Thank you for your life and your work. The world will be a much less worthwhile place without you. May you rest in peace.
Thank you Stefan K. for originally posting this.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Thursday, January 23, 2014
Another one bites the dust
First of all let me be blunt: the Sears store on State Street in downtown Chicago really sucks. It was badly designed from the get go, is poorly stocked, and the salespeople who work there are woefully ignorant about the few items they actually do stock. At least that has been my experience for let's say... oh about every single time I shopped there. While I've been there on countless occasions hoping against hope I might find something I need, I can probably count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I actually bought something there. Every time I'd go back thinking: "well I'll just give this place one more chance" ...and they have never failed to disappoint. That's some record. The piece de resistance was the time I visited their hardware section. If Sears is known for anything, it's hardware. I was looking for nails. Despite the fact that they carried hammers in all shapes and sizes, presumably for the purpose of pounding nails, the response I got when I interrupted a sales clerk who was busy engaged in a personal conversation with another clerk was: "no, we don't carry nails." I don't think I've been back since.
I can safely say all this now because the company that owns Sears has just announced plans to close the flagship State Street location in April of this year. This particular store opened up in 2001 after the Chicago insititution's nearly twenty year absence from State Street. The opening of the new store at State and Madison in the building that once housed the Boston Store was a welcome surprise for several generations of Chicagoans who had only known of great department stores closing on the great street, not opening up. And while the new store was certainly a disappointment, barely a shadow of the old one between Van Buren and Congress Streets, at least it was something.
I wrote about Sears and its parent company a few years ago. You can find that piece here. In a nutshell, Sears and Kmart, two struggling national icons were bought up by corporate raiders whose main interest was to sell off vast holdings of real estate belonging to those two companies, earning a fortune for themselves and their stockholders in the process. The name they chose for their corporation was appropriately enough, Sears Holdings. They did pretty good for themselves until the real estate market crashed a few years ago, at which point the honeymoon with their stockholders was over. In the meantime, the stores bearing the Sears and Kmart brands continued to flounder, the victims of changing economic times and corporate indifference.
It's hardly a surprise that yet another "brick and mortar" retail establishment is closing its doors; admittedly it's a very hard business to maintain in these days of convenient, low-overhead, discount, on-line shopping. Yet for the past thirty years or so, it hasn't seemed as if Kmart or Sears were even trying. In that time, very little effort has been put into making the stores up to date. Walking into a Sears or Kmart today is no different than walking into one thirty years ago, except that every year there are fewer and fewer customers. As for the unmotivated employees, one might argue that it's hard to find enthusiastic people to work in retail because of the low wages they are offered. However one only needs to cross the street to the new Target or any other comparable store to find employees who are more than willing to go out their way (at least a little) to help customers. I'm guessing those folks wearing red don't earn any more than their counterparts across the street. Indifferent employees are a sure sign of an indifferent company.
It's only speculation but it seems likely that the reason so little effort has gone into improving Sears and Kmart is because the mission of their parent corporation is selling off real estate, not selling refrigerators, tires and nails. The retail stores are merely window dressing, the public face of the corporation. As long as there are buildings somewhere that bear the name Sears or Kmart, investors will have a modicum of confidence in Sears Holdings. Without the stores, all will be lost, and the way things have been going for the corporation, that fate looks more and more certain.
As I concluded in my previous piece, the stockholders will go on to find other investment opportunities while employees, consumers and businesses who depend upon those stores, and the people of the city of Chicago will be left holding the bag.
This isn't exactly the trickle down economics that the right wing drools over. This is the old story of the rich getting richer while the poor get poorer; unfettered capitalism (as Rush Limbaugh calls it) at its ugliest.
