Summer came
You went
Away
To Rest
In waking
Hope
of finding
Life
At Peace
We joined
Hands
Held together
with Love
Time stopped
Eternity entered
One Year
Today
Monday, July 5, 2010
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Blackhawks Paradise
It was 1938. Two teens from Brighton Park ambled along Archer Avenue to the crux of this city: Chicago's Stadium; where North meets South. There these brothers bought what little they could afford, during the Depression; the cheap tickets of that Upper Deck. And they watched, witnessed our Blackhawks achieve Glory: the Stanley Cup.
Seventy Two years have intervened since they together sat there. And one most trying. Between last season's end and this, first Bob then Ken saw their final games.
Tonight I put up their pictures in front of the television set that my Grandpa and I experienced other significant sports events before. And we were all united again.
In France, there's a tradition that calls those sort of second balcony seats from which their eyes once looked upon an ice-y skating rink: "Paradise." As the Hawks hoisted the Cup tonight, I think of them together there celebrating in glory so long awaited; at last finally fulfilled.
Seventy Two years have intervened since they together sat there. And one most trying. Between last season's end and this, first Bob then Ken saw their final games.
Tonight I put up their pictures in front of the television set that my Grandpa and I experienced other significant sports events before. And we were all united again.
In France, there's a tradition that calls those sort of second balcony seats from which their eyes once looked upon an ice-y skating rink: "Paradise." As the Hawks hoisted the Cup tonight, I think of them together there celebrating in glory so long awaited; at last finally fulfilled.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Childhood Should Never Entirely End
Chicago's (well Melrose Park's) historic amusement park playground, Kiddieland, is closing. A cute little summer site, it has lasted 81 years. Opened in depression era times, it shutters (ironically) after a successful season when we again face serious economic concerns. Chicago once was host to several venues like this all around town. Some more grandiose (such as the legendary and oft talked about Riverview) others more parochial with their smaller settings and/or activity aligned in drawing from area neighborhoods. Kiddieland is the last of its kind around these parts. And, while there are certainly some of similar sort around the country, it's truly such a shame that this treasure is soon to be lost in quite as important a city as Chicago. Yes, there are the Six Flags' of the Earth. But they don't especially cater that well to the tiny tyke audience. Kiddieland was right sized for just enough to please small to medium sized kids (and the grown ups who accompanied them) very well. It will be significantly missed.
This, then, was the final weekend for the public to come visit an amazing, magical place.
I made it there Saturday night!
Given, I arrived later than one would have hoped. But I had to be in attendance. Honestly, I had no idea whether I would even get in. With an expected full house and then some, along with talk of an hour long wait to enter in recent weeks, my thought was that the best I'd get could be no more than to hang in the parking lot and watch it all unfold. Instead, the wait at the ticket stand was short and I entered straight away.
My instinct was to head for the Merry-Go-Round. But I knew that there were at least two things which I absolutely had to ride: the train and the roller coaster. So in line for the train I stood. It took about two trips around before I was finally in place to perhaps be on the next ride. The tried and true diesel unit which I rode so often as a child pulled out of the station. Then, out of nowhere - what was this? A sweet smelling (well to me, anyway) stack of smoke rising fast and furious. Yes, it was the steam unit which I first rode and hadn't seen in decades that was headed our way! I got to ride in the rear seat/observation car. Looking along the track back towards the tunnel, I saw the setting sun; its twilight piercing through and coating with warm gloamin' a last orange array onto the northern interior. How appropriate it appeared. Now, there's a bright white light coming our way. The diesel train was headed back around its final curve and approach. With a whistle, off we went through the parking lot, crossing again in the back section of rides, via a short underpass (I screamed) with vistas of other rides everywhere. Then around the landscaped section, past the statue bear, and into our last, long tunnel before returning home. I love trains! And this little thing helped to foster such a romance as a boy.
Alright, so a little trip down memory lane. Some things have changed over the years. A few of my favorite rides and games were updated to similar affairs with another spin contemporaneous. Such as the helicopter ride. It was this open egg shaped object with a spinner on top. When you pushed the rail in or out it went up or down. Now, it's flying elephants. And I don't know if I could possibly ever fit in.
Though, indeed, it must have been part of the fun back in the day for adults who weren't necessarily allowed to ride certain attractions alone. But if the child who there was with wasn't tall enough to qualify, the adult could accompany him.
I did manage to sneak into the Whip. Thank goodness my frame is not too oversized. I practically needed to contort to fit. But am I glad that I did. It is just as thrilling as so long ago.
Walking past the boats (which don't do much but float guided around in a controlled circle pond) was almost overwhelming. All the kids ringing bells onboard, just as I used to do. What beautiful music to my ears! And the tiny ferris wheel for little tykes. Unlike any other I've ever seen. I don't think anyone over two feet tall or thereabout could even fit in it. Nor does it go high. Barely above adult heads. But it is right sized for someone that small. Yes, we must be able to think like little children and put ourselves into their miniature shoes in order to relate and connect.
Ah, there it is! The Little Dipper. Kiddieland's classic wooden roller coaster. Just like I recall. Only it appears smaller since I've grown tall. Still, it is a joy. One of the longest lines for it, also. With only a few cars and one train on the two minute ride, our trek towards its track moves fast, but seems so slow. This just builds the anticipation. "Will it be worth it?" I wondered while approaching. Indeed, it was. Even on a ride which isn't the kind of wild grandiose which might be found at Six Flags, the dips get you screaming with fear and joy while your stomach drops. (I'm glad I didn't stop at the pizza stand like I thought about.)
What else to do? Tilt a Whirl? Bumper Cars? German Carousel? So many things, so little time. First, a little walk through the arcade. Maybe a game of skee ball? Hey, there's the CLOWN! No, not one in real life. But the picturesque carving of a beautiful whiteface which has graced this park for so many years. You know, I thought, Mark Renfro (noted Ringling makeup man) would be thrilled at seeing such a face!
Alright, the old Octopus Ride (which I never really liked) doesn't have too many people in line. That's the ticket! Oh, and it's made to look like a frog. One woman told some children before the ride began that she first rode it when she was about their age. "Now I'm 50!" It jumped right up and down making me feel all ribbitty!
It was in this line where I struck up some conversation with the others around me. How sad it was that we were losing this treasure. Why couldn't someone save it? How good it was to see these women with their children (of a good variety in ages) there on this important family outting. Another lady got behind me in line for my next ride (the Scrambler - a long time favorite.) She had her young son (about 4 perhaps) in tow. They had been at the park earlier in the year and returned for this final foray of play. All afternoon and now well into the evening they spent together. She related how she was just trying to give him the best of memories. They rode a couple of the thrills numerous times. He even insisted that he wanted to ride a certain train with which he was well acquainted. I assured her that he would appreciate it all in the years to come and recall such a wonderful day when he grew up - just as I now do.
This latter thought got me a bit melancholy, however. I remembered the times I was taken there as a child by family and friends. Some of the closet of them are now deceased. Indeed, just this summer my grandfather passed away. I can still see him standing nearby, probably taking those same sort of photographs. Or even riding certain attractions, too. Similarly, my mother and her friend (both gone) who drove us there one summer night. I even recall the late model used Cadillac and music on her pal's car radio. I'm misty at not having a child of my own in tow today, then, to share the experience and pass it along to yet another generation in true familial spirit.
So many people there. Everything from those returning who once came as kids to the fresh faced youngsters on their first visit. Now children of, genuinely, "all ages" 1 to 100 - I saw every decade in attendance. Adults who love theme parks, for instance, wanted video and the front seat on our roller coaster trip. The young boy whom was receiving so much love, attention, and kisses from his mother. The slightly older kids (preteens) who were a bit more mature in their own plan of attack. No first time visitors were these. The girls who chatted on their train ride about what boy would be a good first kiss and where the best place for a date might find itself. The returning adults who reminisced. We all shared this weekend day and night together.
My last ride was another reminiscence, of sorts. When I was little the park had miniature tractors which could be taken around a track. Eventually, these were replaced with classic styled cars on a larger driveway. I kind of preferred the old tractors, but this ride was grander and adult adaptable. My grandfather drove a truck for a living, so I always dreamed about driving like him whenever using these. And I got to revisit it again. My awkwardness on the track tonight was attributable to sightseeing while I drove. Thank goodness they are tethered to a guide rail which doesn't let you get too far off course. Along the stretch run, I passed the train and we all waved to each other.
But it was almost Eight. Rumors abounded as to what would happen when the clock struck. Would everything just shut down? Might those in lines be allowed to get their ultimate ride? Perhaps, because of the large crowd and special occasion, they'd actually let us stay till Nine? Nervously, we waited, wondering, and hoped for an extension of our evening. Before I had a chance to discern, it all seemed to stop. Lines were shut down. I might have been able to jump onto the bumper cars. But I was in a desperate dash for the carousel. No such luck. A young lady positioned at the entrance informed everyone that the ride was closing and only those still in line would be allowed a turn on its wheel. So I sauntered a bit. Saw the crowds disperse, the rides come to an end. "Hey, there's still space for us on this last go round!" I tried to talk my way on (back by the carved horses again.) She wouldn't budge. But we had a nice conversation as I watched it operate one final time. Spinning splendid - it slowly came to a halt. I applauded.
Time to leave. But I didn't want to. Childhood should never entirely end.
