I Make Fun of State Quarters: Iowa

Given that our American democracy includes aspects such as occasionally flipping a coin to decide who presidential candidate delegates will be awarded to and general elections that can be won without actually earning the most votes, it shouldn't be any surprise that a great deal of importance is assigned to the first contest in the 50-state process of selecting a party's candidate for the highest office in the land.

And so we get the regular flocking of presidential hopefuls to Iowa, where the first caucus of the 2020 election will take place in February. They're all expected to indulge in state fair fare like fried butter, hobknob with the locals, and pledge their undying loyalty to all things corn. Which always strikes me as a little odd, since they could just surrender this race and suck up to granite interests instead to make a bid for the New Hampshire primary.

Anyway, what does this mean for the Iowa state quarter? Will they celebrate their vaunted status as the first place to start choosing who might end up in the White House? Is the winner going to have to engage in pandering and the unending ingestion of enough artery-clogging fried food to give it six coronaries? Will the residents of Iowa just demand that the quarter be made of corn?

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NO CORN? Are you kidding me?

This is a highly unlikely scenario. Not just because Iowa residents are roughly 40 percent corn themselves, but because just about every one of the finalists for this state quarter were trumpeting Iowa's farm industry.

But let's face it, Iowa's agriculture really is quite impressive. The state is indeed the first in the nation for corn production, but a lot of that crop goes toward supporting livestock as well - putting Iowa among the top ranks for dairy and meet production as well. It also claims to be the second largest producer of soybeans and a main supplier of turkey for Subway restaurants, among other things.

So being the "Breadbasket of the World" is certainly something to be proud of. At the same time, I'm sure Iowans were a little reticent about making their representation on the state quarter focus on literally the one thing the rest of the country knows them for. They would be like the kid who excitedly runs to his friends to deliver some news only to find out that they already found out about it three days earlier.

So when state residents were asked to submit their designs, they came up with plenty more than just variations on how to prepare corn on the cob. They included, well, farmland with corn that wasn't quite ready yet...

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And that Grant Wood painting of a mopey farmer and his sour wife...

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And a tribute to the Sullivan brothers, a group of five siblings from the Iowa town of Waterloo who all served together on the cruiser USS Juneau and died when the ship was sunk during the Battle of Guadalcanal. They became a potent symbol of patriotic duty and hometown heroes in Iowa, understandably, but personally I think this quarter design would have been a little shortsighted. It would have basically said, "Behold, nation, these hero brothers who gave their lives for the country! Also, 682 other people from elsewhere in the United States died on this ship, but whatever."

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Iowa naturally gravitated away from showcasing wartime tragedy, but also decided that going heavy on the corn or farm theme wasn't the best thing to do. Instead, their final design is basically a facsimile of the painting "Arbor Day" by Grant Wood, an Iowa native (the state's residents are no doubt a fan of his quote, "I had to go to France to appreciate Iowa."). This work shows a teacher at a one-room schoolhouse helping a group of children plant a tree for the occasion.

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It's a little strange that the quarter highlights Iowa's "Foundation in Iowa" when the painting itself is about a holiday that celebrates trees. That and the fact that a quick search on Iowa's educational history immediately brought up an academic essay noting how the state's rural schools at the turn of the century suffered from "poor quality" and "inexperienced and poorly prepared teachers." So that teacher helping the kids with the tree might be really bad at her job.

But credit where credit is due, Iowa's current educational rankings are quite good. According to the U.S. News and World Report rankings, it ranks ninth in the nation for education, including eighth in higher education and 13th in K-12 schooling.

So there you have it. Iowa wants you to know that they have a good educational system, and that they're really quite a lovely state overall. That's fair.

But to be honest, the design actually seems to be lacking without corn. It's like if you had a cookout and didn't toss a few ears on the grill. At least throw a stalk in the background, guys.

I Make Fun of State Quarters: Indiana

Parks and Recreation has ruined Indiana.

The sitcom, which ran on NBC from 2009 to 2015, is based in the fictional town of Pawnee, Indiana. Early episodes did more to lampoon the ridiculousness of small town politics and town meeting grandstanding, and Pawnee and its residents maintain a certain degree of insanity throughout the series. But the show quickly became more character-driven, dominated in particular by two leads: Leslie Knope, who is fiercely devoted to her community and tirelessly seeks to use her position in town government to improve the city, and Ron Swanson, a libertarian pillar of non-toxic masculinity.

So why would the portrayal of such likable characters and a quirky but pleasant town be a bad thing for Indiana? Well, because the show was filmed in California. So while Indiana does have some impressive forests, the towering peaks that appear in a few episodes put something of a grandiose spin on the state's natural areas. Especially when its tallest point, Hoosier Hill, tops out at a measly 1,257 feet.