I can safely say all this now because the company that owns Sears has just announced plans to close the flagship State Street location in April of this year. This particular store opened up in 2001 after the Chicago insititution's nearly twenty year absence from State Street. The opening of the new store at State and Madison in the building that once housed the Boston Store was a welcome surprise for several generations of Chicagoans who had only known of great department stores closing on the great street, not opening up. And while the new store was certainly a disappointment, barely a shadow of the old one between Van Buren and Congress Streets, at least it was something.
I wrote about Sears and its parent company a few years ago. You can find that piece here. In a nutshell, Sears and Kmart, two struggling national icons were bought up by corporate raiders whose main interest was to sell off vast holdings of real estate belonging to those two companies, earning a fortune for themselves and their stockholders in the process. The name they chose for their corporation was appropriately enough, Sears Holdings. They did pretty good for themselves until the real estate market crashed a few years ago, at which point the honeymoon with their stockholders was over. In the meantime, the stores bearing the Sears and Kmart brands continued to flounder, the victims of changing economic times and corporate indifference.
It's hardly a surprise that yet another "brick and mortar" retail establishment is closing its doors; admittedly it's a very hard business to maintain in these days of convenient, low-overhead, discount, on-line shopping. Yet for the past thirty years or so, it hasn't seemed as if Kmart or Sears were even trying. In that time, very little effort has been put into making the stores up to date. Walking into a Sears or Kmart today is no different than walking into one thirty years ago, except that every year there are fewer and fewer customers. As for the unmotivated employees, one might argue that it's hard to find enthusiastic people to work in retail because of the low wages they are offered. However one only needs to cross the street to the new Target or any other comparable store to find employees who are more than willing to go out their way (at least a little) to help customers. I'm guessing those folks wearing red don't earn any more than their counterparts across the street. Indifferent employees are a sure sign of an indifferent company.
It's only speculation but it seems likely that the reason so little effort has gone into improving Sears and Kmart is because the mission of their parent corporation is selling off real estate, not selling refrigerators, tires and nails. The retail stores are merely window dressing, the public face of the corporation. As long as there are buildings somewhere that bear the name Sears or Kmart, investors will have a modicum of confidence in Sears Holdings. Without the stores, all will be lost, and the way things have been going for the corporation, that fate looks more and more certain.
As I concluded in my previous piece, the stockholders will go on to find other investment opportunities while employees, consumers and businesses who depend upon those stores, and the people of the city of Chicago will be left holding the bag.
This isn't exactly the trickle down economics that the right wing drools over. This is the old story of the rich getting richer while the poor get poorer; unfettered capitalism (as Rush Limbaugh calls it) at its ugliest.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
A cautionary tale
There's a commercial making the rounds, (don't ask me what it's for), that features people affixed to their smart phones shall we say, inappropriately. There's one shot of a bride and groom at the altar staring at their personal devices as they take their vows. Another, the punch line of the ad, has a man fishing his phone out of a urinal, having dropped it while "multitasking." The man at the adjacent pissoir stares at the unfortunate fellow and gives him today's universal sign of sardonic incredulity, the terse comment: "really?"
These little skits would be funny if they weren't so true to life. You see them everywhere, people teathered to their portable devices as if they were lifelines, which I suppose to many, they are.
Don't get me wrong, smart phones are marvelous inventions, the long dreamed of "all in one" machine that can do the same amount of work it used to take dozens of machines, hands, and or human minds to accomplish. In that sense, they're not so different from this fabulous invention of yesteryear:
Yes, it slices and it dices, but the real question is, can your smart phone core a apple? Well perhaps not, but it can do just about anything else.
As with all innovations, there are down sides to this brave new technology. Ever have dinner with a friend who insists upon answering his cell phone AND carry on an entire conversation with the disembodied voice at the other end while you're left to eat your lasagna alone? Or ever attend the theater or a concert when some goofball's phone starts to ring?