Hey, I can still get some ice cream. And a souvenir. They had pins for sale. One was of the lighted sign outside. A candy cane like pole with a boy and girl climbing atop the themepark's name scrawled in neon rainbow across: "Kiddieland." Another (which I just had to have) was a sort of comedy/tragedy scene: the smiling whiteface aforementioned alongside another historic carving of the sad tramp.
Not a lot of other people wanted to go, either. But the once filled grounds eventually thinned. I encountered that lady with her little boy at least three times in just twenty minutes as we all inched closer to the gate. There stood and greeted everyone in gratitude the family owner/operators - signing autographs, taking pictures, shaking hands. I got them to each and all sign my ticket stub. As I left, I told one how much I appreciated all that they have done for so many years. "And thank you for coming," she replied. "You're all part of the family!"
I smiled and spoke: "That feels so good to hear!" For family is truly what Kiddieland has always brought together and long been all about in so many lives.
This, then, was the final weekend for the public to come visit an amazing, magical place.
I made it there Saturday night!
Given, I arrived later than one would have hoped. But I had to be in attendance. Honestly, I had no idea whether I would even get in. With an expected full house and then some, along with talk of an hour long wait to enter in recent weeks, my thought was that the best I'd get could be no more than to hang in the parking lot and watch it all unfold. Instead, the wait at the ticket stand was short and I entered straight away.
My instinct was to head for the Merry-Go-Round. But I knew that there were at least two things which I absolutely had to ride: the train and the roller coaster. So in line for the train I stood. It took about two trips around before I was finally in place to perhaps be on the next ride. The tried and true diesel unit which I rode so often as a child pulled out of the station. Then, out of nowhere - what was this? A sweet smelling (well to me, anyway) stack of smoke rising fast and furious. Yes, it was the steam unit which I first rode and hadn't seen in decades that was headed our way! I got to ride in the rear seat/observation car. Looking along the track back towards the tunnel, I saw the setting sun; its twilight piercing through and coating with warm gloamin' a last orange array onto the northern interior. How appropriate it appeared. Now, there's a bright white light coming our way. The diesel train was headed back around its final curve and approach. With a whistle, off we went through the parking lot, crossing again in the back section of rides, via a short underpass (I screamed) with vistas of other rides everywhere. Then around the landscaped section, past the statue bear, and into our last, long tunnel before returning home. I love trains! And this little thing helped to foster such a romance as a boy.
Alright, so a little trip down memory lane. Some things have changed over the years. A few of my favorite rides and games were updated to similar affairs with another spin contemporaneous. Such as the helicopter ride. It was this open egg shaped object with a spinner on top. When you pushed the rail in or out it went up or down. Now, it's flying elephants. And I don't know if I could possibly ever fit in.
Though, indeed, it must have been part of the fun back in the day for adults who weren't necessarily allowed to ride certain attractions alone. But if the child who there was with wasn't tall enough to qualify, the adult could accompany him.
I did manage to sneak into the Whip. Thank goodness my frame is not too oversized. I practically needed to contort to fit. But am I glad that I did. It is just as thrilling as so long ago.
Walking past the boats (which don't do much but float guided around in a controlled circle pond) was almost overwhelming. All the kids ringing bells onboard, just as I used to do. What beautiful music to my ears! And the tiny ferris wheel for little tykes. Unlike any other I've ever seen. I don't think anyone over two feet tall or thereabout could even fit in it. Nor does it go high. Barely above adult heads. But it is right sized for someone that small. Yes, we must be able to think like little children and put ourselves into their miniature shoes in order to relate and connect.
Ah, there it is! The Little Dipper. Kiddieland's classic wooden roller coaster. Just like I recall. Only it appears smaller since I've grown tall. Still, it is a joy. One of the longest lines for it, also. With only a few cars and one train on the two minute ride, our trek towards its track moves fast, but seems so slow. This just builds the anticipation. "Will it be worth it?" I wondered while approaching. Indeed, it was. Even on a ride which isn't the kind of wild grandiose which might be found at Six Flags, the dips get you screaming with fear and joy while your stomach drops. (I'm glad I didn't stop at the pizza stand like I thought about.)
What else to do? Tilt a Whirl? Bumper Cars? German Carousel? So many things, so little time. First, a little walk through the arcade. Maybe a game of skee ball? Hey, there's the CLOWN! No, not one in real life. But the picturesque carving of a beautiful whiteface which has graced this park for so many years. You know, I thought, Mark Renfro (noted Ringling makeup man) would be thrilled at seeing such a face!
Alright, the old Octopus Ride (which I never really liked) doesn't have too many people in line. That's the ticket! Oh, and it's made to look like a frog. One woman told some children before the ride began that she first rode it when she was about their age. "Now I'm 50!" It jumped right up and down making me feel all ribbitty!
It was in this line where I struck up some conversation with the others around me. How sad it was that we were losing this treasure. Why couldn't someone save it? How good it was to see these women with their children (of a good variety in ages) there on this important family outting. Another lady got behind me in line for my next ride (the Scrambler - a long time favorite.) She had her young son (about 4 perhaps) in tow. They had been at the park earlier in the year and returned for this final foray of play. All afternoon and now well into the evening they spent together. She related how she was just trying to give him the best of memories. They rode a couple of the thrills numerous times. He even insisted that he wanted to ride a certain train with which he was well acquainted. I assured her that he would appreciate it all in the years to come and recall such a wonderful day when he grew up - just as I now do.
This latter thought got me a bit melancholy, however. I remembered the times I was taken there as a child by family and friends. Some of the closet of them are now deceased. Indeed, just this summer my grandfather passed away. I can still see him standing nearby, probably taking those same sort of photographs. Or even riding certain attractions, too. Similarly, my mother and her friend (both gone) who drove us there one summer night. I even recall the late model used Cadillac and music on her pal's car radio. I'm misty at not having a child of my own in tow today, then, to share the experience and pass it along to yet another generation in true familial spirit.
So many people there. Everything from those returning who once came as kids to the fresh faced youngsters on their first visit. Now children of, genuinely, "all ages" 1 to 100 - I saw every decade in attendance. Adults who love theme parks, for instance, wanted video and the front seat on our roller coaster trip. The young boy whom was receiving so much love, attention, and kisses from his mother. The slightly older kids (preteens) who were a bit more mature in their own plan of attack. No first time visitors were these. The girls who chatted on their train ride about what boy would be a good first kiss and where the best place for a date might find itself. The returning adults who reminisced. We all shared this weekend day and night together.
My last ride was another reminiscence, of sorts. When I was little the park had miniature tractors which could be taken around a track. Eventually, these were replaced with classic styled cars on a larger driveway. I kind of preferred the old tractors, but this ride was grander and adult adaptable. My grandfather drove a truck for a living, so I always dreamed about driving like him whenever using these. And I got to revisit it again. My awkwardness on the track tonight was attributable to sightseeing while I drove. Thank goodness they are tethered to a guide rail which doesn't let you get too far off course. Along the stretch run, I passed the train and we all waved to each other.
But it was almost Eight. Rumors abounded as to what would happen when the clock struck. Would everything just shut down? Might those in lines be allowed to get their ultimate ride? Perhaps, because of the large crowd and special occasion, they'd actually let us stay till Nine? Nervously, we waited, wondering, and hoped for an extension of our evening. Before I had a chance to discern, it all seemed to stop. Lines were shut down. I might have been able to jump onto the bumper cars. But I was in a desperate dash for the carousel. No such luck. A young lady positioned at the entrance informed everyone that the ride was closing and only those still in line would be allowed a turn on its wheel. So I sauntered a bit. Saw the crowds disperse, the rides come to an end. "Hey, there's still space for us on this last go round!" I tried to talk my way on (back by the carved horses again.) She wouldn't budge. But we had a nice conversation as I watched it operate one final time. Spinning splendid - it slowly came to a halt. I applauded.
Time to leave. But I didn't want to. Childhood should never entirely end.
Hey, I can still get some ice cream. And a souvenir. They had pins for sale. One was of the lighted sign outside. A candy cane like pole with a boy and girl climbing atop the themepark's name scrawled in neon rainbow across: "Kiddieland." Another (which I just had to have) was a sort of comedy/tragedy scene: the smiling whiteface aforementioned alongside another historic carving of the sad tramp.
Not a lot of other people wanted to go, either. But the once filled grounds eventually thinned. I encountered that lady with her little boy at least three times in just twenty minutes as we all inched closer to the gate. There stood and greeted everyone in gratitude the family owner/operators - signing autographs, taking pictures, shaking hands. I got them to each and all sign my ticket stub. As I left, I told one how much I appreciated all that they have done for so many years. "And thank you for coming," she replied. "You're all part of the family!"
I smiled and spoke: "That feels so good to hear!" For family is truly what Kiddieland has always brought together and long been all about in so many lives.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Fallen Foot Soldiers
Late last night
After Nine
I strolled out to the stop
and waited
for my bus to come by
Standing there
I spied
Darkly donned
Mourners
Fronting the funeral parlor
So I wandered
Down the block
and peeked
into the window
where I read
"Rabbit"
A familiar name
I knew
that speedy
sixteen inch softball player
But, "Who was he?"
I wondered
As I walked away
Then two steps, three
It suddenly came to me
The Precinct Captain:
Tommy!
Long had I seen him around
Our polling place
Since just a little child
When he'd pinch my nose away
In youthful play
Pretending
With his thumb
He held it tightly with his hand
To tease
Voting Day games
Electoral entertaining
Intriguing an impressionable
Citizen kid
One day
Old enough
To cast the ballot
Now, I
would come through the door
He'd be there - waiting
We'd wave hi
"You know him?"