The mighty heights of Hoosier Hill (Source)

And while I'm sure Indiana has its dedicated and likable civil servants, Knope and Swanson set a pretty high bar. It's a bit tough to imagine anyone with political persuasions as different as theirs having their respectable and productive relationship in this era.

Perhaps the most aggravating thing for the purposes of this blog is that Parks and Recreation is the first thing I thought of when doing my usual association game with the state. It was a fictional city, followed by Mike Pence, Indianapolis (showing up in my head as an indistinct collection of blocky skyscrapers), Mayor Pete (rising in the polls as he is), a city full of oil tanks that Stephen King had Trashcan Man burn down in The Stand, and that crummy Indianapolis mayor I wrote about once who promised he would run all of his public works appointments by a Ku Klux Klan grand dragon first.

It's kind of a desultory selection, with the exception of Mayor Pete (who was still in college at the time the Indiana quarter was selected, and has actually been compared to lovable Parks and Recreation nerd/policy wonk Ben Wyatt). Maybe Indiana's quarter should just make their quarter mimic a basketball and be done with it. Is that what they did?

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Oh right, that car race where drivers go around in circles for 500 miles. That somehow slipped my mind.

The Indy 500 is probably the best the state could have done in terms of quarter design, to be honest. I perused the Wikipedia page for Indiana to see what sort of interesting attractions and history and whatnot that I might be overlooking. And the resounding response was, "Really not that much."

Now I know that might seem a little mean, but let's review some of the other finalists for the state quarter:

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"Indiana: Trains and boats pass us by."

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"Indiana: Iowa's not the only state with corn."

To be fair, the same argument could probably be applied to most states. I live in Connecticut, which wound up going with the storied history of the Charter Oak; of course Nutmeggers probably know what this is while everyone else sees the message as "Connecticut: We have trees."

Which, incidentally, is similar to another suggestion that was included among the Indiana finalists.

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"Indiana: We have rocks."

I Make Fun of State Quarters: Illinois

All right, Illinois, do your worst. What have you got? Is it the oh-so-original approach of combining the state motto with the state bird, and maybe adding the state bird if there's room? Is it a vista of Lake Michigan and the phrase, "We have waves, too, when it's not frozen"? Let's see it.

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Words. Should have brought...a poet.

All right, it's not perfect. There's that awkward phrasing where they say they're the 21st state in the 21st century, but it looks more like "century" has been left over as a Mint typo. There's that weird little dribble at the bottom of the Illinois outline, as if the state is trying to claim a few beachheads in Kentucky.

But still, after scrutinizing quarters whose designs range from Deep South states celebrating Socialist icons to giant birds that will kill us all, it kind of floors you to see a quarter that condenses all of its key identities into an inch-wide piece of currency, and does it right.

What comes to mind when you think of Illinois? Odds are it's Chicago and Abraham Lincoln. The city is one of the most populous in the country, and Lincoln is widely considered one of the best Presidents, if not the best.

Chicago is, of course, represented by the Sears Tower. Yes, I know it's supposed to be the Willis Tower now. But for one thing, it was still the Sears Tower when this quarter debuted. Also, no one wants to call the iconic building by the name slapped onto it by an insurance broker that bought office space for a song during the Great Recession and picked up the naming rights for free. Chicagoans responded with a rousing, "Yeah sure, we'll call it that when the Cubbies win the friggin' World Series," and then kept calling it the Sears Tower anyway.

The Coleman Tower in New York keeps annoying the Willis Tower by demanding to know what it's talking about. (Source)

It's always a little annoying to see companies buy the naming rights for something because they think it will improve their brand. In some cases, it can lead to outright loathing of the company. Around the same time the Willis Group was picking up the naming rights for the Sears Tower, the new stadium for the New York Mets was being renamed from Shea Stadium to Citi Field, after Citigroup. It was subsequently nicknamed "Sorry We Screwed The Entire Economy But Still Got A Bailout" Ballpark.

To be fair, though, the Sears Tower name is an early example of this trend. There's also the fact that the retailer left the building way back in 1988, although it kept the naming rights for awhile. The Willis Group has since sold the skyscraper, but is shelling out $1 million a year for the right to retain the name and have everyone ignore it and call the building the Sears Tower. But a new name could come when the rights expire in 2025.

On to young strapping Abe Lincoln.

Honest Abe was born in Kentucky, but spent the formative years of his legal and political career in Illinois before he was elected President. And besides, Kentucky had probably already ceded any claim on a Lincoln quarter in favor of portraying a famous horsey race.

So this would be the third piece of currency to feature Lincoln, after the penny and the five dollar bill. I could have sworn that the update to the U.S. currency designs included upgrading the handsomeness of the presidents, but the only thing searches on this topic revealed was a disturbing amount of sites ranking the commanders-in-chief by hotness.

