Fairmount Park, Riverside, CA

The great American author, John Steinbeck once wrote – ‘You can’t go home again because home has ceased to exist except in the mothballs of memory.’ 

John Steinbeck - a great writer

When I had first read that in his non-fiction book, Travels with Charley: In Search of America, I didn’t completely comprehend what he had been trying to suggest.

Actually, it was more like - What, the heck was this guy thinking? You can’t go home? Home no longer exists? Memories of mothballs? And by the way, what is a mothball?

Decades after reading those words, it made sense. I was born and raised in Riverside, California before relocating to the High Desert. Yes, I would visit Riverside quite often when my parents were alive, but after they were gone – the visits pretty much stopped.

Oh, we would still drive down during the Christmas holidays to take in the Mission Inn’s Festival of Lights. Perhaps drive down Victoria Avenue to take in the beautiful rows of orange trees – and yes, once in a while drive down the street, and pass the house I had spent my childhood in.

The Mission Inn in Riverside during the Christmas Season

Pleasant memories. Those days when all I had to ponder was going to school, hanging out with friends, and doing some chores. It would be later in life that the reality of careers, parenting, mortgages, utilities, food, and all the rest of the grown-up responsibilities would make their presence known.

More like – geez, did I really sign up for all this adulthood drama?

Recently, I had to drive down the hill to Riverside to pick up a few items for a party one of our daughters was having. Of course, it was to be a COVID-19 compliant party – with the limit on guests to only six family members, and each guest would sequester into their own room. We would communicate with each other by means of a string attached to metal cans. 

I arrived a bit early to pick up the items and found there was about an hour to burn. Never let an hour to burn go to waste, is one of my mottos.

Heading west on Route 60 from the junction with Interstate 215, I exited on Market Street and found myself driving through a place that was full of recollections of my youth. 

Fairmount Park is an iconic place in the city of Riverside. Two hundred and fifty acres of relaxation.

In 1911, the city commissioned the nation’s first landscape architectural company to design an urban park. The company, first started by Frederick Law Olmsted, and later taken over by his sons John Charles Olmsted and Frederick Law Olmsted Jr. had a great amount of experience developing barren land into things of natural beauty.

Some of their most famous works were Yale University in New Haven, Stanford University in California, and Central Park in New York City, just to name a few. 

This talented group of landscaping architects was as busy as bees in spring. Just thought I’d throw that in – I’ve seen bees buzzing a lot in spring, and they seem pretty busy. Same with the folks from Olmsted and Olmsted.

With this incredible resume, the city of Riverside knew they had the best team on their side.

“Well, let’s grab some shovels and start planting trees!” one of the city planners gushed.

“Yes, some giant Redwoods would be nice, and perhaps a wading pool with duckies,” suggested a city engineer.

“Hmmm, I believe it may take some time to design the park before we start the actual process,” either John or Frederick Jr. replied.

“Oh,” said the city planner. “I’ll put the shovels back in the shed.”

It took nearly thirteen years to complete the project, but the time and effort were worth it. In those years, Olmsted and Olmsted turned vacant land into an inviting and restful respite for the city residents.

There were walking trails through lush green grass areas. With the completion of Lake Evans, there was plenty of space to fish and to use sailboats or rowboats. There were tall trees to lay beneath on hot summer days. A bandstand to listen to music by local bands. Eventually, tennis courts, lawn bowling areas, and a large rose garden complete with a gazebo were completed, making Fairmount Park something to be very proud of, in this city nestled beside the Santa Ana River.

Looks like a nice place to take a restful saunter

The rose garden with a beautiful gazebo

As I drove around the park, beneath trees with branches nearly covering the entire roadway, I recalled riding my bicycle to the park countless times with friends when I was young. It was the place to go. A few miles of peddling, and soon we would find ourselves at this beautiful oasis with so much to do.