The judges would, surprisingly, ask
"Of course!"
We have an awfully long time
Neighbors know
Neighbors
And help, yes support
The Chicago Way
It ain't all that bad
I opened the door,
but now another,
Passed
Unto the box where he's cast
Looking on
To touch his casket
And an Ave
Hailed up
The Petition
With his family
Memorialize, share, support
As of always
From the parish
Today, yes,
The Church
Shall yield him last rest - his reward
As fallen foot soldiers
Are carried on home
After Nine
I strolled out to the stop
and waited
for my bus to come by
Standing there
I spied
Darkly donned
Mourners
Fronting the funeral parlor
So I wandered
Down the block
and peeked
into the window
where I read
"Rabbit"
A familiar name
I knew
that speedy
sixteen inch softball player
But, "Who was he?"
I wondered
As I walked away
Then two steps, three
It suddenly came to me
The Precinct Captain:
Tommy!
Long had I seen him around
Our polling place
Since just a little child
When he'd pinch my nose away
In youthful play
Pretending
With his thumb
He held it tightly with his hand
To tease
Voting Day games
Electoral entertaining
Intriguing an impressionable
Citizen kid
One day
Old enough
To cast the ballot
Now, I
would come through the door
He'd be there - waiting
We'd wave hi
"You know him?"
The judges would, surprisingly, ask
"Of course!"
We have an awfully long time
Neighbors know
Neighbors
And help, yes support
The Chicago Way
It ain't all that bad
I opened the door,
but now another,
Passed
Unto the box where he's cast
Looking on
To touch his casket
And an Ave
Hailed up
The Petition
With his family
Memorialize, share, support
As of always
From the parish
Today, yes,
The Church
Shall yield him last rest - his reward
As fallen foot soldiers
Are carried on home
Monday, June 1, 2009
A Pair of Poems
Some poetic reflections relating to the season for you today:
The Scent of Spring
The scent of Spring
Pierces
Through the crispness of this night
Blooming refreshment
Flowers
Awesome enlivening in the air
Rain awakens
the Earth
Green grass glistens
Within worms crawl
Up shoots the tree's
Soft wood
Reaches outward
to fingertips
of vibrant, young leaves
Growing
So tender, verdant yet
Birds chirp
Announcing
Warmth
of new daylight
Stretching its horizons
as Solstice comes into sight
Feeling the Sting
Bees abuzz
Pollinating
Young love
Blossoms
The Scent of Spring
The scent of Spring
Pierces
Through the crispness of this night
Blooming refreshment
Flowers
Awesome enlivening in the air
Rain awakens
the Earth
Green grass glistens
Within worms crawl
Up shoots the tree's
Soft wood
Reaches outward
to fingertips
of vibrant, young leaves
Growing
So tender, verdant yet
Birds chirp
Announcing
Warmth
of new daylight
Stretching its horizons
as Solstice comes into sight
Feeling the Sting
Bees abuzz
Pollinating
Young love
Blossoms
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Station Movement
Dusk settles
Thursday night
Downtown darkness
Soon shall I see
Train Departs
South
Outta town
True to Schedule
Daily marks
Standing on the Street
Ancient Station facade
Brown bottom stone
Baked brick
Red rises
Tall atop
Clock Tower
Watching
Down Dearborn
All the Way
Onlooking
Through the years
Witness to this city
Passed; Still
Continues counting
Enter inside
Showcase
Monty Trio
Texture tones
Thoughtful, tender
To delight
Alexander's rich rhythms
Jazz time
Thursday night
Downtown darkness
Soon shall I see
Train Departs
South
Outta town
True to Schedule
Daily marks
Standing on the Street
Ancient Station facade
Brown bottom stone
Baked brick
Red rises
Tall atop
Clock Tower
Watching
Down Dearborn
All the Way
Onlooking
Through the years
Witness to this city
Passed; Still
Continues counting
Enter inside
Showcase
Monty Trio
Texture tones
Thoughtful, tender
To delight
Alexander's rich rhythms
Jazz time
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Take It Easy But Take It
Studs Terkel passed yesterday. Ninety Six years of age. Timeless still.
Others can tribute the man nicknamed after Lonigan better than I. Were just a few of our own time as thoughtful, articulate. We've lost someone who taught us so much, who brought out our best. But less than loss is this. For because of one Chicagoan great, we've gained. Imagination. Hope. Conversation. A listening ear.
Here's what I learned from Studs. How to elevate my fellow man, the world around me. How to humbly observe. Creatively articulate. Represent that which life offers us all.
As I write this reflection, I listen on WFMT to the accomplishment so excellent, "This Train." His travelogue and interviews from the traveling trip, the journey, nay pilgrimage of the 1963 Civil Rights march in Washington, D.C. Radio which brings it all to life. Or is it that it brings life to all?
Last year I rode the rails, also. We all should sometime. My trip was not as important as his. But instructive it was. I wrote following then and share my experience with you here. Thus shall witness as my own story told. This, then, in my thanks to Studs.
Others can tribute the man nicknamed after Lonigan better than I. Were just a few of our own time as thoughtful, articulate. We've lost someone who taught us so much, who brought out our best. But less than loss is this. For because of one Chicagoan great, we've gained. Imagination. Hope. Conversation. A listening ear.
Here's what I learned from Studs. How to elevate my fellow man, the world around me. How to humbly observe. Creatively articulate. Represent that which life offers us all.
As I write this reflection, I listen on WFMT to the accomplishment so excellent, "This Train." His travelogue and interviews from the traveling trip, the journey, nay pilgrimage of the 1963 Civil Rights march in Washington, D.C. Radio which brings it all to life. Or is it that it brings life to all?
Last year I rode the rails, also. We all should sometime. My trip was not as important as his. But instructive it was. I wrote following then and share my experience with you here. Thus shall witness as my own story told. This, then, in my thanks to Studs.
There's something thrilling about a train. It has that certain charm.
So I decided to take a trip. And I thought about...chocolate. Well, we WERE headed off to Hershey for the annual CFA (circus fans) convention.
Train travel isn't all too hip anymore. Drive, have "personal space"; or "get there fast" (in our immediate environment) on the airlines.
But what about slowing down a bit, relaxing, enjoying the flowers - and trees? No, Amtrak doesn't always run "on time" (and our experience was no exception). But perhaps that is the point. Now, given, were rail to ever become a popular mode of mass transit again in the United States, priority would have to be given to this service. And it's tough waiting, stopped in the middle of who knows where. Yet leisure is the ultimate end of life well lived.
A train provides that sense of "journey"; movement through time and place. "Getting there is half the fun," goes the saying, as that's where the excitement is.
Now, that's not always to say excitement is enjoyable, as was the frustrating case in leaving Chicago late. Still, you discover opportunities in the setbacks. I found an old private rail car awaiting, also, it's own departure on another track. I witnessed the City of New Orleans board passengers homeward bound. The carman and I spoke about his travels and work. Back aboard the car I was assigned, someone spotted a sight not expected. "Is that a BOAT?" she wondered, "...or have I been awake on trains too long?" "The river runs next to this track", I assured her, and all with the world was well.
Into the night, we wandered. Through the industrial center along the lake. Bridges abound on railroads, rivers everywhere. Heavy steel; rail; girders, smog. Smells which permeate through. Then darkness fell.
Waaaaaaaah, waaaaaaah, wa, waaaaaaaaah! You hear the horn: blowing, coaxing you into a tranquil state. That last car rocks, sways you to sleep. Or so it should. But this fan was overtired and couldn't much nod off.
The nice thing about a trip on rails is the ability to spread out some. Walking through the cars one will encounter travelers from everywhere along the route. Pennsylvania, east and west; Ohio; Indiana here. Not to mention those returning from locations out west. Each person a story of his own.
I made it to the lounge car where we sat spread out. Another man from Chicago was visiting with his British friend. Headed to a wedding were they. Why not fly, we pondered? Well, everyone has their reasons, but often a preference for rail prevails. You see the country one mile at a time, you get to know your fellow man. The earth draws a little closer. Experienced travelers some, others riding once, perhaps their last time, though. You love it or you leave it. The travel catches your imagination or gets cultivated. The best of many options, perhaps.
Ohio is relatively flat in places, but pretty. Lots of countryside. Our late arriving train to Pittsburgh allowed my tired eyes to witness this. The river vast lead us to the city's significant sites. Sports arenas abound on this route, I found. Sox Park in Chicago, the Cleveland Browns Stadium, now PNC in Pittsburgh parallels the tracks.
Time for a change of trains.
"I'm Pennsylvania bound!" Headlong into the mountains we go. For a city kid from Chicago it's quite the sight. A hill to me merely means something at the park for children sledding. But now I saw heights everywhere. Appalachia embraces with her mountainous arms, enveloping you inside the earth. We're part of something larger, I see - a small part, but secure within it's love.
The rustic river of Johnstown is gorgeous to behold. Now I wouldn't want to drink from it, but looking is divine. Never have my eyes seen such a sight. There's faith in this town, I witness. Everywhere slender towers topped with little domes' gilded glimmer, guiding ever East. Old buildings, factories, take me back in time to an era I thought no more existed. But there it was, still standing.
Through the tunnels, up the incline, then to that magical place. Horseshoe Curve lets you take a turn; a poignant accomplishment, indeed. For now, I feel, we have made it to the other side.