That said, the Lincoln on this quarter is pretty damn good looking. Kudos to the design for making him rather muscular, which is historically accurate considering that Lincoln the rail-splitter was incredibly strong. His feat of holding an axe at arm's length between a thumb and forefinger seems mundane until you try it at Home Depot and have to give up before a sales associate can even yell at you. He also wrestled for sport, and responded to a brawl at one political rally by giving an agitator who was about to attack a friend the old heave-ho.

Kudos also for the face not only being recognizable as Lincoln, but also as a Lincoln who is striding toward his future with an expression of complete badassery. He's like some kind of 19th century John McClane.

You know all those lame Chuck Norris jokes that have faded away as Chuck Norris closes in on 80? I think we can safely reassign them to Illinois State Quarter Lincoln. This guy sees the rabble-rousing of a bunch of slave-owning plantation masters in the South, and with a single look he says, "Bring it on."

So we've got two decent state symbols in a row. It's like two bars on the slot machine. Come on, one more and we get the jackpot!

FREAKIN' CHERRY.

All right, fine. This is actually a decent way to encapsulate another aspect of the Illinois identity. Illinois ranks right smack in the middle in the ranking of states by land area, and Chicago is the only city in the state with more than a million people. The rest of the state is crammed full of farms.

According to the Illinois Department of Agriculture, the state is the nation's top producer of pumpkins. It's also a leading producer of corn, pigs, and soybeans, with significant production of wheat and hay and...

You know, let's just cut it off there. Forgive me for not finding the Illinois sorghum crop as interesting as one of the world's tallest skyscrapers and Sexy Abe Lincoln.

I Make Fun of State Quarters: Idaho

Is it potatoes? I'll bet it's going to be potatoes.

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No potatoes!? What gives?

Here's the thing about Idaho. It's a rugged state in the American West with some beautiful mountains, waterfalls, and other areas of wilderness. It has a fairly rich history. Some of the oldest Native American artifacts on the continent were found in Idaho, the area was part of the Pacific Northwest region disputed by the United States and Great Britain, the Oregon Trail passed through it, and the Mormons established a fair number of communities there.

There have been a bunch of survivalists and right-wing wackos who have been attracted to Idaho, and the infamous Ruby Ridge standoff took place in the state in 1992. But the state, like many in the West, embraced the early Progressive movement and was one of the first to grant women the right to vote. Labor unions were active in the mining camps, with a number of violent confrontations between miners and management over work hours and wages. Idaho is known as the Gem State due in part to its abundant natural resources, and a good part of its economy is today supported by the manufacture of semiconductors.

But what do we know Idaho for? Potatoes.

And for being one of the easiest Halloween costumes ever (Source)

So it's no surprise that the state quarter shies away from this aspect of the state. Everyone already knows Idaho for its leading agricultural product (it provides about 30 percent of the nation's russet potato crop), so why not try to inform people about other aspects of the state?

Does the state quarter design accomplish this? Um...no. It just shows the state under attack by a giant bird.

Seen here without its customary "Jericho trumpets" (Source)

You know, this quarter gets creepier every time I look at it. This is a peregrine falcon, the state raptor of Idaho (not the state bird, which is the diminutive mountain bluebird). It's either casting its gaze down on the unwary inhabitants of Idaho or looking aside to us. It's hard to tell with those cold, dead eyes.

What's more, it looms over the whole state. Idaho measures 305 miles across at its widest point, but this bird is easily the larger of the two. It can't even fit on the quarter, for God's sake; it's probably 1,000 miles long, making it a threat to the entire damn nation.

What's more, the peregrine falcon is the fastest animal on the planet, reaching speeds of more than 200 miles per hour during a dive. They can be found in virtually any climate. And the bird is also a carnivore, eating small mammals.

Idaho, you fools! Do you realize what a 1,000-foot peregrine falcon considers to be "small mammals?" We're all doomed to be devoured by a gargantuan bird of prey!

And don't think Mountain Home Air Force Base will protect you. The state slogan is apparently declaring this giant bird of death to be perpetual.

Footage of the oft-forgotten attack on Boise by the state raptor

How does it compare to the alternate designs? Well, I can't say I'm a fan of Idaho controlling an abomination of nature with the ability to wipe out mankind. But I guess it's better than the state quarter awkwardly introducing Idaho like a mediocre prize in The Price Is Right.

 "And you can enjoy all the wonderful potatoes Idaho has to offer on your NEW DINETTE SET!" (Source)

I Make Fun of State Quarters: Hawaii

I'm a U.S. citizen, so it's only natural that some of the states featured in this series are going to have a more personal connection than others. I ran into this for the Connecticut quarter, and the future entries for Massachusetts, Maine, and Minnesota (whenever they may appear) will likely feature some first person observances as well.

In one sense, Hawaii is just one of the states I've visited in my lifetime. But this was a special trip, given that my wife and I chose the islands for our honeymoon. It was an absolutely wonderful experience, which you can read about here.