No one was supposed to swim in Lake Evans. Signs were posted everywhere. But, and that’s the pivotal word ‘but’ after riding along the streets of Riverside, we were hot and sweaty.

My mother would ask, more than once, “Why is it that you get pink eye so often?”

Pink eye, again?

I had no answer, as most kids wouldn’t, knowing that swimming in a muddy, dirty, but inviting lake might be the reason.

Ancient thoughts of days spent at the lake ran through me as I continued my slow drift through the wonderfully green park. A tree inventory conducted in 1985, determined that many of the trees planted during the building of the park were still living. It made sense, as I walked around a bit and marveled at the size of some of the Montezuma Cypress trees – it looked as though it would take four or five adults linked together to wrap their arms around the trunks.

Another view of the lake at Fairmount Park

It was Olmsted’s idea that these trees would forever be home to many different species of birds. Listening to the chirping above me in the limbs, I knew these architects would be very happy with their choice of Taxodium mucronatum – that’s the botanical name for this tree. 

As I continued around the park, I saw a group of young ladies walking and chit-chatting with each other.

I wanted to get their take on the park. Why were they walking around it? How often did they do it? 

Slowing, I rolled my window down and proceeded with caution – I didn’t want to come across as a park creep and get sprayed with mace.

“Excuse me,” I said in my friendliest tone – maybe that did sound kind of creepy. “I’m a writer, and was wondering if I could ask you, ladies, a couple of questions?”

“What do you write?” asked one of the women.

“This and that, mainly about traveling to places worth visiting.”

“Sure, ask away,” Silvia said.

“Do you walk through the park often and why?”

Mary replied. “The park is near my house and it so beautiful and clean out here. Makes me feel great each morning as we take this mile walk.”

“I love it here,” Barbara stated. “I’ve been coming to this park since I was a child with my parents.

“It’s a piece of history for Riverside. Look around, it’s green, peaceful, and the rose garden is something no one would get tired of looking at.”

“My husband and I love hanging out in here in the summer. So relaxing,” finished Silvia.

In the summer, how couldn't this be relaxing

In full disclosure, the four women were speaking so quickly and my note-taking was so slow, that I’m not sure I got the correct quotes with the correct person. I don’t think they will mind though, the bottom line was they love Fairmount Park.

In fact, in 2011 the American Planning Association designated the park as a ‘Great Public Space.’ That same year, the City Parks Alliance out of Washington D.C., also designated Fairmount Park as a ‘Frontline Park’ – a jewel in the park system.

As I drove out of the park and headed toward my original destination, I thought back to what Steinbeck had written.

Memories of the past may not be allowed to exist in reality alongside the present, but that doesn’t mean new memories cannot be created.

And isn’t that what traveling is all about? 

 I often find myself on the road, which is a good thing, since I write a travel feature each week.  But sometimes I have no idea where to go, or where I might end up. And, that is sometimes, the beauty of traveling.

Go west young man, Horace Greeley told Mark Twain, and though I ain’t that young anymore, I just head out in any direction to see what there is to see. And there’s a lot to see.

Recently, while driving Route 66 – yes, I like America’s road – I came across a road closure sign just a few miles east of Amboy. I don’t like road closures. It seems there’s a reason why that road is closed and I want to know why. Is it closed due to a government secret? Perhaps an alien ship crashed in the desert that the government is hiding it from the citizens.

Think that’s far-fetched? Think Roswell, New Mexico, my friends.

So, anyway, I came across that road closure sign but when I read the fine print – it clearly said the road was closed to through traffic east of Cadiz Road. Well, that made all the difference in the world to me. Perhaps, I didn’t want to be a through trafficker past this Cadiz Road. That meant I could drive down the road to Cadiz and turn around, if I wanted to.

Always study the fine print

What was a Cadiz anyway? Wasn’t sure but knew I had to go there. Turned out the true closed road was exactly at Cadiz Road. That’s where the government actually was stopping any traffic from traveling further east on Route 66.