Of course those are the minor inconveniences. Tragically, people have lost their lives as a result of some knucklehead finding it necessary to text someone while driving a car. How it ever occurred to anyone to text at the same time as driving I'll never know, but years ago I did see someone reading a newspaper while behind the wheel so nothing surprises me. The fact that there are people dumb enough to text and drive making it necessary to create laws to prevent such things really says a lot about the intelligence or lack thereof of many of our fellow inhabitants of the planet.
A news item just aired about a tragedy that happened the other day in Chicago. Three young visitors from Minnesota spent the night here out on the town, presumably having a drink or three in the process. As they were strolling along the River Walk at about three in the morning, one of them took out his smart phone to take a picture of the frozen river. He accidentally dropped the phone into the river, then decided to go in to fetch it. As the temperature had been well above freezing for three or four days (after the so called Polar Vortex), the river ice was thin and the poor fellow fell through. His two companions, another man and a woman went in after him. The two men were eventually pulled out of the water by the Fire Department. One of them, the owner of the cellphone, died later at the hospital. The CFD called off the search for the woman after divers spent several futile hours in the complete dark of the near freezing water. Her body was recovered the next day. The third victim fortunately survived the ordeal.
No word on the fate of the cell phone.
Despite feeling terrible all day about the tragedy of these three young people and their grieving families, part of me couldn't help but think about what a stupid way to die that was. Two lives, nearly a third lost over a two hundred dollar appliance. The whole sordid incident reminded me this morning of the Darwin Awards, the annual tongue-in-cheek prize given posthumously to those individuals who gave their lives (in stupid ways), thereby contributing to the survival of the species by taking themselves out of the gene pool.
However after thinking about it for a moment, putting myself into the late cellphone owner's shoes, I couldn't assure myself beyond a reasonable doubt that I wouldn't have done exactly the same thing, especially after an evening of taking delight in the juice of the barley.
Let's face it, outside of a cherished toy or a Little Leaguer's beloved baseball glove, I can't think of any physical object that brings as much personal satisfaction or elicits more feelings of protectiveness from its owner than the modern day smart phone. Of course this is only conjecture since I don't actually have one; my portable phone, bless its little silicon heart, is decidedly dumb by comparison.
Done up to the extreme, a smart phone can perform hundreds of tasks from book to camera to jukebox to personal movie theater to e-mail box, to command center of its user's social life. And yes it can also be used as a telephone. Throw in the countless apps available with the touch of a button, and the sky's the limit to what you can do with a smart phone. As a constant companion, most smart phone owners feel naked and lonely if they happen to leave home without their device.
Compulsive as I am, I know that if I had one, I too would be transfixed, which is one of the reasons I resist the temptation to get one.
Thinking about all this, I conducted an informal survey on the trip home on the L this evening. I'd say that about 80 percent of the passengers were using one kind of portable electronic device or other. To be fair, some of those people were listening to music through ear buds while reading an actual book made out of wood fiber and offset printed with ink. Others read a traditional book or newspaper without the benefit of a soundtrack. Still others were engaged in honest to goodness, one on one, face to face conversation, which quite honestly, warmed my heart.
Those last two groups are the people I'm convinced, who will survive the apocalypse.
As for myself, well I can only say this: there but by the grace of God...
These little skits would be funny if they weren't so true to life. You see them everywhere, people teathered to their portable devices as if they were lifelines, which I suppose to many, they are.
Don't get me wrong, smart phones are marvelous inventions, the long dreamed of "all in one" machine that can do the same amount of work it used to take dozens of machines, hands, and or human minds to accomplish. In that sense, they're not so different from this fabulous invention of yesteryear:
Yes, it slices and it dices, but the real question is, can your smart phone core a apple? Well perhaps not, but it can do just about anything else.
As with all innovations, there are down sides to this brave new technology. Ever have dinner with a friend who insists upon answering his cell phone AND carry on an entire conversation with the disembodied voice at the other end while you're left to eat your lasagna alone? Or ever attend the theater or a concert when some goofball's phone starts to ring?