So am I going to have to go easy on Hawaii's state quarter because it was such an incredible place to visit? Let's find out.

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Wait a minute, is that Magneto? Is Hawaii's quarter just a mutant levitating the islands, preparing to rain them down on the mainland in a shower of lava and palm trees?

Before we get to that, it's worth mentioning that Hawaii was the last state to get a quarter in the Mint's series. The state wasn't admitted to the United States until August 21, 1959. So while the first quarters in the series started appearing in 1999, Hawaii's wasn't released until 2008.

Interestingly enough, the quarter was released just one day before that year's election. President Barack Obama was no doubt delighted to see the state quarter for his home state unveiled right before he was chosen for the highest office in the land. It's a happy little coincidence, unless you're one of those hollow-brained sapheads who takes the word of InfoWars as gospel. In that case, you're probably wondering if this quarter was a secret government device to rig the election results by assuring people that Obama grew up in Hawaii and not Muslim Socialist Kenyastan.

But back to the quarter. It's not Magneto, of course. Clearly this is meant to represent Hawaii's Gate of Kings. I'm not sure if that's Isildur or Anarion, but he's gazing toward the enemies of Gondor and raising his arm in a show of defiance.

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OK fine, it's not that either. But it is a royal monarch, at least. The quarter depicts King Kamehameha I, one of the most well-known monarchs of the island's pre-state days. He is best known for uniting the Hawaiian Islands into a single kingdom, a feat he accomplished in 1810. Kamehameha's "Law of the Splintered Paddle" is also particularly well-regarded, as it held that citizens should be protected during wartime.

The fact that this design was chosen for the quarter is a solid affirmation of Hawaii's native culture and history. One other finalist's design also had King Kamehameha on it, with a Hawaiian beach in the background instead of the islands, but the two other finalists focused more on the touristy aspects of the archipelago. One of them had a hula dancer, which is indeed part of the Hawaiian culture but today seems to be more closely associated with the entertainment at hotel luaus. The last finalist had an awkward dude on a surfboard.

"I own a timeshare!" (Source)

It's also striking that the quarter uses a lengthy Hawaiian phrase. The other finalists simply stuck with "aloha," the word everyone knows as the traditional greeting and farewell. The phrase on the approved quarter, "Ua mau ke ea o ka aina i ka pono," translates to "The life of the land is perpetuated in righteousness."

This gets a tad awkward for a few reasons. For one thing, the phrase was spoken by Kamehameha III, not Kamehameha I as the quarter design implies. There's also the fact that the phrase is celebrating how the Hawaiian kingdom was restored after the British briefly seized control of the islands in 1843. I guess the United States can share some solidarity with the Hawaiians in this regard, since we booted the British monarchy as well. Then again, Hawaii is a U.S. possession only because U.S. officials backed an effort to depose the kingdom in 1893.

So the Hawaii quarter has a celebration of the restoration of monarchy on a piece of currency of a nation that celebrates the overthrow of monarchy and also deposed Hawaii's monarchy. It's a little convoluted. But hey, it makes you think more than Craig the retired hedge fund manager/surfer dude would*.

"My golden parachute could pay your salary for your entire working life!" (Source)

*Addendum: A friend let me know that the man portrayed on the surfboard is Duke Kahanamoku, not some random hedge fund trader who retired to the islands on a government bailout. Duke was an Olympic swimmer who is credited with popularizing the sport of surfing in Hawaii. He's a fascinating character, and it's too bad that his quarter design wasn't able to include his name. You can read more about him here.

I Make Fun of State Quarters: Georgia

I'm going to start by playing the free association game. Let's see some of the terms I come up with when I think of Georgia:

Peaches
Millions of peaches
Peaches for me
Millions of peaches
Peaches for free

OK, I'm getting a little sidetracked. And the Presidents of the United States of America aren't even from Georgia, they're from Seattle. Let's try this again:

Peaches
Jimmy Carter
The Walking Dead
CNN
Sherman's March to the Sea
Gone With the Wind
Stone Mountain
Squidbillies

So when it comes to putting something on the state quarter, what should Georgia go with? There's the Union Army's path of utter destruction through the middle of the state, and the book about the spoiled Southern belle it inspired. And that giant mountain carving of the military officers of an army for a country that no one ever recognized. And the President who was attacked by a rabbit. And TV shows featuring redneck cephalopods and zombies.

Hmm, what could the Peach State possibly choose to be on its

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Yeah, it's a peach. Right smack in the middle of the state, as if Roald Dahl's gigantic magically enhanced fruit had crashed down in the Empire State of the South instead of the Empire State Building and squashed millions of people beneath its fuzzy flesh. Or maybe President Frank Underwood stole a bunch of money from FEMA and built a Peachoid that's visible from space.

