800s, Cafaro explained. Many abolitionists in New England featured pumpkin pie in their writings, and it became a symbol of the movement. After President Abraham Lincoln declared Thanksgiving a national holiday in 1863, pumpkin pie became a symbol of the fall bounty.
There is also the wholly American tradition of making recipes developed by major food corporations to promote their products. One year, Cafaro won the third-place ribbon at the Ashtabula County Fair in Ohio for her peaches and cream pie—which incorporated gelatin. The recipe came from one published by Jell-O. During the mid-20th century, with the rise of industrial food, brands popularized many classic desserts, such as the icebox cake, made with Nabisco chocolate wafers, Cafaro explained. “They oftentimes become heirloom recipes in their own weird way.”
Fall Memories
For Haedrich, who grew up in New Jersey with six siblings, pie-making was a treasured fall family tradition.
“Mom and Dad used to pile all of us in the station wagon. We had an old Woody, and we’d go up into the hills around Plainfield,” he recalled. “They’d buy bushels, baskets full of apples, and they’d come back and they would make their apple pies together.” Mom was in charge of the apple filling, while Dad was the crust maker. He believes these kinds of precious memories are “one of the things that strengthens our ties, our love of apple pie, and our love of pie, period.”
Julianna Butler, a baker in Vermont, similarly feels that pie gives off a “homey feel”—a comfort food that “reminds you of your grandmother.” In fall 2019, Butler won second place in an apple pie baking contest held by a local farmers market. The winning recipe incorporated her experience working at a pie bakery in her hometown in Virginia. Pie is Butler’s favorite dessert; in fact, for her upcoming fall wedding, instead of serving a wedding cake, she plans to give out mini pumpkin, pecan, and apple pies from the Virginia bakery.
Bloom, of Piedaho, said she recalls baking pies—especially her grandfather’s favorite, pumpkin pie—as a young child, and gifting them to him on birthdays. Her grandfather has passed away, but she still makes the same recipe—with a few of her own tweaks—to this day.
Rebecca Bloom, owner of Piedaho, grew up baking pies for her grandfather, who loved pumpkin pie. (Courtesy of Piedaho)
Haedrich said many of the people who email him with pie-related queries mention how much they enjoy the tactile experience of making pie. “You get your hands into it, you get to smell all the lovely ingredients.” For those who are new to pie-making, he recommends that they just practice—and not worry too much about how it looks. “I always tell people, don’t be afraid of strutting your ugly pies. Everybody makes a lot of ugly pies when they first start out,” he said.
He notes the most important thing is to enjoy the process. “Just immerse yourself in it totally. Just enjoy every aspect of it.”
Antique clocks harken back to the late 1800s—the time period that the Silver Dollar City festival is set in. (Laken Copeland)
With momentum building, the first curve sends passengers spinning front-to-back, disorienting any sense of direction and offering no mercy, before plunging straight down into the abyss. A diving loop, followed by a zero-gravity roll, both at hurling speed, challenges dimension awareness, as the backdrop of trees and sky blends into one big blur. Then, after twisting, turning, inverting, and dropping, it’s over. The roller coaster, designed to simulate an experience of traveling forward and backward through time and space, finally halts.
The $26 million record-breaking roller coaster, appropriately named Time Traveler, is an adventure, spanning time in more ways than one. A modern-day engineering marvel aimed at the current generation of thrill-seekers, the time-machine coaster ironically sits in the middle of a late 1800s-styled theme park.
The History
It’s known as Silver Dollar City, a name stemming from the practice of making change with actual silver dollar coins back when the park opened in 1960. In truth, however, Silver Dollar City’s conception began well before opening day.
As far back as the 1800s, explorers were intrigued by a huge cave located at what is now the park’s entrance. By the 1940s, it was known as Marvel Cave, and adventurous tourists waited in line to be lowered by bucket into the depths below—a slow process requiring many to wait their turn. The young couple who founded the park, Hugo and Mary Herschend, brought in craftsmen to exchange their goods and trades and entertain the crowds.
(Laken Copeland)
Today, the unassuming yet nationally known theme park no longer hands out silver dollars, and although the cave still remains, world-class adventure rides are what thrill seekers wait in line for. However, Silver Dollar City is also known as the Home of American Craftsmanship, a title officially given by U.S. Congress in 2010, and it’s the craftsmen who are front and center.
“Adhering to our roots while still looking at tomorrow’s generation—that’s what keeps us relevant,” stated Silver Dollar City’s Publicity Director Lisa Rau.
That strategy is how Silver Dollar City manages to perfectly unite old with new, past with present, and more importantly, parents with kids, and grandparents with grandkids. They are in the business of connecting generations.
Preserved like the Ozark Mountains, the park celebrates an era and creates a culture reminiscent of days gone by: when families completely depended on each other, and communities depended on families.
The Heritage
Heritage crafts, trades, and arts—characteristic of America’s history, and passed down from one generation to the next—are slowly disappearing behind a world of mass production and technology. Silver Dollar City invites guests to rediscover the former days, highlighting everything from blowing glass through a pipe extending deep into a 2,000-degree furnace, to hewing logs and hand-crafting furniture in an 1800s-style workshop powered completely by a series of pulleys, belts, and gears.
