Hometown

If you ask me where I'm from, I'll give you the name of the place I was based longer than anywhere else I've lived--Folsom. Home of a man-made reservoir complete with a dam that "broke" sometime in the mid-nineties (a gate malfunctioned and sent more water out than had been planned), an award-winning high school jazz program (of which I was a part), and a genuine Gold Rush historic district that was the terminus  of the Pony Express.
And, of course, it has its prison.

Thank you, Mr. Cash.

Anyway, when we moved there in 1987, just after Dad retired from the Air Force, I was just starting 4th grade. There was one stoplight in the whole city. Things have changed--dramatically. But today wasn't about going to the sparkling new shopping centers, or even the Folsom Premium Outlets (though I did briefly consider making a ballet flat run at Nine West...). Today was about doing something I had never done in 17 years of calling Folsom home.

My school bus, you see, used to drive up the road into the Folsom Prison grounds every day, past the guards at the main entrance, and through a small neighborhood--called Repressa--where guards and their families lived. The kids in Repressa went to the local schools, and the bus looped around the neighborhood to pick them up before heading back to the main entrance. A guard would climb on board and walk the entire length of the bus, checking for escapees. Then he'd smile at the bus driver, wish her a good day, and off we'd chug to school. In all those years, I drove past the famous exterior gate of Folsom Prison, and the Prison Musuem, hundreds of times, and yet, I'd never been there outside of a school bus.

With a bee in my bonnet to visit this piece of Folsom history, I set off this morning and drove the thirty minutes to Folsom, passing my first home there, before turning up the road into the prison's land. I carefully followed signs to the visitor parking, and found my way to the main gate. Initially I was confused because the first building I encountered was the processing center for people visiting inmates, and I didn't want anyone to think I was trouble. But then I saw the museum, and walked right past the guard house to cruise right in, no questions asked. (Had I tried to go past the museum, however, I'd probably have been yelled at.)

The museum is small, but it has some interesting artifacts--a whole wall of prisoner-made weapons that have been confiscated. Other contraband, like tattooing implements. Some prisoners have actually used soap bars and bits of garbage they come across to make things. And, of course, the museum pays homage to Johnny Cash.

Not a great shot, but an example of prisoner art work.

Old surgery table. Folsom, that I know of, was never a death penalty prison.

Self-explanatory.

The famous exterior gate of Folsom Prison, used in movies, including
"Frankie and Johnny" with Michelle Pfieffer and Al Pacino.

As I walked back to my car, I took a hurried shot of the wall and the flags
hoisted behind it. You'll see this again later in this post!

Driving back down the prison road towards Folsom proper.

The sign, along Folsom's Natoma Street.

After the prison, I drove down towards Historic Sutter Street, with the briefest of detours to see two old haunts.

I attended 4th, 5th and 6th grades here.

At the end of the street where Judah sits, the campus that used to be
Folsom High school (it's now a middle school). I spent MANY hours on
that football field with the marching band.

At Sutter Street, I parked my car and got out to look around the History Museum, then wandered the street a bit taking pictures. I walked down to an old trestle bridge for cyclists and pedestrians, got some pics of Folsom's Rainbow Bridge. Then I stopped at the Visitor Center and its adjacent outdoor history exhibit before heading back to my car and driving back to Lincoln.

Railroad turntable, on the original spikes where one rested in the 1800s.

The old Wells Fargo.

The museum currently has a collection of old quilts and clothing on display.

Quilted with newspaper!

I'm sad that this one came out blurry.

Joseph Folsom's remains were moved a couple of times.
Someone donated his headstone to the city a while back.

Folsom was the western terminus of the Pony Express.

A popular Folsom institution. Damn good omelets!

Back in my high school/college days, this building was
painted yellow with purple trim. It housed a store called
Stamp Mania, and I spent some time working there.

My family's favorite Chinese restaurant ever. The owner still recognizes us!

Sutter Street got a makeover that I'm not entirely sure I approve of.

I find something hilarious about a tattoo parlor in a
historic building, surrounded by chi-chi restaurants and
antique shops.

Obligatory squat-down-get-the-artsy-shot pic.

Old trestle bridge.

Folsom's Rainbow Bridge

Okay, see way back there? The wall and the flags? No?

Okay, here's a close-up. Yup, same prison wall I took as I left the musuem!

The American River

Cali Swimmy enjoying the view.

I guess kids must still enjoy jumping off Rainbow Bridge. I never tried it.
I'm not stupid (see all those rocks?!).

Back near Sutter Street.

Where the tracks used to come through, I guess.

Floorboards of the oldest train station building west of
the Mississippi.

This is a "gold drudge spud." From the old drudgers
that tore up the land looking for gold.

The volunteer told me that this cannot be listed on the Historic Registry
because the guy who had it moved here, "Folsom Jim," modified the upstairs
to allow his girlfriend to live there...so his wife wouldn't find out.

Who knew?

The volunteer pointed this out to me. I laughed, even as I cringed.

I always enjoy my little mini-adventures, and this one was no exception. Folsom's not a bad place--though I wouldn't live there again, as it's become too crowded. There's a lot of great history, and it was fun to poke around in it today.