Ghost Town on the Plains: Nicodemus National Historic Site 1/16/10

Nicodemus Nat'l Historic Site could very well be, if anyone so inclined had the money, time, concern, and effort, one of the greats. Sure, we all love our mountains, seashores, battlefields, and caves, but here, on a lonely two-lane road in the even lonelier state of Kansas, sits utter fascination waiting to break free. A still-functioning town, albeit with fewer than three-dozen aging souls who may or may not be able to get out of bed, allowing a living, breathing, bad-hip-and-all glimpse into our troubled, defiantly hopeful past. For it was on this wind-swept little patch of earth where as many as 700 African Americans, largely ex-slaves having left the racist cesspool of the South behind, risked all to begin anew. It's an American story so very typical, yet utterly unique down to its improbable location. And here it remains, with the shattered, burnt husk of a main street to prove it.

If you have 90 seconds, you can see Nicodemus, which grates slightly when it takes an eternity to get here in the first place. Of the historic buildings that remain - those not trailers, blasted juke joints, and slapdash barns - there is a school, church, motel, and meeting hall, which is now the site's patchwork visitor center. Needless to say, all are closed to the public except the one holding the least historic interest, and as such, it's less a true visitor center than a place for the sweet ranger to stay out of the cold while cursing her fate. "Why here, lord?", she no doubt cries - nightly, I assume - though the town's lack of anything resembling an infrastructure means at the very least she can live elsewhere. However, this being north-central Kansas, the choices remain a stubbornly limited po- and -dunk.

I realize that this site, getting only the foolishly obsessed and hopelessly lost as visitors, likely receives only a few federal dollars more than it takes to pay a ranger and part-time snow removal service, but the NPS is blowing a major opportunity to educate and enlighten. How many are even aware that an all-black town existed in the Sunflower State? What became of these dreamers and cock-eyed optimists? And who the hell are those that remain? What stories could they tell between oxygen treatments? There are no markers, signs, or even pamphlets worth a damn, and the visitor center's "film" (a badly mangled VHS tape that stitches together assorted news stories concerning the town's yearly homecoming celebration) is at best a curious distraction. It sure as hell doesn't provide the heft such a site deserves. I doubt Gettysburg pilgrims would tolerate excerpts from a Jane Pauley-era Today show.

The rest of the exhibits were of the poster board and thumbtack variety, and I couldn't help but wonder if things might be better once the last of the descendants shuffles off this mortal coil. With the town at last vacated, perhaps a restoration project could remove the eyesores, and take weary travelers back in time, when a relatively small group of men and women, having witnessed hell up close and personal, found Kentucky so heinous they genuinely considered Kansas the saner alternative. These are a few square blocks aching to tell their tale, with the anecdotes, yarns, and misty memories to flesh out what inert books so often neglect. Instead, the few people who have stopped by for a chat (us) needlessly felt as if assorted grandmothers and shut-ins were peering from behind curtains, judging outsiders as the lunatics they no doubt are. As it is, visitors are intruders rather than active participants in the hidden narrative of our complex past. Here's hoping they one day get it right.

FINAL RATING

4/10