The silvery dome of the State Capitol was too much to resist, and we drove over to see it in all of its gothic glory, spread out like a villain’s lair on a hill, inspiring and brooding all at once. Quasimodo would have been well at home in those storied columns, and a better sight to view than the politicians who lurked within.
The obligatory bronze of Lincoln brooded on the steps outside leading up to the old entryways, doubtlessly guarded by an arsenal of metal detectors and antsy policemen unsure of the difference between an irate lobbyist and a terrorist. A bronze of a pioneer gazing down on the hapless Native American like a salesman sizing up a chump stood on the lawn to the south in front of fountains; to the north, the more prosaic statue of a miner stood, ready to work.
We dared to visit Lincoln’s law offices, and after circling the blocks around the capitol, actually found a parking spot. But alas, the law offices while open, were fully booked for tours by young farmers, roaming the streets in prep school finery, with high heels and patent leather shoes, dressed as if they were going to church. She could join a tour to view the room upstairs – in an hour or so. Mom wisely declined, and we returned to the car to drive on the Hannibal, Missouri.
Perhaps next time.