What were they hiding? After a bit of research, it turned out there were no alien crash sites but simply the road was closed due to multiple bridges being washed out after some pretty heavy desert flooding in 2014. This section of highway has been closed for many years – many, many years. How long does it take to rebuild a few bridges? Apparently six, and counting…

Hmmm, I don’t believe in conspiracy theories, but I do believe in the occasional conspiracy. Maybe, just maybe, the Mojave Desert has a new Area 51.

I’ll check that out soon – I’m a professional explorer, so don’t try that on your own.

Back to Cadiz.

Turns out I had been to Cadiz. I had just forgotten momentarily, since it had been a bit over twenty years ago.

It happens to be one of the oldest constantly inhabited cities in Western Europe. This city, located on a piece of land jutting out into the Mediterranean Sea in Spain, is thought to have been founded in 1104 B.C. – oops, wait a moment. Wrong Cadiz.

Our Cadiz, the California one, was founded in 1883, by Lewis Kingman. He worked as a railroad engineer for the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad. This was the third railroad station located along this stretch of the Mojave Desert. Each station was alphabetical to its neighbor – Amboy, Bagdad, Cadiz, and so on. 

Driving into the area, the ruins of the Road Runners Retreat lines the south side of Route 66. This retreat was actually in what is now the ghost town of Chambliss – originally known as Chambliss Station. A water tower location for the railroads.

However, this resort had plenty of life in the 1960’s, when Roy and Helen Tull built the comfortable and welcome resort for travelers along Route 66. But when Highway 40 was built miles away to the north, the business lost its customers and closed its doors in the mid 1970’s. The café struggled until the early 1990’s.The buildings are boarded up. There’s no sign of life except for lizards, snakes, and possibly extraterrestrial life forms. I believe I saw a shadow run between two of the buildings. Can’t be certain, but the hair on my neck stood up. 

Not much left out there in Chambliss

Chambliss, as with the resort, faded to obscurity with that darn highway that made traveling so much faster, but also so mundane. In fact, records indicate that in 2005, the population of Chambliss was six residents and a dog. I didn’t see a dog on my visit.

The sign for the resort is still standing tall. One can imagine the neon lights flickering in the clear night, beckoning road weary travelers for a bit of a respite from the dry desert.

What's left of the Road Runner's Retreat 

Of course, there is the Bolo Station Bar/Grill and RV Park. It looked like life was percolating there. Well-kept buildings, tall trees, bushy bushes and plenty of space for RVs.  I drove in, asked a gentleman if I was in Cadiz, he pointed down the road and said three more miles.

Well, those three miles turned out to be quite interesting. As I thought I had been given erroneous information, suddenly there was the sign for Cadiz. There was no town. But, I did run across a smashed up vehicle on the east side of the asphalt. It looked like something out of Mad Max. Really cool.

Desolate and Mad Max worthy

Soon the asphalt ended and I was on dirt. I followed that dirt road to what appeared to be a large agricultural center. It should be noted that Cadiz actually sits atop one of the largest aquifers in Southern California. So much so, that it is listed as being able to supply water to Southern California for 400,000 residents with plenty to spare. The area is known for being in the forefront of water conservation and is earnestly working with the State of California, as well as the federal government for this very purpose.

As I drove into what was the labelled Cadiz Farm, I noticed what appeared to be a Christmas tree forest. But no, as I got closer and closer, the realization hit me that it was a gazillion acres of marijuana. 

Ah, a forest of green - hmmm, not Christmas trees though

I got out and walked through the fields for about ten minutes, or perhaps a couple of hours, or a week. Wasn’t sure, but when I got back to my truck, Jimi Hendrix was standing there playing his Fender Stratocaster. We laughed, exchanged musical lyrics and far too soon, he faded away – but just before he was gone, he smiled as only Jimi could and stated, “Cadiz you later.”

Cadiz you later, Jimi

Turns out the farm actually produces an array of other farm produce – it’s a huge agricultural business.