Altoona's stop is next. It is nice to see the tribute to rail's involvement and history throughout the state. Here there lines the track rail cars from days of yore. A fitting thing, and lovely to look at. To Altoona I must return.
Anxious to get to my alightment, I count the minutes, the miles. At last! The Susquehana - now it won't be long. Freight trains are passing. Aha, there is the yard! Soon Ringling Red will reside in it.
Quaint town, traditional station: "Harrisburg!" We're here. I find it lovely and would like to linger longer.
But the journey must continue. A foot stepped onto the platform here, only a whistle stop may I pause. Hershey lies ahead. Destinations' call.
Friday, October 10, 2008
It's October
Today is the anniversary of Oscar Brown, Jr.'s birth. This Chicago legend (who we lost in 2005) offered such important contributions which will only, perhaps, be fully appreciated in the decades to come. (Not unlike many an important artist, historically.)
I've been commemorating the occasion by listening to his recordings more closely while delving deeply into some lesser known parts of his body of work. Among these gems is a poignant piece, entitled, "It's October." I offer my transcription of lyric alone here:
Season changes scene
And leafy shades of green
Go golden red and brown
Then wither, flutter down
To clutter up the lawn
Another Summer's gone
Old Winter's comin' on
It's October
It's October
A bracing Autumn breeze
Makes dancers of the trees
And nipping at my nose
It pokes about my clothes
For openings and rips
Inside of which it slips
It's frosty fingertips
It's October
It's October
October's I have known
The colors they have shown
In beautiful displays
On Indian Summer days
The booting of a ball
The harvest moons and all
Fragrance of the Fall
It's October
It's October
The seasons of our lives
That later on arrives
They seem so sad to some
But, nonetheless, must come
If only we'll arrange
When life turns cool and strange
To gloriously change
It's October
It's October
And, along a similar line, this spot on reflection of his latter years:
I've been commemorating the occasion by listening to his recordings more closely while delving deeply into some lesser known parts of his body of work. Among these gems is a poignant piece, entitled, "It's October." I offer my transcription of lyric alone here:
Season changes scene
And leafy shades of green
Go golden red and brown
Then wither, flutter down
To clutter up the lawn
Another Summer's gone
Old Winter's comin' on
It's October
It's October
A bracing Autumn breeze
Makes dancers of the trees
And nipping at my nose
It pokes about my clothes
For openings and rips
Inside of which it slips
It's frosty fingertips
It's October
It's October
October's I have known
The colors they have shown
In beautiful displays
On Indian Summer days
The booting of a ball
The harvest moons and all
Fragrance of the Fall
It's October
It's October
The seasons of our lives
That later on arrives
They seem so sad to some
But, nonetheless, must come
If only we'll arrange
When life turns cool and strange
To gloriously change
It's October
It's October
And, along a similar line, this spot on reflection of his latter years:
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Go Cubs Go (Sox)
Before they both fall out of postseason play....
... let me share this:
Two legendary Chicago pianist/vocalists go at it politely as Judy Roberts (Northside Cubs fan) plays and sings "Go Cubs Go" and Audrey Morris (Southside Sox fan) responds in time - cheering for her own team and heckling the Cubs.
... let me share this:
Two legendary Chicago pianist/vocalists go at it politely as Judy Roberts (Northside Cubs fan) plays and sings "Go Cubs Go" and Audrey Morris (Southside Sox fan) responds in time - cheering for her own team and heckling the Cubs.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Lights On In October
The year was 1906. Cubs versus Sox. And, well, things haven't always been too hot many years which followed. Yes, the Cubs had a couple more World Series appearances thereafter. And the Sox were solid until the scandal of 1919. Those Damn Yankees always held them back, even in better seasons once the New Yorkers' new (now old) stadium got built and a guy named Ruth came around.
But a renaissance is occurring. 2005 was a banner year on the South Side of Chicago. The Cubs are in postseason two years in a row - a first in our fine town since anytime you might remember.
1906 featured day games only. But this year, the lights will likely shine both Northside and South. It's a sight I never thought my eyes would witness.
This season is something special. Who knows how far the rivals will advance. Still, it's a sight to behold and treasure every step along the way. One would hope this could become an annual occurence. But with our sports teams' history, neither will I trust it shall. Instead, I'm enjoying the experience.
Special experiences. Isn't that, in some sense, what life is about?
And what more special than baseball?
Perhaps a once in a lifetime chance comes with the tiebreaker game. It doesn't have to happen all that often. Much less involving your city's team. To boot, the home team is determined by a coin flip which gets thrown late season "just in case." An odd evolving of events over the last week of this season ended with the Sox and Twins both in first. Yet only one could make the playoffs. So the ritual for determining a Central Division Champ was set into place.
Yes, Tuesday, September 30, 2008 may have been a "blackout." But the lights will certainly shine on North side and South in Chicago October this, is true. May they meet at the end of the month!
But a renaissance is occurring. 2005 was a banner year on the South Side of Chicago. The Cubs are in postseason two years in a row - a first in our fine town since anytime you might remember.
1906 featured day games only. But this year, the lights will likely shine both Northside and South. It's a sight I never thought my eyes would witness.
This season is something special. Who knows how far the rivals will advance. Still, it's a sight to behold and treasure every step along the way. One would hope this could become an annual occurence. But with our sports teams' history, neither will I trust it shall. Instead, I'm enjoying the experience.
Special experiences. Isn't that, in some sense, what life is about?
And what more special than baseball?
Perhaps a once in a lifetime chance comes with the tiebreaker game. It doesn't have to happen all that often. Much less involving your city's team. To boot, the home team is determined by a coin flip which gets thrown late season "just in case." An odd evolving of events over the last week of this season ended with the Sox and Twins both in first. Yet only one could make the playoffs. So the ritual for determining a Central Division Champ was set into place.
The date, first, was postponed by another rarity: a rainout played end of season only "if necessary." A weekend of rain which threatened to keep the Tigers and PaleHose from playing ANY of their three game set in mid-September left one game outstanding. And the Sox had to win. They did, on yet another rainy day. Which brought the team from Minneapolis to the Cell. Better on our home turf that theirs - where White Sox never fare too well.
I got a ticket to the game! A lousy seat it was. Behind a pole in upper deck where home plate is obstructed. Some kindly fan did not show up. So I moved down the row. Ah, that's much better!
Now, sometimes fans just mess around. They do the wave. They eat. It's fun, I suppose, but not about the game. This night was different. Absolutely intense. No one dared miss a pitch. Even in running to do your duty or buy a beer, every pitch; every out was sought to be seen. And a sight of itself was the "blackout", with fans asked to wear their team's color of note. Good guys (and girls) all the stadium round was fancied with darkness. And on the concourse, the outfield deck, even fundamentals porch stood nothing but fans, fans, fans.
"Let us duel!" For our honor, for the right to move on, till death may the best team win. Two pitchers in tight battle gave up hardly a hit. And excitement it came when they did. Could Ken Griffey, the son, in this twilight of career toss out that Twin from third to home running hard? On one hop, rightly placed, pegged by A.J. he did, as the catcher carried Cuddayer out to tag.
There was Nancy playing poignant Na Na Na Na Hey Hey, Take Me Out To The Ballgame, Goodbye. Then came Thome to bat and a point with his stick - center field - just like Ruth once foretold. Here's the pitch, and it's hit, flying far, flying fast - this Southsider hero now on an otherwise cold evening heated up fans to a flame so intense - but one run all it held.
Now, sometimes fans just mess around. They do the wave. They eat. It's fun, I suppose, but not about the game. This night was different. Absolutely intense. No one dared miss a pitch. Even in running to do your duty or buy a beer, every pitch; every out was sought to be seen. And a sight of itself was the "blackout", with fans asked to wear their team's color of note. Good guys (and girls) all the stadium round was fancied with darkness. And on the concourse, the outfield deck, even fundamentals porch stood nothing but fans, fans, fans.
"Let us duel!" For our honor, for the right to move on, till death may the best team win. Two pitchers in tight battle gave up hardly a hit. And excitement it came when they did. Could Ken Griffey, the son, in this twilight of career toss out that Twin from third to home running hard? On one hop, rightly placed, pegged by A.J. he did, as the catcher carried Cuddayer out to tag.
There was Nancy playing poignant Na Na Na Na Hey Hey, Take Me Out To The Ballgame, Goodbye. Then came Thome to bat and a point with his stick - center field - just like Ruth once foretold. Here's the pitch, and it's hit, flying far, flying fast - this Southsider hero now on an otherwise cold evening heated up fans to a flame so intense - but one run all it held.
'Twas enough for John Danks who threw brilliantly, till the 8th. One man on, one man out, this threat tying run stilled for a moment the crowd with concern. Then came the cry of a clown. "Goooooooooooooooooooo!" pierced the stands - just like Andy once did - built the cheers, the excitement, then that classic call, "YOU! WHITESOX!" clarion. "Whack!" on next pitch: doubleplay.
Bobby Jenks took the ball. Here's one out, now it's two. Then the hit out onto center field. Diving in Anderson nabbed it and "Hey Hey!" Jack, "Holy Cow!" Harry, Hawk tell me, "YES!" "That's a White Sox Winner" Rooney would say. One run us - shutout. Let's celebrate! Dance! Champagne! Sing!
