by Brad Herzog
I don’t remember much about Gettysburg, South Dakota. In fact, nothing at all. It was just a blur along U.S. 212. Except for the sign welcoming travelers to town. That I remember -- because I found myself cracking up while cruising along.
How often is it that you can rumble along a rural highway, languidly turn your eyes to a billboard on the side of the road… and burst out laughing? Well, the answer is: More often that you might think. A good number of America’s blink-and-you-miss-it hiccups have learned not to take themselves too seriously. When attempting to make their mark on the memories of passersby, they’ve discovered that self-deprecation often does the trick.
Not always, of course. Madisonville, Kentucky, simply calls itself “The best town on Earth.” But usually, tongue-in-cheek is triumphant.
Say, you’re in Manhattan, for instance. Not the one in New York. The one in Kansas. You know what they call themselves? The Little Apple. Maybe a while later, still in Kansas, you’ve driven some 100 miles southeast – to the town of Gas. There, you can spot a bright red water tower looming over the tiny town of some 560 souls. It says simply, GAS KAN. Perhaps you then head into Oklahoma’s panhandle, to a hamlet that goes by the name of—believe it or not—Hooker. Here, the welcome sign features an image of a 19th-century prostitute. The local American Legion team is the Horny Toads. The town slogan: “It’s a location, not a vocation.”
What’s not to love?
In my travels, I have become a connoisseur of community communications, collecting town slogans like so many refrigerator magnets, and I can’t help but be impressed. Mark Twain once famously said, “I didn’t have time to write a short letter, so I wrote a long one instead.” For wordsmiths, short can be tough. Pithy can be problematic. It’s a tall order to describe yourself in half-a-dozen words and then imprint the phrase on all who encounter it, especially for places that are a bit short on uniqueness.
These slogans run the gamut from clever (Garden City, Missouri: “A Touch of Heaven on Highway Seven”) to hyperbolic (Livonia, New York: “Some bigger. None better.”), from historical puffery (Seneca Falls, New York: “Birthplace of Women’s Rights”) to hysterical desperation (Forest Junction, Wisconsin: “You Can Get There From Here”). But they all have one thing in common: A slogan identifies a community as a place of some significance, a destination worthy of consideration.
It’s as if the town is saying, “I boast, therefore I am.” And can you blame them?
Not always, of course. Madisonville, Kentucky, simply calls itself “The best town on Earth.” But usually, tongue-in-cheek is triumphant.
Say, you’re in Manhattan, for instance. Not the one in New York. The one in Kansas. You know what they call themselves? The Little Apple. Maybe a while later, still in Kansas, you’ve driven some 100 miles southeast – to the town of Gas. There, you can spot a bright red water tower looming over the tiny town of some 560 souls. It says simply, GAS KAN. Perhaps you then head into Oklahoma’s panhandle, to a hamlet that goes by the name of—believe it or not—Hooker. Here, the welcome sign features an image of a 19th-century prostitute. The local American Legion team is the Horny Toads. The town slogan: “It’s a location, not a vocation.”
What’s not to love?
In my travels, I have become a connoisseur of community communications, collecting town slogans like so many refrigerator magnets, and I can’t help but be impressed. Mark Twain once famously said, “I didn’t have time to write a short letter, so I wrote a long one instead.” For wordsmiths, short can be tough. Pithy can be problematic. It’s a tall order to describe yourself in half-a-dozen words and then imprint the phrase on all who encounter it, especially for places that are a bit short on uniqueness.
These slogans run the gamut from clever (Garden City, Missouri: “A Touch of Heaven on Highway Seven”) to hyperbolic (Livonia, New York: “Some bigger. None better.”), from historical puffery (Seneca Falls, New York: “Birthplace of Women’s Rights”) to hysterical desperation (Forest Junction, Wisconsin: “You Can Get There From Here”). But they all have one thing in common: A slogan identifies a community as a place of some significance, a destination worthy of consideration.
It’s as if the town is saying, “I boast, therefore I am.” And can you blame them?
So how does a town come up with one that forges an identity? At its essence, that’s the question facing the townsfolk as they settle on a town slogan. How do we describe ourselves? How do we make our mark, especially when are target audience is speeding by at 60 miles per hour?