Peaches have been part of Georgia agriculture for a long time, but didn't become especially prevalent until after slavery was abolished. After everyone whined a bit about the "Lost Cause" and having to pay people to work, they opted for something that could be grown without quite so much manpower. Despite its designation as the Peach State, Georgia is actually fourth in the United States in peach production and recently has transitioned to blueberries as a more prevalent crop. But Georgia is no doubt going to cling to their designation on the argument that their peach varieties taste the best, dagnabbit.

"And our peach sculpture is way uglier than the Peachoid, too!" (Source)

Georgia's state quarter also includes a few other state symbols, but not so many that it makes it seem ridiculously crowded (ahem, Arkansas). There are live oak sprigs on the edges and a banner featuring the state's motto, "Wisdom, Justice, Moderation."

Overall, it's a perfectly functional, perfectly boring state quarter. However, it's unique in that there was a bit of controversy concerning the shape of the state. Some of the initial designs had the state shaped correctly, while others lopped a bit off the upper left corner. Eagle-eyed observers noted that the final design opted to circumcise Georgia, neatly removing Dade County.

This may have been a nod to the county's odd history. Dade was supposedly "sick and tard of Georgia's shillyin' and shallyin'" when the southern states were deciding whether to secede or not, so they opted to secede on their own from both the United States and Georgia. The "Free State of Dade" continued to proclaim its autonomy until World War II made insistence that you weren't part of the country a bit of a bad idea, and the county formally rejoined the U.S. on Independence Day in 1945.

The Dade County website insists that it never went rogue and that it's all a legend, probably because being among the most vociferous proponents of leaving the country to preserve slavery isn't the best legacy to celebrate. There have been suggestions that the quarter's exclusion of Dade County was a simple mistake, with the artist perhaps working off a map that didn't include this section of the state.

Wikipedia includes a section on the "controversy" surrounding the design. I haven't seen much about bruised feelings in the most northwestern section of Georgia over the snub. If they were really offended, maybe they should have thought twice in 1982 before raising the proposal of seceding from Georgia and joining Tennessee.

And Dade County knows what I like in scenery, so I'll leave them be (Source)

I Make Fun of State Quarters: Florida

Florida, the intellectual and cultural pinnacle of these United States. Nowhere will you find such an esteemed peninsula, filled with storied learning institutions and the latest in scientific breakthroughs. Not since the Library of Alexandria has the world experienced a region so renowned for its scholarly progress.

Or, you know, that might refer to some other place since Florida is so full of crazy shit that it gets its own category on Fark. And because the state is also known as that place that couldn't make a simple ballot in the 2000 election. Or, more charitably, the refuge for Yankee retirees who are willing to risk skin cancer for the chance to escape the snow and cold of a proper winter. It's that kooky low-lying peninsula which we're all waiting to be submerged by the climate change which its governor won't let state employees talk about.

So what does Florida feature on its state quarter? A crazed face eater, perhaps? Or maybe an underwhelming "good" serial killer who was apparently whisked away via hurricane to start working as a lumberjack?

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Ah, Florida instead opts to show a Spanish galleon coming across an unspoiled tropical paradise in the 16th century. And then demonstrate how far technology has advanced by showing the space shuttle coming in for a landing on a quarter released one year after a space shuttle was destroyed while re-entering the atmosphere to land in Florida.

The Florida quarter, designed by Ralph Butler and engraved by T. James Farrell, commemorates the arrival of explorers such as Hernando de Soto and Ponce de Leon in the peninsula. The latter was searching for the legendary Fountain of Youth, reputed to grant the power to forever metabolize fatty foods and perpetually sneer about how one's elders are so lame. It didn't pan out, of course, what with Florida having the highest percentage of senior citizens and all.

The other part of the quarter pays tribute to Florida's part in the space program. Cape Canaveral has had a crucial role in sending astronauts into orbit, sending monkeys into orbit, sending men to the Moon, sending men to go golf on the Moon, and studying whether ants can be trained to sort tiny screws in space.

I would have thought they would go with one of those options instead of the shuttle, which had already started to dull excitement about space exploration by downgrading missions from "Let's go check out Earth's satellite in person" to "Let's run some groceries up to the space station." Sadly, the shuttle missions were already on their way out by the time the quarter was released, following the destruction of the Columbia in 2003. The program officially ended in 2011, which means the thing Floridians chose to illustrate the state's modernity is now as obsolete as that Spanish galleon.

So what else did Florida have to choose from? Well, there were 1,500 designs submitted for consideration and five finalists chosen by Governor Jeb Bush. Then these five were sent out for a vote by Florida residents. Because if there's anything you can trust it's letting Jeb Bush arrange an election and leaving it to the Floridian electoral system to get it right.

