Like February’s showing of The Wizard of Oz in Wilmington, this showing of Janice Meredith was part of Ohio Goes to the Movies. And like my review of that event, this post is not really a review of the movie, but of the overall experience. On the other hand, since I’m quite certain that readers are nowhere near as familiar with Janice Meredith as they are with that Oz movie, and because it is pretty impressive, I’ll not ignore the film completely.
The venue for the showing was the Arcanum Opera House, built in 1889. Arcanum is a small town not far from Greenville, where actor Walter Law spent his formative years before moving to Dayton. Law appears in Janice Meredith, which is the connection to Ohio that led to its inclusion in the Ohio Goes to the Movies schedule.
The building served its original purpose until 1928, then played a variety of roles before being put to use housing Arcanum’s village offices. When the village government planned to construct a new building for their offices and move out, the opera house was in serious danger. The construction did happen, and the opera house was vacated in 2020, but a group was formed in 2019 to save it. The Arcanum Preservation Society has plans to restore the building and has made some serious progress in that direction.
Walter Law appeared in more than 40 movies during his career. His earliest film work was with Fox Film in New Jersey. He moved to Hollywood in 1920 and continued his career there. He most often appeared in supporting roles, and that is the case here. Law plays General Charles Lee, one of General Washington’s subordinates. That was essentially the entire description of his character I had on Friday, and I did not spot any reasonable candidates during the opera house screening. Although the quality isn’t nearly as good as what we saw on Friday, the movie is available on YouTube, so, armed with a somewhat better description of the character, I made a serious attempt to find him by picking out and studying scenes with Washington. No luck. I know he’s in there somewhere, but I can’t tell you where. I can tell you where that basket on the left side of the picture ended up. I was there with friends Terry and Sue. Everyone was given numbered tickets when we arrived, and Sue’s number won her a nice movie-watching kit.
Prior to Friday, about all I knew of the film was that it was a romance set during the American Revolution. Just before Friday’s showing, I learned it was “a little longer than most silent films”, and later learned that meant 11 reels or 140 minutes. But it wasn’t just its length that set the movie apart. It was a true epic with scenes of big battles and social gatherings, and extended shots tracking galloping horses, including Paul Revere’s. There is notable comic relief aided by W.C. Fields’ first motion picture appearance. Following the battle at Lexington, three of the wounded — or maybe ghosts of those killed — arise and form the trio of Archibald Willard’s Spirit of ’76 and march toward the camera while subsequent battles appear below them.
By the film’s end, I could not help but think this was the Gone with the Wind of the silent era. Like the Civil War epic released just fifteen years later, Janice Meredith features the beautiful daughter of a wealthy landowner, in love with an unconventional fellow whom her father definitely does not approve of, all while the war rages around her. It’s not entirely the same, though. When Janice Meredith ends, its protagonists are about to be married rather than separated, and this time the rebels win.
This book, just like its subject, is bright, colorful, eye-catching, and informative. That subject, quite obviously, is the 25-year-old 
Museum founder Tod Swormstedt provided a welcome page and an introduction, and his influence is evident throughout. It’s a given that some of the information presented in Roberts’ text came from Tod and others. To me, it seems almost as obvious that a guy so adept at organizing walls, rooms, and buildings filled with signs would have a hand in organizing sign-filled pages, and I have a strong hunch that he might have suggested a few targets for Grilli’s camera.
As Tod describes in the introduction, the book consists of three sections. The first describes what the museum is. It begins with some statistics, such as size (40,000 sq ft), oldest sign (155 years), and tallest sign (21 ft). That is followed by “A Founder’s Vision” (written by Tod), some words about the museum’s mission and its relationship with the community, and recognition of some of the many individuals who have been instrumental in the museum’s development and ongoing operation.
The second section concerns signs in general. There is a condensed history of signs in America that starts with carved and painted signs and progresses through materials like glass and plastic. The major changes electricity brought and the development of various illumination methods are covered. The section concludes with a glossary of sign types and the techniques and materials used in their construction.
I first became aware of the museum with the 2005 opening of its original Walnut Hills location. To someone not involved with the sign business in any way, it seemed to me that this wonderful new attraction had magically appeared, fully formed, in my city overnight. However, we all know that’s not how things work, and I soon learned about some, but far from all, of the work behind that magic. The first part of section three nicely covers the period between forming a board of directors in 1999, incorporating as a non-profit in 2000, and that delightful grand opening on April 28, 2005. This is also where I found more photos of Tod wearing a tie (3) than I’d ever seen before.