Is Cadiz worth visiting? I enjoyed my time there, but with all traveling, there are hits and misses. I’ll take the hit on this, and perhaps you can take the miss. But then again - - -

In full transparency - this article was first published by the Daily Press Newspaper - Beyer's Byways

Renaissance Faire - Big Bear Style

Since J and L first started this blog years ago, we always suggested looking in one's own backyard for something fun to do. Excitement is just around the corner if the adventurous go in search of interesting things to explore.

How about a Renaissance Faire? Renaissance in those costumes, please!

That's what we did on a very warm weekend in Southern California. With temperatures in the triple digits, the traveling duo, along with their friend and cameraman Paul Bakas, headed for Big Bear to the Renaissance Faire and cooler temperatures. The Faire was held in the mountain community of Fawnskin, where, at 7000 ft elevation, it was twenty degrees cooler, making the short hour drive well worth it. The venue was situated in a forest of beautiful pine trees which made us feel as though we were transported back in time.  Colorfully dressed knights, ladies, minstrels, entertainers, and guests strolled among the dozens of vendors selling anything from potions to weapons. There was something for everyone.

The afore-mentioned photographer, Paul Bakas, taking a selfie the hard way.

The Big Bear Renaissance Society has been around since 2002 and is a non-profit educational corporation. The purpose of the Faire is to bring history alive for both children and adults alike. The event which runs every weekend in the month of August, allowing people to walk through the pines and view events which mimic what times must have been like during the time of the Renaissance. There are jousting matches, jugglers, sword swallowers, story tellers, and a host of others dressed in period garb.

And he juggles too - ten feet off the ground

This particular weekend was themed as 'steampunk' at the Renaissance!

Is this Steamed Punked enough?

It was like science fiction meets the Old West, which then in turns meets a bunch of people from the fifteenth century.  An eclectic turnout of individuals to be sure.

All sorts of revelers were on hand - from various centuries

But where the heck did this idea for reveling in the past come from?

A tired but still fighting Black Knight wanted to know the same thing...

The history of these Renaissance Faires is actually quite unique to the United States. That doesn't mean to imply that in other parts of the world there aren't themed weekend events, but this is certainly a more American experience. Research points to the beginning of these faires in the United States back in the 1950's. John Langstaff, a traditionalist folk musician wanted people to relive the medieval times and created a music revival in 1957 in New York City. It was referred to as 'A Christmas Masque of Traditional Revels' and was a huge success. In 1966 there was a Hallmark Hall of Fame production with Dustin Hoffman in a starring role and finally in 1971 Langstaff created the permanent 'Christmas Revels' in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

We truly believe though the actual beginning of what today is known as the Renaissance Faire began in Southern California. In 1963 a schoolteacher by the name of Phyllis Patterson, along her husband Ron, put on a small faire in her backyard in Laurel Canyon as a class activity. It caught on and they conducted a one weekend fundraiser for radio station KPFK in Los Angeles - and thus the living history of the Renaissance was born. As the years went by the Patterson's expanded the themed weekend due to all the attention they were receiving both locally and nationally. Soon, Renaissance groups were multiplying and through the decades there are dozens upon dozens of groups who build imaginary English villages from the deserts of California to the green forests of Vermont.

Looks like a small English village, even with a traveling juggler

And here we were in Big Bear pretending to have dropped backwards five centuries to drink mead, chomp on turkey legs, and yell 'huzzah' about a million times per hour. Laughter, yelling at knights on horseback, listening to a foursome of crazy Dutch trying to get the crowd to sing, and other activities kept the guests very busy and happy.

Crazy Dutchman (his words, not ours) trying to get us to sing in harmony

The jousting and dismounted fighting contests were a thrill and the crowds roared for their favorite Champion.

