Gary, Indiana: Murder Capital of the United States.
 Joe walks by a boarded up buildings on Ridge Rod through Gary, IN. The area has many abandoned buildings.
That's what the statistics say. That's what folks in neighboring cities and towns say. Even people in Gary say it.
But those skeptics never met Clara Blackmon and Sherecka Davis, two Gary natives who still believe in the city.
Clara is principal at Ambassador Academy, an oasis of three buildings on Ridge Road, where boarded doors, broken windows and abandoned buildings are commonplace.
Clara could be working in a suburban school system, but she says she belongs at this church-run complex, helping city children.
The academy must be doing something right. It started with three students seven years ago, now it has 300 from preschool to grade seven.
"We're growing because parents are looking for a great education for their children," Clara said.
"We have kindergarten students who are reading above the first grade level."
The formula: parents, teachers and administrators are all on the same team. When students leave for the summer they have work to do before they return in the fall - and it gets done, Clara said.
"Contrary to popular belief, parents in the inner city want their children to learn. Here, they have to be involved and committed," she said.
That's why she bristles when people mock Gary.
"I'm offended because I know the talent Gary produces. There are people here who are positive, productive," she said.
Maybe she was thinking of Sherecka Davis, who teaches third-grade at the academy, writes poetry and lives in Gary by choice.
"I see Gary like a phoenix. It will rise from the ashes," Sherecka said. "My husband and I want to stay in Gary, we just bought a home here."
She knows the statistics: Gary has more murders per capita than any other city in the U.S. But she knows statistics don't tell the real story. She's lived in Gary her entire life and never had a problem.
Sure, there are sections of Gary she wouldn't walk through at night. But she said there are areas like that in any big city.
"There are more murders in Chicago, in New York and other cities than in Gary," she said.
That's true. Gary holds the per capita title, partly because it just barely makes the 100,000 population cutoff for the murder report. Smaller numbers make for higher percentages.
I met Sherecka during the last week of the school year, a time when many teachers are burned out. But Sherecka was still enthusiastic.
"A good day is when they're using the skills I've taught them, not because I've provoked them but because it's now part of them," she said. "When I see that, I know I've made a difference."
And maybe she makes a difference by just staying in Gary.
PROOF OF ANGELS
If you look closely at Dave Szparaga's right hand, you'll see a spot that sparkles in the light. It's a mark left by God, Dave says.
Here's Dave's story. It begins with the death of his daughter Tabatha three decades ago.
"I gave up on God totally," he said.
 Dave Szparaga of Lake Station, IN stands next to his son's souped-up Camaro car while he explains his religions experience. He says was touched by an angel on his right hand which left a marking that "sparkles".
Then, when a grown daughter, Brandi, died in 2001, Dave fell into a deep depression. He considered suicide.
"I was scared. I got down on my knees and prayed. That night I felt my daughter was there holding my hand. I could feel the love coming through. I felt safe," he said.
When he awoke, there was a sparkle in his hand that remains to this day.
"I figure God left that for a reason." said Dave, who lives in Lake Station, east of Gary.
Dave's depression is gone and he says he's a more compassionate person these days.
"You can be happy if you know your children are being taken care of. They're in God's hands now," he said.
I don't know whether things really happened the way Dave describes them. But whatever happened, it changed his life - for the better.
"It made me believe in God. It made me believe in angels," he said.
AN OLD SOLDIER
Adam Kirschner of Munster, IN, was one of the 100 World War II veterans chosen to represent servicemen at the International Commemoration of D-Day last month.
He says he was treated like royalty during his stay in France. He shook hands with President George Bush and other big wigs.
But Adam doesn't know why he was chosen.
 80 year old Schererville, IN resident Adam Kirschner, was one of a 100 veterans from across the United States, who traveled to France to be honored and presented the highest military decoration, the Legion of Honor, which recognized their service in the liberation of France during the D-Day invasion.
"There are a hundred guys there who asked, "Why me?" he said.
Adam was a combat engineer who landed at Omaha and fought along the French coast.
Adam will tell war stories in a light-hearted voice that makes you wonder if he's forgotten the pain. He'll talk of the mix-ups and misadventures as though it were a game.
But ask him how he really feels, and he'll tell you about the wounds he suffered, the months in the hospital and years of recovery.
"Hell no, there was nothing funny about it" he said.
Which reminded him of the darkest days. Riding along the beach and watching the work details gathering up truckloads of bodies and body parts; trying to put them together as best they could.