That first home in Essex Studios in the Walnut Hills neighborhood of Cincinnati was outgrown before it was occupied. Behind-the-scenes coverage continues as the current location in Camp Washington is acquired and made ready for another grand opening in June 2012. Central to “A Founder’s Vision” was the desire to not just display signs but to tell the story of American signage. Two envisioned methods for doing that were a Letter Wall showing the evolution of sign lettering and a faux street where signs were displayed in period-appropriate settings. A short Letter Wall existed at Essex, and some signs were sort of arranged as if they were on a street, but the backing was mostly plain white walls. In the new location, there was room to create proper versions of these two features. A much longer Letter Wall was constructed at the entrance to the main display area, and a Main Street was built with various storefronts lining both sides. To add another layer of realism, a diverse group of sign painters known as Letterheads descended on the museum to add signs to windows and doors to augment the big signs hanging on the storefronts and standing in the street. The store windows serve as natural display locations for items like painter kits and books.
The Letterheads and the museum have a wonderful relationship that is well documented in the book. The museum hosted the group’s 40th and 50th reunions in 2015 and 2025, and the group added murals and other features to the museum each time. When the museum expanded and Main Street doubled in length in 2024, the Letterheads returned to work their magic on the new storefronts. The Letterhead story is just one of many that show how the museum is appreciated by sign makers as well as sign fans.
There is something akin to a fourth section spread throughout the book. It is made up of things called “Sign Stories”, which are like sidebars in that they are standalone and not tied to the main flow of the book. But each is at least one full page, and some fill a two-page spread. Most describe a sign or group of signs in the museum’s collection. They typically provide a date and original location and identify the sign material and type. Then the page is filled with details about the sign’s original owner, its acquisition, or some other truly interesting aspect of the sign. I didn’t count them, but there’s a bunch. Enough to believe that some people might think the book worthy of purchase if these were all it contained.
That title may look familiar. If so, one reason might be the similarly named Route 66: The First 100 Years, reviewed 
Route 66: 100 Years is an anthology edited by Jim Hinckley of 
Like the beginning pages of many books about historic highways, the introduction includes tales of how the early automobile roads followed native trails, animal migration paths, and train tracks. And it talks about the impact that the popularity of bicycles had on the desire for and development of roads outside of cities toward the end of the 19th century. What makes it a little different from most similar writings is that it provides some details about organizations and specific events during road development during this era of pedal-powered transportation.
The state chapters appear in geographic sequence, east to west, which is the direction most people travel the route. Together, they provide a sort of combination travel guide and history lesson. I’m not talking about a travel guide with turn-by-turn directions, motel phone numbers, and such. However, most towns along the route are mentioned — and US 66 was a great connector of small towns — along with numerous points of interest. There is usually some history given about each town and POI, and there is plenty of history about the route itself.
The book is definitely well-illustrated. I don’t believe there is a single page, besides the index and authors’ bios, without at least one image. These include modern and period photographs, postcards, advertising brochures, and other items. Joe Sonderman supplied some of those postcards and brochures, as did big-time collectors Mike Ward and Steve Rider. I was extremely pleased to see a photo from the collection of the late Laurel Kane included. Many of the modern photos were taken by Jim Hinckley and his wife, Judy. I saw no photos from either Rhys Martin or Greg Hasman, although I know both are excellent photographers. I did see photos from Shutterstock, Alamy, and Getty. I thought both situations were curious, but the final product comes off well.
The quality of the book is quite good. Color and black-and-white images show nicely on the heavyweight glossy pages, and the layout serves them well. All have descriptive cut lines that include source credits. There are numerous sidebars, most with their own images, providing extra information outside of the main text flow.
The individual states that carried US 66 account for eight chapters. The book has nine. Dries Bessels, a resident of the Netherlands, authored a chapter named “Renaissance”. Dries has guided multiple tours down the length of Route 66 and provides an outside-the-country view of the historic road. The “renaissance” he writes about is its emergence as a travel destination for both Americans and foreigners after being bypassed and decommissioned. America, essentially spared the devastation that WWII brought to Europe, was the land of dreams to post-war Europeans, and Route 66 was a tangible thing that rolled right through those dreams. Today, Route 66 is still regarded as a way to experience a diverse range of America.
Frogman is a horror movie. I’m pretty sure the last horror movie that I paid to see in a theater was The Exorcist in 1973. I did that because I liked the book. I went to see Frogman because I liked the festival.
There’s no road trip here. The Great American Road Trip is not a travelogue. Nor is it a guide for traveling to or through a particular place. It is a well-done, very inclusive, nicely illustrated catalog of stuff that people like me drive around the country to see.