Entering through the gates is like stepping into a movie set dating back a century or more. The 110-acre park nestled within the woods weaves guests through old-time storefronts with cleverly created signs, sights, and sideshows. Woven into the rustic landscape are themed roller coasters, thrilling water rides, eateries, and one-of-a-kind shops—all brilliantly blended together like chapters in a good book.
Right away, you’ll notice that Silver Dollar City is not flat. From the top entrance where one might catch a bluegrass band or fiddler, the path immediately heads down, winding past a log-hewer, a blacksmith shop, a candy shop, and a working water mill used to grind wheat for fresh homemade bread and cinnamon rolls. In fact, most of the park’s food is made from scratch, prepared by hand, and might even be traced back to a grandmother’s kitchen.
Step inside Hazel’s Blown Glass Shop and walk through to the backside, where every day, second-generation glassblowers like Shawn Watt and Tim Aldridge invite you into their workshop. The large, spacious setting, with two glowing furnaces, offers visitors an up-close look at the glass-blowing trade in real time. While blowing a glob of glass into a magnificent vase or bowl, the duo work together like a tag team of true craftsmen, moving effortlessly through the process, all the while entertaining fascinated onlookers with an explanation of every step. Their beautiful works of art today were essential products of their era. Jars for canning, bottles for medicines, even windows for entire houses—each were once produced from glass-blowers and their trade.
Tim Aldridge is a second-generation glassblower who loves explaining the process of glassblowing to Silver Dollar City attendees who visit the workshop. (Laken Copeland)
Around the corner, visitors will meet Jeff Walker, a master craftsman in the skill of pottery. With literally a lifetime of experience, Walker is nationally recognized for his talent. An impressive pottery shop highlights his work, but guests can come in throughout the day and catch him on the wheel himself, shaping up something new, and offering some fascinating facts about creating a colorful glaze or mixing the perfect recipe of natural compounds. Walker is passionate about passing down his trade, which is partially art today but yesterday was utilitarian.
Jeff Walker, a nationally-recognized talent, is at the wheel. (Courtesy of Silver Dollar City)
Dennis Smith is a knifemaker. His skill in blacksmithing led him to begin forging knives out of old railroad spikes. The learning curve led him to handcraft steel-layered Damascus knives, many of which are collector’s items. He prides himself in his work, determined to do the best job he can with every knife created, whether novelty or specialty. In his small shop showcasing beautiful knives, every piece reflects meticulous hand-garnered detail: a statement of quality in both craftsmanship and character.
The Entertainment
Watt, Aldridge, Walker, and Smith are just four of the more than 100 master craftsmen in the Silver Dollar City artisan family. With the annual October Fall Harvest Festival, however, the grounds are packed with even more award-winning craftsmen, legendary cowboys, and talented artists with nationally recognized work.
Commenting on the uniqueness of bringing all of these artisans into one setting, events manager Kelly Eutsler stated, “Many art fairs highlight the finished products, but our festival is long-known for showing how the crafts are actually created.”
The concept reaches beyond simple education or entertainment. History comes to life in watching how something is made. The demonstration of an art or craft reminds us of our heritage, and although the trade might be lost to time and manufacturing, the values inherent in that era remain timeless.
Those timeless virtues of morality, integrity, and hard work are rooted deep into the framework of old-school America. Catching a glimpse of those days fascinates onlookers and reawakens an appreciation for what they represent.
As knife maker Dennis Smith explained, “I think it is a form of nostalgia—maybe not for an exact time or era, but just for a time when things were simpler, things were handmade, when nobody had ever heard of planned obsolescence, and when many of your possessions would be passed down to your survivors.”
Passing things down from previous generations is Silver Dollar City’s story, but not without the excitement of some modern-day thrills. Loops, drops, twists, and turns can be experienced onboard one of the park’s breathless roller coasters like Wildfire, Outlaw Run, or Time Traveler, and whitewater rides like American Plunge or Mystic River Falls are not to be missed.
(Courtesy of Silver Dollar City)
Although it might be unusual for an 1800s-style park to carry some high-flying roller coasters and fast-moving water rides, long-time employee and food-and-beverage director Sam Hedrick stated, “When you come to Silver Dollar City, you need to put all other preconceived ideas about amusement parks behind you.”
The festival also serves up delicious fare like barbecue and succotash skillets. (Courtesy of Silver Dollar City)
As you make plans for your next destination, consider hopping on the equivalent of a time machine, winding and rolling through the Ozark Mountains to arrive at Silver Dollar City and the 1800s. It’s a place where experiences and live demonstrations are real, not virtual; where culture and character are fostered and developed; and where individuals, friends, and families can make a memory worth repeating—so much worth repeating, they probably will.
Kelly lives in the Ozarks, enjoying nature’s playground of lakes, rivers, trees, and trails. Camper, hiker, kayaker, and cycler, she loves spending time in God’s outdoor creation, and when inside, can be found teaching couples to dance.