The most common means seems to be by calling oneself the Something Capital of the Someplace, and it's merely a matter of how high to aim. Consider three towns in Wisconsin: Sauk City is the “Cow Chip Throwing Capital of Wisconsin,” and Reedsburg is the “Butter Capital of America.” But Green Bay is the “Toilet Paper Capital of the World.” They must be flush with pride. Then again, the Georgia hamlet of Claxton actually calls itself the “Fruitcake Capital of the World.” And Cherryfield, Maine? It’s the “Blueberry Capital of the World.”
The most common means seems to be by calling oneself the Something Capital of the Someplace, and it's merely a matter of how high to aim. Consider three towns in Wisconsin: Sauk City is the “Cow Chip Throwing Capital of Wisconsin,” and Reedsburg is the “Butter Capital of America.” But Green Bay is the “Toilet Paper Capital of the World.” They must be flush with pride. Then again, the Georgia hamlet of Claxton actually calls itself the “Fruitcake Capital of the World.” And Cherryfield, Maine? It’s the “Blueberry Capital of the World.”
Any community not comfortable with being a capital can simply bill itself as the Whatzit City or the Home of the Thingamajiggy. It’s also popular for town welcome signs to announce the names of famous natives. They can be big celebrities (Yukon, Oklahoma is “Home of Garth Brooks”). Or they can be just plain big (Grantsburg, Wisconsin—“Home of Big Gust”—pays homage to a resident named Anders Gustav Anderson, who stood 7-foot-6).
Some slogans teach history (Britt, Iowa: “Founded by Rail, Sustained by the Plow”). Others tout scenery (Harrison, Michigan: “Twenty Lakes in Twenty Minutes”). Or brag about climate (St. George, Utah: Where the Summer Sun Spends the Winter”). Many opt for wordplay, like Weed, California: “Weed Like to Welcome You.” And Beaver Dam, Wisconsin: “Make Yourself at Home.” And Gravity, Iowa...
Some slogans teach history (Britt, Iowa: “Founded by Rail, Sustained by the Plow”). Others tout scenery (Harrison, Michigan: “Twenty Lakes in Twenty Minutes”). Or brag about climate (St. George, Utah: Where the Summer Sun Spends the Winter”). Many opt for wordplay, like Weed, California: “Weed Like to Welcome You.” And Beaver Dam, Wisconsin: “Make Yourself at Home.” And Gravity, Iowa...
Granted, some towns try to fit too much into a slogan (Bangor, Michigan: “Train City USA in the Heart of Apple Country”).Or perhaps not enough (Little Valley, New York: “A Municipal Electric Community”). But a little imagination goes a long way. Indeed, some of my favorites are the warm-hearted generalities substituting for specifics. When Wasko, California, announces that it’s “A Nice Place to Live,” I have no reason to doubt it. Hico, Texas, is “Where Everyone is Somebody.” Canfield, Ohio, is “The City That Cares.” Jewell, Iowa, is—one of my favorites—“A Gem in a Friendly Setting.”
Often, however, a town’s identity is about location, location, location. If it’s on the edge of something, it’s a gateway (Bolivar, Ohio: “Gateway to Tuscanawas County”). If it’s at the confluence of roads or rivers or regions, it’s either a magical meeting (Lowry City, Missouri: “Where the Ozarks Meet the Plains”) or a proud crossroads (Barstow, California: “Crossroads of Opportunity”). Cairo, Illinois, is “Where northern enterprise meets southern hospitality.” Eastland, Texas, is “Where the Wild meets the West.”
And if a hamlet is centrally located—like St. Louis, Michigan (“Middle of the Mitten”)—then it’s vying to be the center of our attention. Again, consider some towns in Wisconsin: Marshfield calls itself “The City in the Center.” Pittsville boasts “The Exact Geographical Center of the State.” But Poniatowski one-ups them both. In the 1970s local residents located the spot where the 45th parallel crosses the 90th meridian. The result? Poniatowski, Wisconsin: “The Center of the Northwestern World.”