Bobby Jenks took the ball. Here's one out, now it's two. Then the hit out onto center field. Diving in Anderson nabbed it and "Hey Hey!" Jack, "Holy Cow!" Harry, Hawk tell me, "YES!" "That's a White Sox Winner" Rooney would say. One run us - shutout. Let's celebrate! Dance! Champagne! Sing!
An environment like no other. Of it I was a grateful part. Postgame party onfield and in stands lasted so long. Something special to tell generations to be. Winning tradition, long may it live!
Yes, Tuesday, September 30, 2008 may have been a "blackout." But the lights will certainly shine on North side and South in Chicago October this, is true. May they meet at the end of the month!
Friday, February 8, 2008
Passing Sadness
Summer, 2006:
I was attending the Logan Square based variety show, Vaudeville Underground one evening. A performer got up on a freestanding ladder and told stories from on high. "An interesting interlude," I thought. Next time I saw him at the same show, a month or two later, the ladder was employed once more. But this time in an entirely different manner. Here, a fast paced, well developed comedy act erupted on the floor of the Glade Memorial Hall Gym (er, I mean "Shangri-La Room.")
"Who is this guy?" one was left to wonder. Well, I got to chatting with him after the entree. A circus performer, 8th generation, who was continuing the tradition in varied environs, had moved to Chicago I found out. His name: Ottavio.
Ottavio became noted on the local scene as someone with unique talents not often witnessed. But, more than this, he was respected for his willingness to share and help others along. I can certainly attest to this. For, while I didn't get to know him particularly well, we would inevitably cross paths. He was always so personable, ready to reach out, listen to some concern, offer insight. And he asked for observations, also. Here, I discovered, was an artist on a dedicated path to growth who wanted to know what his audience thought and might provide in making his own presentations continually better. It isn't everyday you come across someone like him.
Last Friday night, February First, a tribute was held at Evanston's Actor's Gymnasium. There gathered were many of the people who had come to know him here and beyond throughout his life. A special occasion, much needed at the moment, in tribute of performance and reminiscence of story - the two things which Ottavio always loved to share of himself.
In this same auditorium, he premiered last year "A Clown Without A Circus" - his one man show. Now, twelve months later, he is no longer with us. At the age of 37 Ottavio, sadly, took his life. He is missed by so many. Yet the joy which he brought to our hearts, our lives, will long carry on to be shared just as it was this significant night.
I got up to talk at one point, as we were all invited to do. My offering was the reading of a review which I wrote at the time of the aforementioned show. I thought it aptly summed up something about how he spoke to me as an artist and even what his very life was about. Here, then, I would like to share it for your own appreciation, also, in honor of Ottavio.
"I wanna run away and join the circus!"
It's the eternal cry of every child.
But what's it like for someone who DID grow up living the circus life? In his show, A Clown Without A Circus, Ottavio Canestrelli offers us a reality check.
All one can ask of an artist (all the more so a clown) is that he honestly bare himself. In the end, this is what provides most interesting to an audience, the sharing of one's story. And, indeed, here is where the work has it's greatest value.
Ottavio is an 8th generation circus performer who toured with his family's act for two decades while growing up. As his parents grew on in years and his siblings left the circus life for other careers, he had a decision to make as to his own direction.
The show starts with him falling out of the sky. A voice asks if he remembers where he was? "Selling insurance!" he replies. But, no, the voice implores him to dig deeper. He then turns to the audience and breaks the 4th wall (thus establishing an important connection and relationship with us that proves essential in order to appreciate and care about what he has to tell). "Do you really want to know?" 'Deed we do!
Over the next hour, we are treated to stories of his experiences: from that of his first ring act (with twin brother Oreste), to how his mom and dad met, an animal act which escaped (along with a capturing effort that turned out to be a better act than the escaped monkey's typical show job), even a satire on the Nazi soldiers who forced his family into it's army employ as entertainment. Using impressionistic characterization, Ottavio brings each one of the tales to life with a believability that puts you there again as if you were watching it unfold for the first time.
Intertwined throughout it all is an expansive display of circus arts. Canestrelli shows his skills in acrobatics, falls, balancing, handstand, single trapeze, a specialized stilt which enables jumping and flips; he employs hat tricks, basic contortion with a chair, and demonstrates how the Germans might have employed their secret weapon with his "big ball". Above all comedy thrives. The final act is developed around an outstanding unsupported ladder bit.
Musical selections (many traditional or folksy in style) complement each act appropriately, helping to keep the audience entranced and well involved in each passing moment, while bringing out something more about the story being told. Such is fitting, considering the opening monologue that paints a picture of the music made from sounds of circus animals in the night.
Still, the nagging voice we first heard lingers on. Asking all of the questions which someone might of a young man who's facing life's difficult choices, it forces our protagonist to reply. Moving the plotline forward and connecting his stories, then, Ottavio attempts to justify his experience. What was good, and right, about the circus life? What is "normal"? Was he correct to move on to "selling insurance"? Is he content? These are the things with which anyone who dares to be different must frequently face and struggle through (sometimes even against) in life. One wonders whether this nag is the outside voice of a well intentioned, yet uninitiated, busybody who doesn't truly understand his perspective or the challenging voice of an inner conscience. Whichever, the answer is clear: follow your heart's desires in order to find yourself.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Oh Happy Day
Birthdays are a special thing
They reveal to us our life
Streaming forward
Dripping down
Announcing victory amidst tears
They reveal to us our life
Streaming forward
Dripping down
Announcing victory amidst tears
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Doctor Atomic
I'm not the biggest fan of John Adams' music. So I approached Lyric Opera's production of Doctor Atomic with a bit of apprehension. Yet it pleasantly surprised me.
At last I have found a work of Adams which I genuinely appreciate. His texture of orchestration and vocal lines are so rich in working together that they just can't be fully appreciated in one night's attendance. Indeed, while there are few operatic productions which I feel a sense of urgency to attend a second time, this is certainly one which has elicited such an effect.
As to the stage and plot production, itself, I found it worthy. In dealing with a topic where we essentially know the outcome, there is a challenge of making things especially interesting. In this work it was approached through delving into the human struggles and tensions of the time and individual personalities. Initially, I feared that this might be done tritely, in an oversimplified, almost idealistic or all too easily agendicized manner. Instead, it left me with an impression of genuineness as to the sincere challenges which we human beings experience when faced with such serious odds.
The final scene, itself, is breathtaking. A flurry of activity occurs as an extended countdown to the experimental test approaches. Then an eerie period of stillness -waiting, watching in uncertainty of the moment, yet knowing of history what is to come. Once the bomb is detonated, we will understand clearly that our world is now a different place. Who will live, who will die, what will the future hold for us as a society of mankind? Yet, the truly telling thing of remarkable power here was an extended silence which followed the final note. Even as darkness fell upon the stage, instead of the typical outburst of applause which might have immediately come at the end of most productions, an almost reverential, thoughtful period remained for several seconds... no one seeming to want to break it with what would now seem inappropriate claps. Perhaps this had something to do with it being a new work... was it truly over yet? Still, in many a case the excitement of an outstanding scene brings about eruption. Not here... only stillness which was spoke significant. Indeed, even after the first hands were put together and final bows, it was hard to move on to other things that evening. I would have liked to linger longer in quiet contemplation of the disturbing reality which was upon us.
Someone else who has seen the production commented to me that it is, "... difficult, but necessary." I might say, "challenging" rather than "difficult", but before Doctor Atomic closes it's January run at the Civic Opera House, you should not miss experiencing this necessary piece of important art. One which is so poignant in our contemporary time, when remembrance of the era is still living with us. But also a work which, surely, will last due to the topic's matter in history and the opera's timeless theme of human struggle.
At last I have found a work of Adams which I genuinely appreciate. His texture of orchestration and vocal lines are so rich in working together that they just can't be fully appreciated in one night's attendance. Indeed, while there are few operatic productions which I feel a sense of urgency to attend a second time, this is certainly one which has elicited such an effect.
As to the stage and plot production, itself, I found it worthy. In dealing with a topic where we essentially know the outcome, there is a challenge of making things especially interesting. In this work it was approached through delving into the human struggles and tensions of the time and individual personalities. Initially, I feared that this might be done tritely, in an oversimplified, almost idealistic or all too easily agendicized manner. Instead, it left me with an impression of genuineness as to the sincere challenges which we human beings experience when faced with such serious odds.
The final scene, itself, is breathtaking. A flurry of activity occurs as an extended countdown to the experimental test approaches. Then an eerie period of stillness -waiting, watching in uncertainty of the moment, yet knowing of history what is to come. Once the bomb is detonated, we will understand clearly that our world is now a different place. Who will live, who will die, what will the future hold for us as a society of mankind? Yet, the truly telling thing of remarkable power here was an extended silence which followed the final note. Even as darkness fell upon the stage, instead of the typical outburst of applause which might have immediately come at the end of most productions, an almost reverential, thoughtful period remained for several seconds... no one seeming to want to break it with what would now seem inappropriate claps. Perhaps this had something to do with it being a new work... was it truly over yet? Still, in many a case the excitement of an outstanding scene brings about eruption. Not here... only stillness which was spoke significant. Indeed, even after the first hands were put together and final bows, it was hard to move on to other things that evening. I would have liked to linger longer in quiet contemplation of the disturbing reality which was upon us.
Someone else who has seen the production commented to me that it is, "... difficult, but necessary." I might say, "challenging" rather than "difficult", but before Doctor Atomic closes it's January run at the Civic Opera House, you should not miss experiencing this necessary piece of important art. One which is so poignant in our contemporary time, when remembrance of the era is still living with us. But also a work which, surely, will last due to the topic's matter in history and the opera's timeless theme of human struggle.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Into this melancholy mourn....