"Eh, they clearly punched in a binary code for 'Let the governor's brother win'" (Source)

Perhaps one of those other finalists should have been the victor. Maybe one of the candidates was a capable if boring design, with a strong environmentalist inclination, offering a temperate alternative to the zip and zazz of the design that promotes sending out costly expeditions to take over other parts of the world.

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Who knows, maybe the state would have been happier if they'd gone with the swamp full of alligators and herons and plane crash debris. If nothing else, I congratulate the elderly men and women of Florida for deciding against the design which seems to celebrate ancient phallic objects.

Ew... (Source)

I Make Fun of State Quarters: Delaware

I feel a little bad making fun of Delaware. I mean, isn't the poor state a punchline already?

Yes. Yes it is.

Still, I must persevere.

It's not like there's any reason to dislike Delaware. I'm sure it's full of wonderful people and quaint little downtown areas and affable grinning Vice Presidents. But it just seems so...plain. Something tells me there aren't too many newlyweds saying, "Hey honey, lets get away to scenic Delaware and climb to the Ebright Azimuth. We'll be higher up than anyone in the entire state!"

And when Mom and Pop load up the station wagon for a family vacation, are they really going to say to the kids, "Come on, children! We're going to visit Felton. We can see the Thomas B. Coursey House. He got the right to stock a mill pond with bass carp in 1883 and tell other people they couldn't fish there. They call their townships "hundreds," and Felton is in South Murderkill Hundred. Doesn't that sound nice??"

Behold, majestic Felton. (Source)

It's almost too much to handle, all these sights and sounds. How can one simple state quarter hold all the excitement that Delaware has to offer?

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Well, that does pack it in pretty well. Everyone loves a horsey.

Wondering why Delaware was the place that kicked off the state quarter program instead of one of the states that sits at the cool table, like Massachusetts or California? It's because it was the first of the original 13 colonies to ratify the Constitution, giving it the honor of being the first state in the Union. Thus the big "First State" label on it like some 14-year-old's YouTube comment. There were other colonies established before Delaware, of course, but it still gets to brag about how it was a state before the United States existed.

So now is the time to tell the story of Yankee Doodle, riding through a quarter on a pony. No wait, that isn't it. It's Paul Revere, right? He's heading off to say that the British are coming. Except that was in Boston, not in Delaware. Um...who is this guy again?

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Ah yes, Caesar Rodney. Delaware chooses a truly interesting fellow known for being a sheriff, register of wills, recorder of deeds, clerk of the Orphan's Court, and justice of the peace. He's held more public offices than anyone else in Delaware. Hooray for competent county-level politicians?

Actually, Rodney is best known for riding 80 miles through a thunderstorm while ill to get from Dover to Philadelphia. This was in July of 1776, and he made the trip after finding out that Delaware was split on whether or not to go along with the Declaration of Independence. Although his constituents were chiefly Loyalist, Rodney cast the deciding vote in favor of independence.

Delaware might want to forget that his constituency rewarded this patriot for his bravery by throwing him out on his ass. Once it became clear that he had supported the Declaration of Independence, voters in Kent County opted not to include him in the state's constitutional convention or general assembly. They did come around again in 1778, electing Rodney to a position that somehow manages to sound both impressive and embarrassing: "President of Delaware."

It also helps that the quarter's design keeps Rodney's face tiny enough that you can't really make out any detail. No one painted a portrait of Rodney when he was alive, since his face was ravaged by cancer. John Adams described him as having a face "not much bigger than a large apple," perhaps because Adams didn't realize that Rodney wore a facial covering to hide the disfigurement.

Pictured: Caesar Rodney (Source)

All things considered, Rodney is a good choice for the quarter design. He put country before self, and he achieved greatness despite his young age and physical ailments. Maybe some people were disappointed that the quarter didn't have the Delaware Memorial Bridge or something, but it never hurt anyone to pick up a book or do a bit of Googling and learn an interesting story.

Besides, it's certainly better than the alternate designs. Like this one:

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That would be Lady Liberty blazing a torch into the future and boldly proclaiming, "Behold! A new nation is born, and the first member of this glorious country shall be this odd misshapen lump of a state!" And then Lady Liberty would presumably pause for a few seconds and say, "Um...Aubrey Plaza is going to be born here in another 200 years and change. That's something, right?"

And even that's preferable to this finalist:

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That design recognizes the fact that Delaware has a chicken breed named after it. Had the Mint gone with this design, we'd all have to sarcastically thank Delaware for starting out the state quarter series by showing us their cock.

I Make Fun of State Quarters: Connecticut

All right, back on track after that alphabetical snafu.

A long, long time from now, whenever I get up to the N states in the alphabet, I'm going to have to make fun of New Hampshire for choosing a state symbol that unexpectedly disappeared three years after the state's quarter was issued. For now, I'll have to content myself with making fun of Connecticut for selecting a symbol that vanished 143 years before the state quarter came into being.

