The Paris of the Plains
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Great. Now turn right and follow the sidewalk north. There’ll be stairs on your left. Take them and head to the small statue you’ll see among the trees.
The “City of Fountains” moniker has persisted, but “cow town,” “little Dixie,” and “river town” lie buried. And so does another: The Paris of the Plains. You don’t hear that around much anymore, unless it’s a branding thing. Once upon a time though, it was the siren call of Kansas City, the thing that made it what it was. For a while, just for a while. There’s an old joke that among the major cities in the United States, Kansas City is the only one that didn’t “do” prohibition.
But the reputation that Kansas City built during the roaring 20’s is preceded by a much more humble and populist politics that built it. It could only roar because its hind legs were dead set already.
Up to the top of the hill. Before we arrive at the great reveal, let’s take a look at one last curiosity, a literal monument to the idea of change without direction, this time brother to brother.
Walk so you see the front of the statue.
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