As we slog into the depths of winter, my thoughts turn to North Dakota, which I have passed through several times amid my RV journeys. I happen to like the place. I’ve even written about it. But CBS newsman Eric Sevareid – who was born and raised there – once described the state as “a large rectangular blank in the national consciousness.” Such is North Dakota’s general public perception.
Of course, it doesn’t help when two Rutgers University urban planners suggests, as they did a couple of decades ago, that North Dakotans be relocated and the lands be returned to the buffalo. They pointed out that the region boasts “the nation’s hottest summers and coldest winters, greatest temperature swings, worst hail and locusts and range fires, fiercest droughts and blizzards…” It doesn’t help either when Rand McNally accidentally leaves a portion of your state out of the atlas, which it did in 1989. Or when an article in a 1995 issue of the New York Times Magazine asks, “Is North Dakota necessary?”
Put it this way: Even Montanans tell North Dakota jokes. I happen to love Montana.
Anyway, it’s largely unfair. As I said, I’m a fan of North Dakota. But it is what it is.
North Dakota has only a few thousand more people than Alaska and half as many as Maine. There are actually fewer people in the state today than there were seventy-five years ago even though the U.S. population has more than tripled. The few folks who do live there are plenty tired of the gibes and barbs directed at their state, so every once in a while a movement begins in North Dakota that is premised on a simple idea: Ditch the “North.”
North and South Dakota were born on the same day – Nov. 2, 1889, weighing in at slightly more than 70,000 square miles each. The region had been called the Dakota Territory (from the Dakota tribe, which means “alliance of friends”), and when it was divided along the forty-sixth parallel each new entity laid claim to the name. Neither side would yield, so each was given a directional modifier. Unfortunately for North Dakota, it was the northern one.
The thinking seems to be that the word “North” conjures up images of igloos and ice floes – when really it has never been colder than 60 degrees below zero in North Dakota. And that was way back in 1936. Of course, less than five months later, the state reached a record high of 121 degrees. But hey, who doesn’t like the change of seasons? Perhaps this is why Exit 1 in North Dakota directs you to a town called Beach. Who could be cold in Beach, right?
Still, there is this movement – spearheaded by an alliance of politicians, businessmen, and reporters – to change the name to simply Dakota. The anti-North faction rationalizes that the state is north only in relation to South Dakota, but not when compared to, say, Saskatchewan. They claim that a name alteration would bring national attention – positive attention for a change.
Until that happens – and my guess is that it never will – North Dakota must be content in trying to attract attention… in interesting ways.
There is the town of Zap, for instance. In 1969, just weeks before Woodstock emerged as an iconic event of the Sixties, some folks in North Dakota tried to trumpet the “Zip to Zap.” There was music. There were people converging from all over the nation. There was food. But the food ran out. The weather was freezing. The people rioted. It wasn’t Woodstock.
There is the near four-decades-old KVLY-TV mast on the eastern side of the state – at 2,063 feet, it is the tallest man-made, land-based structure in the world. I know that sounds like a lot of qualifiers, but trust me: This thing is tall. You can see it from miles away, a thin red-and-white striped behemoth rising into the cement-colored sky. Supposedly, the only structure taller is the Petronius Platform in the Gulf of Mexico, 85 percent of which is underwater. The KVLY mast contains two million feet of steel and cable – a true marvel of engineering. And all of this in North Dakota, where even four-story grain elevators are called prairie skyscrapers.
And there’s the World’s Largest Buffalo – a concrete bison, 26 feet tall, 46 feet long, standing atop a grassy hill in the city of Jamestown. It was built in 1959 by a fellow named Harold Newman, a local merchant who envisioned an eye-catching tourist trap. The sculpture is part of an attraction featuring the National Buffalo Museum, as well as a herd of a few dozen bison transplanted from Theodore Roosevelt National Park and roaming some two hundred acres of pasture on either side of the interstate.
So there you have it: A would-be Woodstock. A gigantic peppermint stick. A sculpture overlooking the comings and goings on I-94 like a rural Colossus of Rhodes. Who needs a name change?
I’m a connoisseur of tiny hamlets named with noble aspirations, many of which I visited and wrote about during my very first RV excursion, which resulted in my first travel memoir, States of Mind. So, with a little help from some of the smallest dots on the map in nearly three-dozen different states, here is my lyrical wish for all of us during the new year:
A life of Freedom (Wyoming), Liberty (Nebraska) and Independence (Kansas)
Prosperity (Florida), Charity (Missouri) and Gratitude (Maryland)
Love (Virginia), Harmony (Ohio) and Unity (New Hampshire)
Pride (Alabama), Honor (Michigan) and Wisdom (Montana)
An epidemic of Goodwill (Louisiana) and Good Intent (Pennsylvania)
Progress and Reform (Mississippi)
Security (Colorado) and Comfort (Tennessee)
Friendship (Maine) and Trust (North Carolina)
Days and nights of Joy (Oklahoma) and Bliss (New York)
Hope (Arkansas) and Opportunity (Washington)
Equality (Illinois) and Justice (West Virginia)
Beauty (Kentucky) and Grace (Idaho)
A dash of Luck (Wisconsin) and a dollop of Pluck (Texas)
A heap of Confidence (Iowa) and a flash of Inspiration (Arizona)
Tranquility (New Jersey)
Some Solitude (Indiana)
Perhaps occasional Sanctuary (Texas)
The capacity for Wonder (Oregon)
And finally, hopefully,
A grand Epiphany (South Dakota)
The data from the 2010 Census is full of fascinating developments – a factoid-lover’s dream. For instance:
- The number of Hispanic Americans has grown 43 percent since 2000 (the non-Hispanic population grew 5 percent).
- The most ethnically diverse state: Hawaii. Least diverse: Vermont.
- More than 84 percent of population increases happened in the West and South. Indeed four of the 10 most populous states are now in the South (Texas, Florida, Georgia, North Carolina).
Interesting stuff, but one thing that has always interested me – as a fact-nerd and an RV enthusiast – is the location of the U.S. population center. The Census folks define it as the middle point of the population distribution of the country – the point on which the USA would balance if it were flat and all of the 308,745,538 residents weighed the same.
The spot moves every decade. In 1790, it was in Maryland, not too far from Baltimore. Since then it has moved gradually westward and slightly southward. From 1800 -1850, it moved into Virginia and then what would eventually become West Virginia. In 1860 and 1870, it was in southern Ohio. In 1880, it snuck into the northernmost corner of Kentucky. From 1890-1940, the population center was in southern Indiana. From 1950-1970, it was in Illinois. Since then, it has called Missouri home.
Somehow, that seems appropriate. Missouri is about as middle-of-the-road as any U.S. state – geographically (Is it the Midwest? The South? The Plains?) and politically (generally a bellwether state).
According to the latest date, the population center is located in Texas County, Missouri, 2.7 miles northeast of a tiny town that 109 residents call home. The town’s name? Plato.
Now, this appeals to me, too, for a couple of reasons. My latest travel memoir,
TURN LEFT AT THE TROJAN HORSE, is an account of a cross-country journey through tiny hamlets with names that are evocative of ancient Greece – from Athens (OR) and Apollo (PA) to Iliad (MT) and Pandora (OH). One of those towns was Plato, Indiana.
But Plato, Missouri, as the center of it all. I like it. Because I’m pretty sure that if Plato were around today, he’d be philosophizing from the driver’s seat of a house on wheels. After all, he once said, “Life is but a sojourn.”
