I call it "Albino Jabba the Hutt." View from my car when I parked. It's the heap left by the plows, and may well be with us until April. I'll keep you posted on its status.

I was clad in grey and whites yesterday, with a new light grey jacket. I called it my “Ice Station Zebra” look, to the confusion of all. I call up one of the movie apps just now and it’s suggesting . . . well, you know. I hate to even type the word lest Amazon start sending me recommendations to buy Ernest Borgnine’s autobiography.

Is there such a thing? Marty and Me, by Ernest Borgnine. You know, the existence of Ernest Borgnine implies a superficial, duplicitous Borgnine. HA HA

   
  Now I’ve done it, consigning myself to an endless series of recommendations of old Hollywood actor bios.
   

Anyway, the movie - on Tubi - is incredibly sharp. Makes my DVD copy look like it was filmed through a mist of hairspray. And I remain absolutely unshakable in my belief that every cold-war spy thriller should have contained generous portions of Patrick McGoohan. The quick glance, the humorless half-smile that nevertheless implies a jot of amusement, however bitter, the downward head-tilt to deflect and conceal.

I accomplished something rather remarkable today, and that was nothing. I just existed. I didn’t even go to the gym. No car shopping. (Now resigned to buying a used version of my current car, because I’ve had it for years and absolutely nothing has ever gone wrong with it.) No afternoon writing. No -

Hold on, this isn’t right. I posted the Substack this morning. I went to the office while listening to a history podcast, and I finished the March 2026 Clippings update, even though it was just sleepwalk-typing. . I read some necessary remarks about current events in my state, although not in the Strib. (Cancelled the paper last August when they killed my column, get it at the office now.) I consumed a brick of meatloaf and finished it with a bowl of crisp spinach. I laid out next week's Bleats below-the-fold. I started the Friday column.

But it all just felt like nothing, really. It's cold and there's nobody home.

We now continue this year's account of meaningless, random clickings on the internet, following one link from here to there, learning some interesting things along the way. You know, the rabbit hole.

 

First of all, you have to believe me. Swear to BOG I did not set this up. I write the Here-To-There months in advance, stick them in a folder, arrange them by month, and lay them out the previous week. You'll see what I mean.
   
  So! What's the journey that takes us from this image of Sam Cupples . . .
   
  . . . to this one?
   

I was trying to find more about the Cupples company, a big St. Louis household products concern. The search was spurred by a matchbook, as usual. Cupples was a huge company, a purveyor of household goods, with enormous buildings on the edge of downtown. A few of the buildings survive.

Wiki on the Cupples empire:

Samuel also built the St. Louis Terminal Cupples Station & Property Company, known as "Cupples Station," a most valuable asset to St. Louis merchants. The Station was a business center created at a junction where almost all railroads in St. Louis intersected. On this land, a system of warehouses was erected and the railroads could traverse it through tracks in the warehouse basements. St. Louis merchants could then receive and reship goods in one place and the expense of handling goods was significantly diminished.

He built a magnificent house. His philanthropy was extensive. Seems like the model capitalist for the era - or any other era. He’s not known like a Sears or a Penneys, but I suppose if you grew up in St. Louis you’d hear the name, particularly in connection with the university.

This bio page has an interesting note. In 1909, they took a sea voyage on the RMS Republic.

Known as the "Millionaires' Ship" because of the number of wealthy Americans who traveled by her, she was described as a "palatial liner" and was the flagship of White Star Line's Boston service.

In the early morning of 23 January 1909, while sailing from New York City to Gibraltar and Mediterranean ports with 742 passengers and crew and Captain Inman Sealby (1862–1942) in command, Republic entered a thick fog off the island of Nantucket, Massachusetts.

Uh oh.

Taking standard precautions and maintaining her speed, the steamer regularly signaled her presence in the outbound shipping traffic lane by whistle. At 5:47 a.m., another whistle was heard and Republic's engines were ordered to full reverse, and the helm put "hard-a-port". Out of the fog, the Lloyd Italiano liner SS Florida appeared and hit Republic amidships on her portside, at about a right angle.

The engine and boiler rooms on Republic began to flood, and the ship listed. Captain Sealby led the crew in calmly organizing the passengers on deck for evacuation. Republic was equipped with the new Marconi wireless telegraph system, and became the first ship in history to issue a CQD distress signal.

That’s right: CQD. The original Marconi “help” signal. The Titanic would use it as well, switching between the old and the new SOS.

The USS Florida came about to rescue Republic's complement

Deucedly nice of them, eh

and the U.S. Revenue Cutter Service cutter Gresham responded to the distress signal as well.

The what? Armed customs enforcement ships. Disbanded in 1915, so don’t feel bad that you’ve never heard of them. The Gresham had an amazing career - Spanish-American War, WW1, Coast Guard, Merchant Marine, finally ending up transporting refugees to Israel in 1947.

Back to the ship: Six were killed in the collision, but the ship stayed afloat long enough to ferry everyone off. It was the largest ship ever lost, and was rumored to carry huge amounts of gold. It’s been found. Someone was going to go down and find the gold in 2005, but I can’t find any news past that date.

Whiplash-record scratch now: when looking around St. Louis for some Cupples-related buildings, I landed at the University, and HOLY HANNAH WHAT THE HELL IS THAT

If it had been up to me, I would've set the second Ghostbuster movie climas here.

That’s the most ungainly thing I’ve ever seen. It’s a Masonic Temple.

Then-Senator and Freemason Grand Master Harry S. Truman kept an office in the building. Charles A. Lindbergh was initiated and participated as a mason at the Temple before his renowned 1927 flight. In 1980, Escape from New York with Ernest Borgnine filmed a scene on the Temple's steps. Borgnine, a Mason, attended Masonic meetings in the building.

Do you get the feeling that you have to be a 33 to visit that temple up top?

PS I did not intend today to be a double-Borgnine Bleat.

 
 

   

We continue to study the decay and abandonment of a once-prosperous, typical, middle-class neighborhood. Maybe a bit upper-middle.

Parts of the country, now and then, are indistinguishable from post-apocalyptic landscapes.

No one thought this would be its final condition.

I think that was torn down and replaced with this. Otherwise I wouldn’t have snipped something so banal.

Painting the sides of commercial buildings with simple abstract shapes is actually a good idea. It’s something everyone can interpret as they like. If you see a house, fine.

Knight Drugs looked to be a going concern here:

The windows now tell a different story.

The second floor looks as if it got a lot of light, once.

Nice place to do business, once upon a time.

Looks as if it could have been a nice store that spent its last days as a nightclub. I don’t know why I sense that, but I do. The lack of display windows, perhaps.

Looks as if it could have been a nice store that spent its last days as a nightclub. I don’t know why I sense that, but I do. The lack of display windows, perhaps.

Just realized I had noticed a sign. I reversed it:

Better that the grafitti that besmirches it now.

Next door. Now I’m really uncertain. Movie theater? No.

Whatever it was, the glue is giving up, and the panels are falling off, one by one.

The building on the right has a terracotta exterior, covered and ruined by that ghastly perforated metal sheet.

The entire front is thus despoiled:

Well now.

 
 

It probably started life as a shoe store . . .

And ended up a bar known for knifings.

At least the government buildings are well-maintained.

They usually are.

Next week: it gets worse, again.

That will do, bleatwise; best stop before I somehow work The Poseidon Adventure into this. The penultimate batch of main street postcards is next, and the brief Thursday Regrettable update at the Substack for paying customers. If you gripe at me offloading the Menucard updates to the paid tier, I understand, but I did provide 150 for free, so.