The Hanniballians, if such they are called

Hannibal bristles with statues, tablets, posters, placards, and picture-postcards. They all have the same theme for a
subject—" Mark Twain ." The Hanniballians, if such they are called, are just as bad. I believe it is not possible for a stranger to be in Hannibal for five minutes without being told that Mark Twain was born there. If the " clerk" at the refreshment bar doesn't tell you, the man at the post office does. If the young " fellar " who pumps a couple of gallons of " gas " into your tank forgets to tell you, the old girl at the fruit-shop doesn't. They must have a secret code in Hannibal whereby they arrange these things. And I will guarantee there aren't two out of every dozen picture-postcards on sale in Hannibal that don't show Mark Twain's birthplace or his cave or his statue or his ass or his ox or something that he either did or did not " immortalize."
--C.K. Shepherd

I am sad to report that today Mark Twain has been largely forgotten in Hannibal.
We pondered this turn of fate at the Mark Twain Dinette, after a night spent at Mark Twain Caves Campground near Sawyer's Creek. We took a leisurely stroll past the Mark Twain Boyhood Home, and looked for signs of the author at the Mark Twain Museum and the New Mark Twain Museum (which is nearer the Mark Twain Hotel), all to no avail. I even asked the woman at the Hannibal Visitor Center if there was any sign here that the great man had ever existed, but she just laughed nervously.
The only real mention of him that I could find were several signs posted near the boyhood home, warning tourists that the museum employed no Mark Twain impersonators, but this is a common enough scam in these small mid-western towns, and it was likely just a coincidence.
We had to content ourselves with looking out at the Mississippi River, as Twain himself might have done from time to time, perhaps while he sat on the bench in the Mark Twain Park near the Mark Twain riverboat, under a statue of some riverboat pilot or other.