Ready for battle

This actually followed the original jousting matches held in England during the time of the Renaissance. Knights would meet at the King's request to hold festivals and conduct death defying acts of bravery. Charging at an opponent on the back of a horse with a staff made of pointed wood does seem rather brave or rather stupid. In the eyes of the beholder one would assume. We think the latter is more accurate. Anyway, the contests would go on for a day or more and prizes would be awarded by the monarch to the eventual winner - usually the last man standing. And here we were in twenty-first century about to watch a re-enactment of the festivities held over six hundred years ago or longer.

Of course, the Lady of the Day had to come out and thrill the crowds upon her beautiful mount. The contests could only start after her grand entrance and exit. Grace was the only word that could describe the moment she entered the arena.

What a beautiful moment between horse and rider

After the Lady and her steed left the arena the games began - and what games they were.

The Red and White Knight - Our Champion!

The Blue and White Knight 

The Black Knight getting ready to finish the Blue and White Knight

Unfortunately, the Black Knight dispatched our hero in the first round and then after a brutal battle with lances, swords, and mace he easily killed (only pretend) the Blue and White Knight. We do believe the fix was in - it always seems as though the evil knight wins. Or is that just in fairy tales?

After the crowds dispersed from the jousting arena it was time to wander through the village taking photos and looking for the next entertainment. Of course, that called for a call at the pub for a Dragon's Blood and a stout mead.

Laureen, admiring the action.

If there's a stage, then J is at home delivering his thoughts.

...and of course, there's always time for shopping...

And finally the pub - it was rather warm and humid- a needed health break

A moment of Cheesecake for the ladies in the audience

After cooling down a bit - and we mean just a bit it was time to venture out and find some more entertainment for the afternoon.

One unbelievable performer was the acrobat who joked with the crowd while literally standing on his head ten feet above the ground on thin posts stuck into a metal table. He relayed how he and he had started in gymnastics at the age of five and now traveled the world performing for crowds. One of the strangest tricks, to say the least, was when he tugged a tennis racket over his entire body. A guy of normal height and weight going through 'Spalding' - it couldn't be done! It was one of those moments that the fans were wondering - 'how the heck is he doing this?"

At least it was for John, Laureen and Paul.

Snaking his body through a tennis racket - minus the strings

Oh Come On! Must be a trick - nope, it wasn't

Another performer was just as talented but in a different billing. A sword swallower - people really do that? Yes they do and it is not for the faint of heart to watch a fully grown man swallow a three foot sword. Well, he only swallows it up to the hilt - but still?  He stated that he has conquered the gag reflex - good starting point - and then moves certain intestines so the point of the sword does not pierce anything important. And here we thought everything in our gut was important.

That is disgusting and dangerous - talk about heart burn!

Well, one never knows what one will find at a Renaissance Faire but what the traveling explorers discovered only an hour away was a day full of fun and awe inspiring talent. Again, to find and enjoy the world around, one only has to look in their backyard. We did on this weekend and are very glad we did.

Who needs music when you have the right partner?

A special thanks to our good friend - Paul Bakas for taking the photographs so we could dance.

And thus ends this latest adventure.

For further information concerning the Renaissance Faire in Big Bear, California:

https://www.bbvrsinc.org/

Some Mysteries Must Remain Mysteries

J has a framed photograph, poster size, of the famed aviator Amelia Earhart hanging on his classroom wall. It's there for the purpose of showing a person who can inspire children to be whatever they are capable of being.

This female flyer took risks and challenges during a time when it - in many circles - wasn't considered 'lady like' to venture into the heavens in small planes to outmatch, which she did numerous times, her male aviation counterparts.

Okay, not Amelia but pretty brave and risky!

In the nineteen-thirties, a woman's place may have been thought to be at home with the children, but with Amelia, her calling wasn't for such a life. Her place was to stand alongside those other adventurers and world changers who smirked at danger and were willing to risk everything to prove they were correct.

Eleanor Roosevelt as first lady paved the way for a president's wife to hold her own news conferences, write syndicated columns for newspapers, and never hold her tongue on national or international news.