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Before, he was speaking words. Now the real memories returned, as painful as an old wound that never really healed. He remembers the sights on that beach, the sounds and, mostly, the smell of death.
That's when Adam let out a big "Eeeoww!" as though he'd been stabbed. The memories are too much.
He can't speak for a moment. Then he gathers himself, but he's said all he wants to say - except for a final thought.
"We never should have gotten mixed up in Iraq," he said.
I have just one thing to say to Adam, and to everyone who puts their lives on the line for us: "Thank you!"
THREE MILLION STEPS
Monday, we crossed the Illinois border, the one-third point of our coast-to-coast journey. We've traveled 1,200 miles - 3.3 million steps down and 6.7 million to go.
Travis and I collected more stories and pictures than we could possibly record in these little columns. But there are a few images I want share before we travel much farther.
Here's one: There's a stretch of land next to Route 6 near Bremen, IN where there's a sign that says "Do not spray or mow."
It's just a patch of weeds, but together these weeds create a glorious mosaic of purple, yellow, white, green, blue and red.
Left alone, Mother Nature can really cook.
Here's another image: Walking along the beach at the Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore on Lake Michigan. It feels as though you're walking on powdered silk.
"I've been to Hawaii and Florida; I've never seen sand this fine," said Dorsey Bouque, adding that it's called singing sand, because it makes a sound when you walk on it.
 Along the southern shore of Lake Michigan, you will find sand lifted by winds blowing off the lake. A short distance inland, plants, dunes, and hills slows the wind so that it drops its cargo, in turn creating the Indiana Dune National Shoreline.
Dorsey said he's heard the sand sing beneath his feet, but I couldn't find many others who heard it. One resident told me you have to walk just the right way in just the right spot to hear the singing.
Apparently I never hit the right spot. The sand didn't sing for me. But it did grab me by he legs and drag me down.
This is a true story. I was walking the beach with my wife, Pat, who was visiting last weekend.
We were walking near a stream that meandered through the beach on its way to the lake.
Suddenly, one foot sank ankle deep into the wet sand. I stepped and the other foot sank even deeper.
I stepped again and sank still deeper.
Quicksand. That was the thought that jumped into my mind.
Now I was scared. I stepped faster. Then I got on my hands and knees and crawled out of the quicksand.
My shoes and socks were filled with sand. I felt lucky to survive.
Later, I asked a park ranger what had happened. She said I probably stepped in an area with a high water table.
She assured me no one has ever drowned in the sand here.
Everyone's a comedian.
Another image: Crossing over a pontoon walkway to explore a bog near the national lakeshore, while a ranger showed us the plants that survive in an area that's too acidic for most living creatures.
And another: Talking with volunteers at Chellberg Farm, which is part of the national lakeshore. On Sundays, the volunteers dress in period clothes as they go about the chores of farm family of more than a century ago.
Pat and I met volunteer Alice Garba tending a vegetable patch downhill from the original farmhouse.
Alice plants veggies that were suitable for a farm in the late 1800s: peas, brown Dutch beans, Fisher soup beans, black Valentine string beans.
"They planted a lot of beans because they last all winter," she said. By winter's end people were eating a lot of beans.
"They can get pretty boring, so you want a mixture," she said.
Alice isn't quite sure why she does this backbreaking labor in her retirement years.
"I'm a country girl at heart," she said.
But, Alice a retired teacher, said she also does it for the school groups that visit the farm.
"The children today have no idea what it takes to put food on the table," she said.
STEEL TOWN
Right next to the national lakeshore, giant mills still produce steel. You can see the smoke rising from the stacks and smell the odors as you drive by.
 An abundant amount of steel mills and other factories scatter Lake Michigan shorelines of northern Indiana. This location would give factories the ability to transport material using the Great lakes or train rails located in their area.
Decades ago, the steel plants were Gary's lifeblood. More than 25,000 people worked at U.S. Steel. and more than 100,000 owed their living to the steel industry in some way, local residents say.
Today there are only about 7,000 steel workers here.
In a sense, Gary has come full cycle. I'm told it's the only large city in the U.S. that was started in the 20th Century.
"They built a mill here in 1906 and the city grew up around it," said Gene Coleman, a veteran steelworker from who lives in nearby Hobart.
Gene said the mills along the lakeshore are still the greatest concentration of steel manufacturing in the world.
Employment has dropped, but production has actually increased, he said.
Sounds like a lot of businesses these days.
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