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Behold, a tree! It's about as exciting as Connecticut gets.

All right, full disclosure: I live in Connecticut, and I have for three-and-a-half years. Its politics are ridiculous, its mountains are hills, and of all the New England states it's the one with the most obvious identity crisis. Half the state roots for the New York Yankees, for God's sake. But I've still met some wonderful people here, there actually are quite a few lovely attractions, and I can't help but marvel at how devoted people are to local history.

So it's no surprise that Connecticut opted for the historic angle in choosing the Charter Oak for its state symbol. Though there's no denying that the fellow who designed the Connecticut quarter, one T. James Ferrell, did a bit of airbrushing when he etched out this portrayal of the Hartford tree. Take a look at the sexy flowing branches of the final design, then compare them to this alternate proposal:

(Source)

Yeesh. Looks like the Charter Oak was grown from a scion of the Ugly Tree and replicated every branch on the way up.

Most portrayals of the oak show it as a scraggly runt, so apparently the above design is closer to the truth. But it's nothing that will win any beauty contests. They would run off more than a billion of these coins, so clearly they couldn't make it some gnarled old maid. They needed to make it the Summer Glau of trees.

Welcome back to my blog references, Ms. Glau! (Source)

So what's the story with the Charter Oak, anyway? Well, according to the lore, the 1662 charter granted to Connecticut by Charles II allowed it a great deal of autonomy within the British empire. When James II took over the throne, he looked to put an end to such tomfoolery and sent an emissary to demand the surrender of Connecticut's charter. Everyone sat together at the table when lo, the candles were snuffed! Captain James Wadsworth spirited the charter away to hide in a nook in the one tree on a nearby Hartford hill. Somehow, the British failed to find it.

So there you have it. Connecticut's greatest accomplishment wasn't Mark Twain, it was a magic vanishing act. Granted, the Charter Oak is a more interesting story than the one that led to the "Constitution State" nickname, namely that the Fundamental Orders of 1638-39 might be considered the first constitution in the American continent. There's also the "Nutmeg State" nickname, but Connecticut can't really be too proud of the idea that its citizens of yore were clever enough to sell counterfeit wooden nutmegs to gullible bumpkins.

I've learned a fair amount about New London history in my time here, namely that the city was burned down by both Benedict Arnold and a hurricane and that a harebrained scheme to steal a submarine included the possibility of obliterating the place with a nuclear weapon. If I'd arrived here way back before the quarter design was finalized, I might have argued for it to portray the story of how an early Revolutionary War mission raided a British armory in the Bahamas to obtain gunpowder and munitions for the colonials before taking the booty to New London. It's pretty awesome that part of the city's history is pretty much the same as one portion of the rebooted Battlestar Galactica.

Exactly like this, but in Nassau. (Source)

It would be nice if the Charter Oak was still standing but alas, it was blown over in an 1856 storm and survives only in a few pieces of furniture in the state legislature. But both the storm and the power outage of the original Charter Oak heist are still commemorated to this day. Whenever a storm is powerful enough to knock out electricity, Connecticut Light and Power takes a symbolic two weeks to restore it.

I Make Fun of State Quarters: Califonia

So I missed Arkansas and, um, the most populous state in the entire country in this series by accidentally fast-forwarding to Colorado. Today I'm finally closing that gap with California. Almost a year later. I need to pick up the pace on this series...

It almost seems like a foregone conclusion what's going to be on this one: the Golden Gate Bridge. What else are you going to go with? The Los Angeles smog? A giant redwood, shrunken into insignificance? That bridge is an American icon. It ranks maybe fourth or fifth in the list of bestselling brands of America Sauce to serve on your flag-shaped apple pie for Fourth of July.

The worst selling brand of America Sauce is Confederate Flag; reviewers complain, "This tastes like some bland, failed experiment in non-America" (Source)

So lay it on us, California. The Golden Gate will look great! Sure, it'll upstage the bridge on the West Virginia quarter a bit, maybe even two bits. The Rhode Island quarter is just going to look stupid by comparison. But you've earned it, with an engineering triumph that has become a source of pride not just for your state, but for this great nation.

(Source)

Or...yeah, just go with some guy. Who's about to get his eyes pecked out by a condor.

Somehow, the Golden Gate Bridge didn't make it as the final design. There are other instances where major icons were excluded in the final design, but...you know what, no. There aren't. New York has the Statue of Liberty, Arizona has the Grand Canyon, South Dakota has Mount Rushmore. What are you, too good for glorious patriotic symbols? Why do you hate America so much, California quarter?!?

Fittingly enough, there was pretty much a 50-50 chance that the bridge would be the final choice. In an Internet poll of submitted designs, 10 of the 20 finalists had it in there and five of those were pretty much fully devoted to the span. When the Mint drew up a few options for its top five, however, only two of them had the Golden Gate in its design.