A first for a First Lady

Jesse Owens - the African-American track and field star of the 1936 Olympics held in Berlin, shattered Adolf Hitler's ridiculous conception of Aryan supremacy. Four gold medals later, he proved he was one of the best in the world. To this day, according to ESPN, he is considered one of the top six greatest American athletes of the twentieth century.

Thanks, Jesse 

Gertrude Stein was American novelist, poet, playwright and avid art collector. This woman almost single-handily broke the 'paper' ceiling. She hosted and inspired such notables as Pablo Picasso, 'Papa' Hemingway, Sinclair Lewis, The Fitzgerald's, and others at her Paris salon.

Gertrude - couldn't say it any better

This was a time when the 'outsiders' made the 'insiders' nervous.

Amelia Earhart was such a person. Her passion had always been flying even from a young age. She was the first woman to fly a plane to 14,000 feet, setting a world record for female pilots. In 1923, she was the 16th woman to receive her pilot's license in the United States. She even went so far as to purchase a small biplane, she named 'Canary' to continue with her flying adventures.

She wanted to make it in the rare world of flyers, but she realized that her young appearance could be a hindrance at being taken seriously. She cut her hair short, as was the fashion for those few other female pilots at the time, and even slept in her signature leather flying jacket for three months to give it the appearance of a well worn old friend.

Now, that's a true flyer by the looks of her.

But sometimes reality stands in the way of immediate fame.

Sadly when her inheritance ran out, she had to sell almost everything, including the 'Canary' and she took a job as a social worker in 1925 near Boston at a settlement house. Not to be deterred, she stayed as close to the runways as she could when time allowed, to ensure she was not forgotten and was finally approached for a transatlantic flight by Captain Hilton H. Railey. He was wondering if she'd like to copy Charles Lindbergh's 1927 solo flight across the Atlantic.

So, in April 1928 and the young woman eagerly accepted the offer. Unfortunately, Amelia did not have adequate personal experience, so the flight from Newfoundland to South Wales was really instrument flown by Wilmer Stultz - a fellow pilot. She always felt as though she was nothing but baggage and not the woman who flew the Atlantic solo for the first time.

Fame came anyway and so did her marriage to George P. Putman - who was the one who had truly coordinated the Atlantic flight in the first place. Amelia fell in love with the book publisher and publicist whom she married in 1931. Of course, she wasn't really the marrying type and it did take Putman asking her six times before she agreed.

Mr. and Mrs. George P. Putman - but  just call her, Amelia

As a publicist, George knew a good thing when it was standing or flying in front of his eyes. With the newly married couple, there was a strategy to make Amelia a household name. They did and Amelia's influence was in the fashion industry, luggage, household products, and even Lucky Strike cigarettes.

Amelia - we're in - where next?

She was one of the most recognizable people in the world.


It even got better - she had dreamed of actually flying solo across the Atlantic and achieved that feat in May of 1932. From Newfoundland to Derry, Northern Ireland. The nearly fifteen hour flight catapulted Amelia in the record books once and for all.


After this incredible feat, she continued on breaking record after record, but the main thing for which she is remembered, is for her attempt to fly around the world. She wanted to be the first woman to fly a plane around this floating rock in space called earth. Of course, a navigator would be aboard but only to provide critical information to the pilot when needed.

Ah, Fred - maybe a left here?

Amelia would be at the controls the entire time.

The first attempt ended with the plane damaged in March of 1937. The second attempt - the one that made her more famous than she ever had envisioned, began in Oakland, California May of 1937 (that's where her plane, the Electra had been repaired from the first attempt). She and her navigator, Fred Noonan, announced in Miami, Florida that they would circumnavigate the globe, shocking the world but probably not the flying community. Anyone who knew this brave woman realized this day was bound to to come. It came on June 1st, 1937 when they took off from Miami planning to circle the planet. Twenty-eight days later the duo found themselves with only 7,000 miles left in this epic journey. The problem was it would be mostly above the wide and dangerous Pacific Ocean.