...a child is born!
"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." John 1:5
"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." John 1:5
Saturday, December 22, 2007
I heard it through the grapevine
A cold prevented me from getting out last weekend. Had I managed to drag myself away from that comfortable couch, though, the Velvet Lounge would have certainly been the place to be.
Chicago vocalist Dee Alexander's star just continues rising. Stellar performances at Millennium Park, the Hyde Park Jazz Festival earlier this year only highlighted her skills and notoriety, which seem to be extending even beyond what we've heard from her in previous years. Now audience reports surfacing suggest that last Saturday's spectacular, especially, served to seal recent success. Here is a jazz virtuoso vocalist who truly understands intelligent creation of unique musical sound, and she was complemented by an all star collaboration to make what is said to have been an unforgettable evening, the kind of which may not soon be here witnessed again.
But don't just believe what I have to say. Judge for yourself. Check out the latest video posted by the Jazz Institute featuring her 2006 concert in Poland and discover why you won't want to miss her next big event.
Chicago vocalist Dee Alexander's star just continues rising. Stellar performances at Millennium Park, the Hyde Park Jazz Festival earlier this year only highlighted her skills and notoriety, which seem to be extending even beyond what we've heard from her in previous years. Now audience reports surfacing suggest that last Saturday's spectacular, especially, served to seal recent success. Here is a jazz virtuoso vocalist who truly understands intelligent creation of unique musical sound, and she was complemented by an all star collaboration to make what is said to have been an unforgettable evening, the kind of which may not soon be here witnessed again.
But don't just believe what I have to say. Judge for yourself. Check out the latest video posted by the Jazz Institute featuring her 2006 concert in Poland and discover why you won't want to miss her next big event.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
All I want for Christmas
Just in case you were shopping for me and didn't know what to buy, I thought I'd offer this suggestion.
It's a book. About a special place of play. Which, sadly, is no more. But one which brought so much joy to so many, including myself. From Arcadia Publishing, which offers a great plethora of items on Chicago's history and culture, it is entitled, simply, "Santa's Village."
Last year, when the last elf left, I wrote this soliloquy as a requiem. It's something I'd like to share now, again, in all the season's melancholic remembrance:
For decades Dundee, IL has hosted Santa. Not just at Christmastime, but all year round. He had his very own village... "Santa's Village"!
It started in 1959. Back in the heyday of good old fashioned family entertainment. Take the kids for a ride out to the country and visit an amusement park!
This place was unique. With decor resembling a North Pole Village, it was awash in pastels.
It was kind of small scale, really, with a relaxed feel. Not at all like the hyped up teenage adrenaline roars of the Six Flags parks which are so common today. You were, literally, spending a day with the family in a park. A park which had rides.
Innovative rides.
Sure, there were the bumper cars that everyone had. But their bumper car rides were made into a race.
Yes, they had a thing that you could twirl yourself dizzy in. It was the snowballs!
Indeed, they had a sky ride. It took you high above the train and forested trees beneath.
But, then, there were the things which not everyone else enjoyed. Like a fire engine. All the kiddies hopped aboard and sat in the front row (sideways) of it's several cars. The parents rode in the back! The truck would get going, siren blaring, aways down a path and as you chased the call which came in reporting a fire. You'd be prepared to fight it with all of your might. Now, when you got older, you realized that this was just a gas device on a timer which went out after a minute and a half. But as a young boy it was the coolest thing in the world to approach this big doll house sized house engulfed in flame. You'd grab your little hose (attached to the side of the truck's cars in front of each seat) and fire away as the water was turned on. Then everyone would extinguish the fire to the applause of the adults and the congratulations of the firetruck lady with the microphone.
Oh, you walk over to board a sleigh ride led by reindeer. And visit the petting zoo to feed the animals. Next, meet Santa. In the summer! There was even an ice skating rink.
In the 80s they added a marvelous water park. And there was a large picnicking area for company gatherings or just families who wanted to relax.
I hate to be cliche-ish, but they just don't make places like this anymore. It was wonderful. A part of my childhood. It ran at a pace which the world of today would be well guided to approach. Even the time at which the park closed evenings ("early dusk") had a genuineness to it which was just natural.
Santa's Village failed to open this Spring. Riddled with debt and no investment backing, a judge ordered it gone for good. Yesterday, what was left of the Village was sold at auction.
A few of the rides, at least, will last (somewhere) for others to share. Yet no longer will families have this wonderful environment to enjoy. Children will not make memories or longstanding value here ever again.
The loss is painful to endure. It's long but slow coming emblematic of a breakdown in our culture: an all too "grown up" world. We need places, as a people, such as this.
Gone (but not forgotten) is the place. The wonderful enchantment will never die!
Bye Bye Santa! We'll miss you.
It's a book. About a special place of play. Which, sadly, is no more. But one which brought so much joy to so many, including myself. From Arcadia Publishing, which offers a great plethora of items on Chicago's history and culture, it is entitled, simply, "Santa's Village."
Last year, when the last elf left, I wrote this soliloquy as a requiem. It's something I'd like to share now, again, in all the season's melancholic remembrance:
For decades Dundee, IL has hosted Santa. Not just at Christmastime, but all year round. He had his very own village... "Santa's Village"!
It started in 1959. Back in the heyday of good old fashioned family entertainment. Take the kids for a ride out to the country and visit an amusement park!
This place was unique. With decor resembling a North Pole Village, it was awash in pastels.
It was kind of small scale, really, with a relaxed feel. Not at all like the hyped up teenage adrenaline roars of the Six Flags parks which are so common today. You were, literally, spending a day with the family in a park. A park which had rides.
Innovative rides.
Sure, there were the bumper cars that everyone had. But their bumper car rides were made into a race.
Yes, they had a thing that you could twirl yourself dizzy in. It was the snowballs!
Indeed, they had a sky ride. It took you high above the train and forested trees beneath.
But, then, there were the things which not everyone else enjoyed. Like a fire engine. All the kiddies hopped aboard and sat in the front row (sideways) of it's several cars. The parents rode in the back! The truck would get going, siren blaring, aways down a path and as you chased the call which came in reporting a fire. You'd be prepared to fight it with all of your might. Now, when you got older, you realized that this was just a gas device on a timer which went out after a minute and a half. But as a young boy it was the coolest thing in the world to approach this big doll house sized house engulfed in flame. You'd grab your little hose (attached to the side of the truck's cars in front of each seat) and fire away as the water was turned on. Then everyone would extinguish the fire to the applause of the adults and the congratulations of the firetruck lady with the microphone.
Oh, you walk over to board a sleigh ride led by reindeer. And visit the petting zoo to feed the animals. Next, meet Santa. In the summer! There was even an ice skating rink.
In the 80s they added a marvelous water park. And there was a large picnicking area for company gatherings or just families who wanted to relax.
I hate to be cliche-ish, but they just don't make places like this anymore. It was wonderful. A part of my childhood. It ran at a pace which the world of today would be well guided to approach. Even the time at which the park closed evenings ("early dusk") had a genuineness to it which was just natural.
Santa's Village failed to open this Spring. Riddled with debt and no investment backing, a judge ordered it gone for good. Yesterday, what was left of the Village was sold at auction.
A few of the rides, at least, will last (somewhere) for others to share. Yet no longer will families have this wonderful environment to enjoy. Children will not make memories or longstanding value here ever again.
The loss is painful to endure. It's long but slow coming emblematic of a breakdown in our culture: an all too "grown up" world. We need places, as a people, such as this.
Gone (but not forgotten) is the place. The wonderful enchantment will never die!
Bye Bye Santa! We'll miss you.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Top Cats
Phil Woods was in town this past weekend. He then did a benefit concert to raise funds for reopening the Jazz Showcase last night (where he reportedly called out Tribune critic Howard Reich, and his latest review, publicly at the start of the set - receiving great audience applause in response to this rebuke.) While I wasn't there to witness it, I did catch his concert Friday night at the DePaul School of Music.
WOW!
When you gather a group of top cats, the results can be vibrant. This was certainly the case at the Friday performance. Though this was a mere single hour long set (and I didn't get there till sometime in) it was most satisfying. Woods' name, of course, should speak for itself. To hear an artist of this quality for free is a special privilege. He was joined by Bob Lark, flugelhorn; Ron Perrillo, piano, Kelly Sill, bass, and Bob Rummage, drums.
Perrillo is one of the most thoughtful artists on the Chicago scene, and deserves to be heard in his own right. Seeing his name on the bill of offerings, alone, always lets you know that it will be worth the price of admission. His soloing and accompanying decoration of others in the band was just brilliant at this performance, wonderful to the ear.
Rummage... now here's a cat who can swing! He frequently set the band into a great groove; finding the right rhythms and leaving the necessary space for music to take flight as it should. This is a drummer who knows how to use the entirely of his tools for effective band work and interesting percussion which is rich and musical beyond the kind of comping too often offered by lesser talents.
He went at it on the last number ("How High The Moon"), especially, in a pairing with Perrillo. The two of them playing together remarkable; making it almost hard to tell whose solo it really was, so on the spot were they both. Woods then called to him to go at it alone with his sax work for another treat. The boppish direction which the tune took on as it progressed made for a flourishing finish and great send off to the night.
WOW!
