It took me a while to remember why I chose this place; let's see if you can figure it out.


About 18,000 souls. The name?" In 1852 when the east/west railroad, the Ohio and Mississippi Railroad, was going to be built, Capt. Meedy Shields, who was the cousin of General John Tipton persuaded the surveyor, John Seymour, into putting it through his land, in return for which he named the town Seymour. All trains had to stop at a crossroad, making Seymour a bustling community."

Small Town America in all its angle-parking glory:

The ground floor of the corner building had a curious rehab; the windows and doors are so low it makes it look as if there's a secret floor between the first and second, where the trolls live.

Top to bottom, from past to recent:

Looks like a 50s / 60s tile job and then a late-60s / early-70s brick job. It was all brick-colored once, of course. Because it's made of bricks.

There's got to be a great story about the gap between these two.

The paint job isn't that bad, but I suspect it covers up polychromatic stone. The ground floor was probably all glass. Why this? Because they knew no better and thought they did.

Bench for rumination; tree for . . . tree's sake.


The awning looks like it wants to claw the customers in.

The glass blocks are regrettable. Wait a minute, that's what the copy said right here last week. Now it works nicely: a big shining sight at night, I'll bet.

"There's no third floor, sir. Will you be leaving town now? It would be good if you left town and asked no more questions."

The wood over the storefront on the right is probably not contemporaneous with the brick. That's my suspicion.

Bench probided for sitting by the tree while you are being downtown! Enjoy, citizen. Park your bike, read a paper! DON'T ASK ABOUT THE THIRD FLOOR THERE IS NO THIRD FLOOR Ahem. Sorry, sir. Perhaps you should leave town now.


Well . . . I'd put a few feet between the third-floor arch and the cornice, but that's just me. (And everyone else)

I was born in a small town. It had buildings like this, but they were different. That's the joy: they're all slightly different. The one on the right is a gloomy old piece of work, and I suspect it's painted. The windows over the ground floor are painted. Damned Satanists!

New bank, old bank.

The present doesn't even try.


That's what it said in this spot last week, too. There must be something magical about Building #9.

The Harding jewelry store: 1860.

People looked out of those windows when Lincoln was president.

The second-floor facade on the left looks painted on, no?

No it is a completely normal ordinary window

sir don't ask questions about the window, please move along

There's just a lot, and it's nicely saved. Too much paint, some might say, but if you're inclined to like that sort of thing then it's full of interesting views.


The Richards Block, I suspect had a different ground floor at first. The top looks like a customer-mincing machine.

If someone built that today, we'd find it crude and blunt and strange. Now it's historic! And also crude and blunt and strange, but it's still around and that's grand.

If I had to say: "HQ for a Secret Society that didn't quite care whether people were suspicious about the building."

Just look at that one, and look at it again, and figuure out what they were thinking . . . and what it might have looked like.

Here's the town; have a stroll and see what you can find. Sing some John Cougar Melancamp songs while you do so - this is his home town.

Look at this beaut. There's more.

Give Seymour my regards.