Where the Electra went down, perhaps?

What happened to both Earhart and Noonan has gone down in history as one of the greatest mysteries of aeronautics.

There were sporadic radio signals from Amelia but in the end none of those hearing the comments could be sure the Electra was on the right track. They were heading for was Howland Island.

The USCGC Itasca was stationed near Howland Island just in case the flyers needed assistance in finding this small outcrop in the Pacific. The last communication they had was near the Nukumanu Islands.

At 7:42 a.m. was one of the last, if not the last, call from Amelia to the Itasca: "We must be on you, but cannot see you - but gas is running low. Have been unable to to reach you by radio. We are flying at 1,000 feet."

There may have been one or two more radio calls but the fact was Amelia and Noonan were in serious - make that deadly trouble. It has to be understood that the bottom radio antenna on the Electra may have been sheared off at take-off from Lae, New Guinea due to the amount of fuel the plane had to carry for the voyage. This could make accurate radio tracking signals almost impossible.

The Electra was never seen again.

One of the largest air and sea search and rescues began, but to no avail.

In the past eighty years there have been rumors, intrigue, eye-witnesses, researchers, and a host of others who have tried to solve the mystery of Amelia Earhart's last moments. Countless articles have been written spawning countless documentaries. Books, both fiction and non-fiction, have been published in an attempt to explain how a person so talented and accomplished as Amelia Earhart could just 'disappear' from existence and not leave one single piece of evidence.

Perplexing to say the least.

Recently, on July 5th, 2017, a photograph surfaced perhaps proving Amelia and Noonan had survived the crash and were taken prisoners by the Japanese. That rumor has been around since World War II. The photo shows a group of people on a dock in a large bay. One boat has what looks like a plane similar to the one Amelia had been flying and the woman sitting on the dock appears to be Amelia -same build and characteristic hair style. A tall man on the left of the photograph has an uncanny appearance to Fred Nooaon, her navigator. All of the others appear to be either islanders or of Asian descent.

Hmm - looks like Earhart and Noonan

Was the mystery solved?

Whoops - not so fast.

On July 11th, a military history blogger by the name of Kota Yamano declared that the photograph was taken two years earlier in Palau. He stated that the woman nor the man were either Earhart or Noonan. The blogger didn't say who the two obvious 'foreigners' were though. Those crazy bloggers!

By the way, Palau was under Japanese control during that time. And by the way again, the ship in the photo towing the plane which looks a lot like the Electra was a Japanese navy survey ship - the IJN Koshu. And by the way again, this ship supposedly helped in looking for the real Electra in 1937, but with no luck.

The Electra on the rear of the IJN Koshu - hmm, again

Coincidence? Who knows but the mystery is not solved - yet.

'Breaking news as of July 21st, the long time searcher for the truth behind Amelia Earhart's disappearance has reiterated  that the photograph from the Jaluit Atoll is indeed Amelia Earhart and Fred Noonan. It was taken in July of 1937. Former FBI official Shawn Henry - who starred in a History Channel documentary says he is one hundred percent certain the photograph is real and taken in 1937 showing Amelia and Fred were taken prisoners by the Japanese.'

The plot thickens. One searcher says it's her and a blogger says it was taken two years earlier. Though, this team of bloggers sees quite a resemblance there in that photo of the two missing aviators. Just saying.

So the photograph of Amelia Earhart hangs on one wall in J's classroom as a reminder to his students that they can be whoever they can - as long as they have the skills - and to never give up on their dreams.

They may succeed with those dreams.

But, sometimes dreams are mysterious things - such as in the case of Amelia Earhart.

Then again - sometimes mysteries are to remain a mystery. They seem to assist in the human condition called - imagination.

An adventurer? Yes, and an icon for such.