When you gather a group of top cats, the results can be vibrant. This was certainly the case at the Friday performance. Though this was a mere single hour long set (and I didn't get there till sometime in) it was most satisfying. Woods' name, of course, should speak for itself. To hear an artist of this quality for free is a special privilege. He was joined by Bob Lark, flugelhorn; Ron Perrillo, piano, Kelly Sill, bass, and Bob Rummage, drums.
Perrillo is one of the most thoughtful artists on the Chicago scene, and deserves to be heard in his own right. Seeing his name on the bill of offerings, alone, always lets you know that it will be worth the price of admission. His soloing and accompanying decoration of others in the band was just brilliant at this performance, wonderful to the ear.
Rummage... now here's a cat who can swing! He frequently set the band into a great groove; finding the right rhythms and leaving the necessary space for music to take flight as it should. This is a drummer who knows how to use the entirely of his tools for effective band work and interesting percussion which is rich and musical beyond the kind of comping too often offered by lesser talents.
He went at it on the last number ("How High The Moon"), especially, in a pairing with Perrillo. The two of them playing together remarkable; making it almost hard to tell whose solo it really was, so on the spot were they both. Woods then called to him to go at it alone with his sax work for another treat. The boppish direction which the tune took on as it progressed made for a flourishing finish and great send off to the night.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Quality Circus
I'm a circus fan. I see a lot of shows. So I view them with a certain level of honest critique. I don't just think it is neat to go see a circus. Well, alright, there IS that. If you can't get excited and drawn into wonderment by attending the circus, what CAN you find interesting in life? Still, I want something more. I want a show that speaks to me, offers some artistry, is well produced.
Every circus has its own unique character. So it may be unfair to compare one to another directly. Perhaps the better question is, "Do you do well what you are trying to do?"
This year I have (thus far) seen the following shows: Ringling's 137th Edition Red Unit ("Bellobration!"), Zoppe Family Circus, Cirque Shanghai, Kelley Miller Circus, Carson and Barnes Circus, The Midnight Circus, CircEsteem's Spring student circus, some local small shows with a circus oriented nature (including Ottavio Canestrelli's "A Clown Without a Circus"), and now the Ringling Gold Unit ("An Upside Down World.") The theme of the latter is not heavily emphasized as it was when the unique act of ceiling walkers highlighted the 134th Edition. This act (which I could happily watch many more times) is just one among many on the Gold Unit show. But, perhaps, this is the better brilliance of the production.
It may be something about the intimacy of one ring. (And this Ringling show actually does maintain a ring!) There is a certain immediacy and closeness which draws one into the experience and gathers your attention effectively. But, this alone won't make a show top notch. There needs to be a flow, a drama, a comedy to be a fit. This circus has that in a way that none other I have seen this year provides.
Unlike the other Ringling offerings currently running, the Gold Show (despite its entitlement) does not seek to provide some sort of story line running thread or even an overall thematic context. Rather, the show's characters speak for themselves. Yes, character is the key. From the initial introductions of Ringmaster Jon Weiss to the extended European style clowning entrees of Tom Dougherty (and his traditional American style clowning complement Mitch Freddes); the beauty, grace, and strength of Sylvia Zerbini, the costuming of their teetherboard team, or the "businesslike" attire of contortionists. The real story and connective tissue is, then, in the acts themselves, each speaking something of its own particular nature.
I think my favorite piece was a lovely elephant act. Not the kind of thing one typically thinks of with Ringling. Rather than a large procession of pachyderms, or even a trio tramping around with their tricks, a single bull did the job. It started out with a young girl in pajamas laying on a sofa at the end of track space. Tired, but still awake, she discovers a little stuffed animal elephant inside the ring, perched on a small tub. She enters the ring, retrieves it, and returns to the couch to sleep. Here begins a dream sequence where subtle blue lighting accents an entering elephant at the portal opposite end. Complete with extended tusks, and enveloped in fog, it sports a beautiful woman who then presents the glittered animal through delightful poses and fanciful moves. This tender piece is circus as ART! It is something which relates well to the imaginations of children "of ALL ages", 1 to 100. It is the kind of thoughtful thing which can recapture an audience that has grown apathetic or lost high expectations.
Also of note was a clowning act by Tom Dougherty, based upon his antics in finding a fancy hat to play "Ringmaster", and the cadre of backup singers who appear to announce his placement of the hat. It takes other hilarious twists and turns, including an illustration of what might happen to your cell phone if you let a clown get his hands on it. I am gladdened to see Ringling enabling such serious humor and giving it the time it needs to develop. I don't know whether the act can communicate as well to the larger performance space required of the Blue show, but it certainly would be great to see this survive as Dougherty moves to that unit next season.
Perhaps everything was not ideal on this show. I could certainly find room for improvement in places. And, obviously, a number of the acts (and much of the music) is recycled from former Ringling productions. But this does not in any way stale with this presentation. Instead it received new life! The show, then, has all the excitement which you'd expect from Feld. To boot, this circus runs well and tight. There is an intimate, charming aspect to it. It connects with an audience on numerous levels. And you certainly have FUN!
There still remain some "new cirque" productions which I intend to witness before the year ends. But, as far as something in the more traditional vein goes, this show, now reaching its end run, has been the best of the year I've seen. Indeed, the Gold Unit's "Upside Down World" may not quite be on the same level as Barnum's Kaleidoscape was, but it's quite possibly the next best thing that Ringling has had to offer since.
Every circus has its own unique character. So it may be unfair to compare one to another directly. Perhaps the better question is, "Do you do well what you are trying to do?"
This year I have (thus far) seen the following shows: Ringling's 137th Edition Red Unit ("Bellobration!"), Zoppe Family Circus, Cirque Shanghai, Kelley Miller Circus, Carson and Barnes Circus, The Midnight Circus, CircEsteem's Spring student circus, some local small shows with a circus oriented nature (including Ottavio Canestrelli's "A Clown Without a Circus"), and now the Ringling Gold Unit ("An Upside Down World.") The theme of the latter is not heavily emphasized as it was when the unique act of ceiling walkers highlighted the 134th Edition. This act (which I could happily watch many more times) is just one among many on the Gold Unit show. But, perhaps, this is the better brilliance of the production.
It may be something about the intimacy of one ring. (And this Ringling show actually does maintain a ring!) There is a certain immediacy and closeness which draws one into the experience and gathers your attention effectively. But, this alone won't make a show top notch. There needs to be a flow, a drama, a comedy to be a fit. This circus has that in a way that none other I have seen this year provides.
Unlike the other Ringling offerings currently running, the Gold Show (despite its entitlement) does not seek to provide some sort of story line running thread or even an overall thematic context. Rather, the show's characters speak for themselves. Yes, character is the key. From the initial introductions of Ringmaster Jon Weiss to the extended European style clowning entrees of Tom Dougherty (and his traditional American style clowning complement Mitch Freddes); the beauty, grace, and strength of Sylvia Zerbini, the costuming of their teetherboard team, or the "businesslike" attire of contortionists. The real story and connective tissue is, then, in the acts themselves, each speaking something of its own particular nature.
I think my favorite piece was a lovely elephant act. Not the kind of thing one typically thinks of with Ringling. Rather than a large procession of pachyderms, or even a trio tramping around with their tricks, a single bull did the job. It started out with a young girl in pajamas laying on a sofa at the end of track space. Tired, but still awake, she discovers a little stuffed animal elephant inside the ring, perched on a small tub. She enters the ring, retrieves it, and returns to the couch to sleep. Here begins a dream sequence where subtle blue lighting accents an entering elephant at the portal opposite end. Complete with extended tusks, and enveloped in fog, it sports a beautiful woman who then presents the glittered animal through delightful poses and fanciful moves. This tender piece is circus as ART! It is something which relates well to the imaginations of children "of ALL ages", 1 to 100. It is the kind of thoughtful thing which can recapture an audience that has grown apathetic or lost high expectations.
Also of note was a clowning act by Tom Dougherty, based upon his antics in finding a fancy hat to play "Ringmaster", and the cadre of backup singers who appear to announce his placement of the hat. It takes other hilarious twists and turns, including an illustration of what might happen to your cell phone if you let a clown get his hands on it. I am gladdened to see Ringling enabling such serious humor and giving it the time it needs to develop. I don't know whether the act can communicate as well to the larger performance space required of the Blue show, but it certainly would be great to see this survive as Dougherty moves to that unit next season.
Perhaps everything was not ideal on this show. I could certainly find room for improvement in places. And, obviously, a number of the acts (and much of the music) is recycled from former Ringling productions. But this does not in any way stale with this presentation. Instead it received new life! The show, then, has all the excitement which you'd expect from Feld. To boot, this circus runs well and tight. There is an intimate, charming aspect to it. It connects with an audience on numerous levels. And you certainly have FUN!
There still remain some "new cirque" productions which I intend to witness before the year ends. But, as far as something in the more traditional vein goes, this show, now reaching its end run, has been the best of the year I've seen. Indeed, the Gold Unit's "Upside Down World" may not quite be on the same level as Barnum's Kaleidoscape was, but it's quite possibly the next best thing that Ringling has had to offer since.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Wednesday Night Jazz
There aren't enough good clarinetists in this city! At least not that I know of. Where are you hiding, if you're there?