(Source)

Still, that's got a pretty good chance of winning, right? I mean, look at lineup. Who knows how the water one even got in there; it looks like the set design at some bad nautical play. The one where the condor is pretty much the size of a 200-foot redwood presents an obvious problem. Heck, the Yosemite Valley design is just shunted over in the corner, next to the ugly one that just crams a bunch of stuff into the available space around the guy who ruined his life in a futile hope of panning riches out of California's rivers. At this point, the main question seems to be whether to include the Hollywood sign next to the bridge or not.

Sure, the Golden Gate Bridge design isn't perfect. They shoehorned in some redwoods, so it looks less like the actual site and more like the bridge would appear after The Fall, when man fell back into pre-industrial times and nature crept back into the cities. They could put in a tiny dying Ish lying against an abandoned car on roadway if they really wanted to complete the picture.

So who does this choice fall to?

(Source)

Oh. The exercise enthusiast from Austria. Well, that might explain why we got a picture of a Scottish immigrant climbing a mountain. You could have gone with one of the pinnacles of American civil engineering, but no...

All things considered, though, the scene - dreamed up by Garrett Burke and engraved by Alfred Maletsky - isn't too bad of a design. John Muir was a dedicated conservationist, helping to establish the Yosemite National Park and serving for many years as the president of the Sierra Club. The minimalism works pretty well, with the detail of Half Dome and the ledge upon which Muir stands inviting you to imagine the majesty and splendor of this vista. It's a rather fitting tribute to Muir and his work.

If only they could have built the Golden Gate Bridge into the scene, maybe as an easy way to go to Half Top. Muir really looks like he wants to get over to that mountain, and I'm worried he's going to try to hop a ride with that bird.

I Make Fun of State Quarters: Arkansas

First off, I'm going to make fun of myself a little bit. I intended to go in alphabetical order rather than the order in which these quarters were issued, and for awhile it went swimmingly. There was Alabama, Alaska, and Arizona. And then I apparently decided to trust in my knowledge of the states and determine that Colorado was the next one. Yep, no way anything else could be between Arizona and Colorado. They even share that border at the corner. So I guess it's time to move on to Connecticut and--

(womenonthefence.com)

Ohhhh, right. Sorry about that, California. I'll get started right away on finding out who the hell John Muir is and why you seem to be emulating a Wyoming park instead of bringing in some redwoods or the Golden Gate Bridge or something. So, John Muir was--

(farm4.static.flickr.com)

Oh come on, you too? Geez, is there any other state hiding out there? No? All right, good. Let's start to plug this gap.

(encyclopediaofarkansas.net)

Holy crowding the image, Batman. Do you really need to cram all of these state symbols onto your quarter? You're like those people who just can't go on vacation without eight suitcases because you need that extra set of slippers and your favorite mug. But all right, I guess Arkansas is adequately represented by a riverbank, rice, duck, and...a giant floating diamond?

Maybe Arkansas is trying to drum up tourism by suggesting that enormous diamonds are just floating around in the sky. Or that diamonds appearing at the same size as that on the quarter are there. After all, Arkansas is one of the rare places in North America where diamonds are found and apparently the only place where tourists can get in on the game by hunting through Crater of Diamonds State Park. No wait! That's the ship from Close Encounters of the Third Kind, right? They must have gotten lost on their way to Devil's Rock and are asking the Arkansans for help.

"Devil's Rock? Yeah, it's back the way you came." (148apps.com)

The quarter was designed by Dortha Scott in a contest opened to all Arkansans in 2002 and the 65-year-old Mount Ida resident's idea was chosen from a field of 9,300 entries. She was also recognized in one of those droll resolutions someone in the state legislatures writes up to draw out a simple congratulations as long as possible and perhaps collect royalties on the word "whereas." This gushes about the use of a duck "soaring above the water with trees in the background [symbolizing] Arkansas' abundant natural resources," then goes on to say that it represents the state's popularity for hunting and fishing. Perhaps the Arkansas quarter has a tiny engraved hunter hiding in the side ridge, just waiting to blast the majestic mallard with buckshot.

Scott rejected this particular design (wikipedia.org)

To be fair, Arkansas Governor Mike Huckabee did favor symbolism in his choice of a winning design. The other finalists all sought to awkwardly cram the same things into an outline of the state, and specified that Arkansas was the "Natural State" to boot since a bunch of symbols of the natural world couldn't quite carry that out. Or there was the mockingbird perched above the Arkansas State Capitol, which seemed like less a celebration of nature and more a distress call of "Help! Giant birds are usurping our state government!"

It's an OK design overall, I suppose. And hey, at least the whole thing involved a submission by an independent artist and not by Arkansas's corporate overlord.

"Our headquarters are here, ergo we demand use of our logo on the head side of the state quarters! LOGIC." (wypages.com)