COLUMN: Momo

Well, once again mass media appears to be missing the juiciest news of the day.

Sure, there's the Jan. 6 hearings, and the whole Supreme Court striking down Roe v. Wade thing. And OK, there's crippling inflation, soaring gas prices, and a plague of gun violence. And, yeah, can't forget about the actual plague and its eleventy new variants.

But, shockingly, nowhere in the top stories of the day can I find one single solitary mention of Bigfoot. It's a good thing you people have me around.

Yes, it's time for another Midwest cryptid alert. Well, not so much an alert as it is a celebration. This week marks an important anniversary that I knew absolutely nothing about until I just read about it. It's the 50th anniversary of the Mo Mo Monster!

It was this week in 1972 that a Bigfoot-like creature was seen terrorizing the residents of Louisiana, Missouri. No, that's a not a typo, and it's not two states. It's the town of Louisiana in the state of Missouri. Already this story makes a ton of sense.

Until today, I had no idea that Louisiana, Missouri existed, but it does — and in fact, it's along the Mississippi River just a few big-feet south of Hannibal. That means if the Mo Mo Monster got itself a rental car, it could be here in a matter of hours, people. I grew up thinking Yetis and Sasquatches were fantastical creatures roaming mythical mountaintops half the world away. Compared to Tibet, the Mo-Mo Monster is essentially in our backyard.

In July of 1972, several townspeople in Louisiana reported seeing Mo Mo atop what's now known as Star Hill. I looked up Star Hill on Google Maps, and it's a fairly believable claim. It has all the makings of a perfect Bigfoot habitat: There are trees, there's underbrush — and, yep, there's a trailer court. This is classic Bigfoot country if I've ever seen it.

Reportedly, the monster was tall, covered in dark fur, and emitted an awful smell. Some said they saw it holding the body of a dead animal in its hands (or paws or hooves or whatever Mo-Mos have.) After numerous townsfolk claimed to have witnessed the beast that night, several additional sightings and/or smellings were reported over the following week — enough for the local sheriff to mount a 20-man search party that revealed little more than a footprint of unknown origin and some disturbed grass.

I've watched enough episodes of "Finding Bigfoot" to know that disturbed grass combined with a footprint can only mean one possible thing: There's a 'Squatch in them hills.

On the grand scale of Midwest cryptids, I give Mo Mo a B-. The majority of the sightings happened 50 years ago, so even if Mo Mo was real, there's a chance he's long since gone to cryptid heaven, or at the very least, made his way to a far cooler locale than the Mississippi River valley. And he's not especially interesting when compared to other Midwest cryptids, like Iowa's Van Meter Visitor. I devoted a column to the Visitor last year, and that's my kind of monster. It's a flying bird-like creature that emits a blinding light from its head, and early reports had it flying off with full-size adult horses in its mouth. Nothing against Mo Mo, but if I had to pick a favorite between an upright dog that walks around with roadkill or a horse-eating dragon that shoots laser beams, I'm Team Van Meter Visitor all the way.

The town of Louisiana has had a love-hate relationship with Mo Mo. After the sighting, cryptid enthusiasts flocked to the small town to soak up the lore and try to catch a glimpse of their furry friend. For a time, the local Dairy Queen sold Momoburgers — presumably not made from actual Mo Mos. But others, like the schoolteacher who claims she knows the students who hoaxed the original sighting — have tried to rain on Mo Mo's parade.

Still, there are some convinced that the Mo Mo Monster is fully real and roaming around the countryside to this day. One of them is Doris Bliss, who was 15 years old when she saw Mo Mo back in 1972.

"I used to hate talking about it, because people made fun of me and stuff," she told a reporter for the Quincy Herald-Whig 10 years ago, "but now —  and you can pardon my French — they can kiss my ass. I saw what I saw, and I heard what I heard."

Fair enough, Doris. And this year, the townsfolk of Louisiana, Missouri, are embracing their cryptid pal: This October, the town's annual fall festival has been renamed the Show Me Mo Mo Fest. I know where I'm aimlessly driving to this fall. I'm sure the burgers will be momolicious.