One of the best to be heard, however, is Kim Cusack. With a sound somewhere between Pete Fountain and Benny Goodman, he's an expert interpreter of the tunes which were popular in even the early part of LAST century. But, of course, many of these songs (especially those of dixieland heritage and 30's-40s big band era) have become lasting standards, if not always played as often as once was the case. Cusack is presently leading a quartet at Andy's on Wednesday evenings (the early set) through December. His inclusion of guitarist Andy Brown as part of the group adds an extra element of excitement that isn't particularly common in instrumental combos of this kind. (Well, that is, if you can find this sort of small group highlighting clarinet anywhere else, anyway.) So check them out and hear something unique, worthwhile, of lasting traditional jazz.
Corey Wilkes is one of the hot young lions on the Chicago jazz scene. His abilities on trumpet are quickly earning him well deserved renown. He leads an outstanding quintet which follows upon Cusack's group (and moves things up a few decades in the process.) With a tight band and some excellent players all, it is something truly notable in the current available musical offerings ongoing. If Wilkes and his cats (most significantly saxophonist Marquel Jordan) are as on as they were last week, you won't be disappointed.
Finally, the aforementioned Andy Brown celebrates the release of his debut CD, simply entitled Trio and Solo, with a live performance at Katerina's tonight (Wed, Nov. 14) featuring none other than his trio and solo offerings. Brown is a quite adept instrumentalist with an interesting musical voice. He's been quietly building a reputation as someone solid, and thus finds himself regularly featured at the key clubs with the better bands around town. Yet his cool demeanor, which is an asset in his sound and work, can let him pass under the radar screen if you aren't paying close attention. So make sure to see what he's all about and drop by the release party, buy his disk, or both!
One of the best to be heard, however, is Kim Cusack. With a sound somewhere between Pete Fountain and Benny Goodman, he's an expert interpreter of the tunes which were popular in even the early part of LAST century. But, of course, many of these songs (especially those of dixieland heritage and 30's-40s big band era) have become lasting standards, if not always played as often as once was the case. Cusack is presently leading a quartet at Andy's on Wednesday evenings (the early set) through December. His inclusion of guitarist Andy Brown as part of the group adds an extra element of excitement that isn't particularly common in instrumental combos of this kind. (Well, that is, if you can find this sort of small group highlighting clarinet anywhere else, anyway.) So check them out and hear something unique, worthwhile, of lasting traditional jazz.
Corey Wilkes is one of the hot young lions on the Chicago jazz scene. His abilities on trumpet are quickly earning him well deserved renown. He leads an outstanding quintet which follows upon Cusack's group (and moves things up a few decades in the process.) With a tight band and some excellent players all, it is something truly notable in the current available musical offerings ongoing. If Wilkes and his cats (most significantly saxophonist Marquel Jordan) are as on as they were last week, you won't be disappointed.
Finally, the aforementioned Andy Brown celebrates the release of his debut CD, simply entitled Trio and Solo, with a live performance at Katerina's tonight (Wed, Nov. 14) featuring none other than his trio and solo offerings. Brown is a quite adept instrumentalist with an interesting musical voice. He's been quietly building a reputation as someone solid, and thus finds himself regularly featured at the key clubs with the better bands around town. Yet his cool demeanor, which is an asset in his sound and work, can let him pass under the radar screen if you aren't paying close attention. So make sure to see what he's all about and drop by the release party, buy his disk, or both!
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Climate of Concern
The Chicago Sinfonietta offers innovative and interesting programming, providing new twists on the old and creative programming anew. On Monday evening, October 29, I attended their concert at Orchestra Hall entitled "Climate of Concern." Part of the Chicago Humanities Festival, it sought to explore environmental issues through music. The concept intrigued me enough to check it out.
Often, I enjoy listening to works which I have not previously heard. So the first half of the program was enticing. It began with a premiere performance of the Fanfare for Strings and Timpani, by Fred Onovwerosuoke's. The program notes state that it, "... draws from the warrior dances of the Urhobo people of Nigera." Sadly, my late departure to the event made me miss the piece, billed as, "... a celebration of life; of a people's accomplishments, and their hopes and aspiration for the future." Though, I was assured by the lady who sat next to me that night, it was fantastic.
I did arrive in time to catch Global Warming by Michael Abels. With a decidedly Southwestern sense of sound, I was pleasantly surprised at how well it worked. I don't know why I should say, "surprised" other than that I may always worry a tad about what a contemporary work has to offer. Yet this had a traditional, folksy, and even Copland-esque sensibility which I found satisfying.
The highlight of the evening followed. Native American flautist R. Carlos Nakai was featured in the Two World Concerto of James DeMars. Nakai's unique instrument with it's haunting sounds and pitches pitted among the swirling sounds of orchestration certainly did work wonderfully as a sort of tone poem. One movement, titled "Lake that Speaks: trembling of beings and things," brings forth infrequently heard colors influenced by the landscape of the composer's Minnesota home. This was a case where it was also intriguing to actually see the music being played, and what instrumentalists needed to do for production of the required soundscape.
Beethoven's 5th Symphony was the more well known work on the program to balance things out. I hadn't heard a live performance of this all too familiar piece in some time. Boosting interest and adding another perspective, a touted video presentation on our environment was to accompany the final movement. Paul Freeman had his orchestra offer a light, sensitive rendition of the symphony which brought attention to insightful playing in parts that I had never so closely noticed before. Really, I became enraptured by this. What it lacked in bombastic dynamism which one might be more accustomed to, it there enabled a natural beauty to proceed. This was the real statement on the environment, I thought, one which music alone could provide.
In contrast, the Bill Foster video presentation paled. Really, I thought it detracted. High tech morphs from scenes of natural beauty to industrialism, pollution, and automotive seemed all too obvious and ideological. This proved a disappointment. Better, I imagined, had the wonderful nature photographs (largely drawn from a collection of Linda and Thomas Litteral) spoken solely.
Actually, I truly thought, at its completion, that this was a case where it would have been better to just leave well enough alone, allowing the music to speak for itself and enabling us to draw from it what we will via individual insight and reflection, rather than trying to make an overly obvious statement through the addition of video. It isn't that there is inherently anything wrong with the visual image possibly helping to bring out another aspect. It can be done effectively at times. Still, I recall what my freshman year of high school music teacher told us about not trying to force some imaginative image in your mind's eye to match the music. Certainly, there are tone poems and such. Music can have a great effect to make us feel something beyond itself. But that's the thing! Music can do this without any need for assistance. It is a language beyond words. And even one picture can easily obscure rather than elucidate that communique with unnecessary cluttering chatter. Here is where a mere program book commentary to get us thinking about how the music speaks to a topic (as was extensively well provided already) would have done much more good, ultimately.
Often, I enjoy listening to works which I have not previously heard. So the first half of the program was enticing. It began with a premiere performance of the Fanfare for Strings and Timpani, by Fred Onovwerosuoke's. The program notes state that it, "... draws from the warrior dances of the Urhobo people of Nigera." Sadly, my late departure to the event made me miss the piece, billed as, "... a celebration of life; of a people's accomplishments, and their hopes and aspiration for the future." Though, I was assured by the lady who sat next to me that night, it was fantastic.
I did arrive in time to catch Global Warming by Michael Abels. With a decidedly Southwestern sense of sound, I was pleasantly surprised at how well it worked. I don't know why I should say, "surprised" other than that I may always worry a tad about what a contemporary work has to offer. Yet this had a traditional, folksy, and even Copland-esque sensibility which I found satisfying.
The highlight of the evening followed. Native American flautist R. Carlos Nakai was featured in the Two World Concerto of James DeMars. Nakai's unique instrument with it's haunting sounds and pitches pitted among the swirling sounds of orchestration certainly did work wonderfully as a sort of tone poem. One movement, titled "Lake that Speaks: trembling of beings and things," brings forth infrequently heard colors influenced by the landscape of the composer's Minnesota home. This was a case where it was also intriguing to actually see the music being played, and what instrumentalists needed to do for production of the required soundscape.
Beethoven's 5th Symphony was the more well known work on the program to balance things out. I hadn't heard a live performance of this all too familiar piece in some time. Boosting interest and adding another perspective, a touted video presentation on our environment was to accompany the final movement. Paul Freeman had his orchestra offer a light, sensitive rendition of the symphony which brought attention to insightful playing in parts that I had never so closely noticed before. Really, I became enraptured by this. What it lacked in bombastic dynamism which one might be more accustomed to, it there enabled a natural beauty to proceed. This was the real statement on the environment, I thought, one which music alone could provide.
In contrast, the Bill Foster video presentation paled. Really, I thought it detracted. High tech morphs from scenes of natural beauty to industrialism, pollution, and automotive seemed all too obvious and ideological. This proved a disappointment. Better, I imagined, had the wonderful nature photographs (largely drawn from a collection of Linda and Thomas Litteral) spoken solely.
Actually, I truly thought, at its completion, that this was a case where it would have been better to just leave well enough alone, allowing the music to speak for itself and enabling us to draw from it what we will via individual insight and reflection, rather than trying to make an overly obvious statement through the addition of video. It isn't that there is inherently anything wrong with the visual image possibly helping to bring out another aspect. It can be done effectively at times. Still, I recall what my freshman year of high school music teacher told us about not trying to force some imaginative image in your mind's eye to match the music. Certainly, there are tone poems and such. Music can have a great effect to make us feel something beyond itself. But that's the thing! Music can do this without any need for assistance. It is a language beyond words. And even one picture can easily obscure rather than elucidate that communique with unnecessary cluttering chatter. Here is where a mere program book commentary to get us thinking about how the music speaks to a topic (as was extensively well provided already) would have done much more good, ultimately.
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