Ah, but the 800-or-so people in Boswell, Indiana, aimed even higher. There, emblazoned on the village water tower like a proclamation from the Almighty, it says simply this...
Often, however, a town’s identity is about location, location, location. If it’s on the edge of something, it’s a gateway (Bolivar, Ohio: “Gateway to Tuscanawas County”). If it’s at the confluence of roads or rivers or regions, it’s either a magical meeting (Lowry City, Missouri: “Where the Ozarks Meet the Plains”) or a proud crossroads (Barstow, California: “Crossroads of Opportunity”). Cairo, Illinois, is “Where northern enterprise meets southern hospitality.” Eastland, Texas, is “Where the Wild meets the West.”
And if a hamlet is centrally located—like St. Louis, Michigan (“Middle of the Mitten”)—then it’s vying to be the center of our attention. Again, consider some towns in Wisconsin: Marshfield calls itself “The City in the Center.” Pittsville boasts “The Exact Geographical Center of the State.” But Poniatowski one-ups them both. In the 1970s local residents located the spot where the 45th parallel crosses the 90th meridian. The result? Poniatowski, Wisconsin: “The Center of the Northwestern World.”
Ah, but the 800-or-so people in Boswell, Indiana, aimed even higher. There, emblazoned on the village water tower like a proclamation from the Almighty, it says simply this...
Given all there is to choose from—each an example of a clever writer’s imagination—whittling the wit and whimsy down to a best-of list is quite a challenge. But here are a fantastic 44:
- Gettysburg, South Dakota: Where the battle wasn’t
- Hooker, Oklahoma: It’s a location, not a vocation
- Jewell, Iowa: A gem in a friendly setting
- Peculiar, Missouri: Where the odds are with you
- Spring Lake, Michigan: Where nature smiles for seven miles
- Drumright, Oklahoma: Town of oil repute
- Boswell, Indiana: Hub of the universe
- San Andreas, California: It’s not our fault
- Forest Junction, Wisconsin: You can get there from here
- Moscow, Maine: Best town by a dam site
- Garden City, Missouri: A touch of heaven on Highway Seven
- Livonia, New York: Some bigger, none better
- Eaton Rapids, Michigan: Welcome to the only Eaton Rapids on Earth
- Linesville, Pennsylvania: Where the ducks walk on the fish
- Union Springs, Alabama: Serendipity center of the South
- Rockwell City, Iowa: The golden buckle on the Corn Belt
- Apex, North Carolina: The peak of good living
- Manhattan, Kansas: The Little Apple
- Walla Walla, Washington: The city so nice they named it twice
- Melbourne, Iowa: Right on top, not down under
- Newton Falls, Ohio: The town with zip
- Freeland, Pennsylvania: The most happening place on Earth
- Gretna, Virginia: Ain’t no big thing, but we’re growing!
- Hereford, Texas: Town without a toothache
- Paradise, California: It’s all the name implies
- Bushnell, South Dakota: It’s not the end of the Earth, but you can see it from here
- Readlyn, Iowa: 857 friendly people & one old GRUMP
- Show Low, Arizona: Named for the turn of a card
- Phoenix, Oregon: The other Phoenix
- Blue Earth, Minnesota: Earth so rich, the city grows
- Beaman, Iowa: You’re not dreamin’, you’re in Beaman
- Andover, Kansas: Where the people are warm, even when the weather isn’t
- Knox, Indiana: Where opportunity knocks
- Gas, Kansas: Don’t pass Gas, stop and enjoy it
- Lodi, California: Livable, lovable Lodi
- Tombstone, Arizona: The town too tough to die
- Dodge City, Kansas: The wickedest little city in America
- Gravity, Iowa: We’re down to earth
- Happy, Texas: The town without a frown
- Morrison, Colorado: The nearest faraway place
- Swanton, Nebraska: Dear hearts and gentle people
- Wakefield, Kansas: It’ll take you by surprise!
- Littleton, New Hampshire: A notch above
- Burkeville, Virginia: The little town that could
Brad Herzog is the author of more than three-dozen books, among them a trilogy of travel memoirs -- the bestselling States of Mind, Small World, and Turn Left at the Trojan Horse.