Of course those are the minor inconveniences. Tragically, people have lost their lives as a result of some knucklehead finding it necessary to text someone while driving a car. How it ever occurred to anyone to text at the same time as driving I'll never know, but years ago I did see someone reading a newspaper while behind the wheel so nothing surprises me. The fact that there are people dumb enough to text and drive making it necessary to create laws to prevent such things really says a lot about the intelligence or lack thereof of many of our fellow inhabitants of the planet.
A news item just aired about a tragedy that happened the other day in Chicago. Three young visitors from Minnesota spent the night here out on the town, presumably having a drink or three in the process. As they were strolling along the River Walk at about three in the morning, one of them took out his smart phone to take a picture of the frozen river. He accidentally dropped the phone into the river, then decided to go in to fetch it. As the temperature had been well above freezing for three or four days (after the so called Polar Vortex), the river ice was thin and the poor fellow fell through. His two companions, another man and a woman went in after him. The two men were eventually pulled out of the water by the Fire Department. One of them, the owner of the cellphone, died later at the hospital. The CFD called off the search for the woman after divers spent several futile hours in the complete dark of the near freezing water. Her body was recovered the next day. The third victim fortunately survived the ordeal.
No word on the fate of the cell phone.
Despite feeling terrible all day about the tragedy of these three young people and their grieving families, part of me couldn't help but think about what a stupid way to die that was. Two lives, nearly a third lost over a two hundred dollar appliance. The whole sordid incident reminded me this morning of the Darwin Awards, the annual tongue-in-cheek prize given posthumously to those individuals who gave their lives (in stupid ways), thereby contributing to the survival of the species by taking themselves out of the gene pool.
However after thinking about it for a moment, putting myself into the late cellphone owner's shoes, I couldn't assure myself beyond a reasonable doubt that I wouldn't have done exactly the same thing, especially after an evening of taking delight in the juice of the barley.
Let's face it, outside of a cherished toy or a Little Leaguer's beloved baseball glove, I can't think of any physical object that brings as much personal satisfaction or elicits more feelings of protectiveness from its owner than the modern day smart phone. Of course this is only conjecture since I don't actually have one; my portable phone, bless its little silicon heart, is decidedly dumb by comparison.
Done up to the extreme, a smart phone can perform hundreds of tasks from book to camera to jukebox to personal movie theater to e-mail box, to command center of its user's social life. And yes it can also be used as a telephone. Throw in the countless apps available with the touch of a button, and the sky's the limit to what you can do with a smart phone. As a constant companion, most smart phone owners feel naked and lonely if they happen to leave home without their device.
Compulsive as I am, I know that if I had one, I too would be transfixed, which is one of the reasons I resist the temptation to get one.
Thinking about all this, I conducted an informal survey on the trip home on the L this evening. I'd say that about 80 percent of the passengers were using one kind of portable electronic device or other. To be fair, some of those people were listening to music through ear buds while reading an actual book made out of wood fiber and offset printed with ink. Others read a traditional book or newspaper without the benefit of a soundtrack. Still others were engaged in honest to goodness, one on one, face to face conversation, which quite honestly, warmed my heart.
Those last two groups are the people I'm convinced, who will survive the apocalypse.
As for myself, well I can only say this: there but by the grace of God...
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
The Jinx
Dread came over me the other day as I hit the publish button sending my post extolling the virtues of winter into the world. Being a little superstitious, I had a feeling that something bad was going to happen after I spoke of how happy I was that after a couple of mild winters, we finally had an "honest to goodness winter." I could see the headlines:
Well, glad to report that I haven't keeled over just yet, but that lovely, joyful winter that had all the makings of a Currier and Ives print on a Hallmark card, took a nasty turn this past weekend as a major winter storm dumping about 14 inches of snow was followed by record setting sub-zero temperatures, the likes of which we haven't seen in about twenty years.
All that was followed by the predictable posts from the folks living in warm climates thumbing their noses at us. "So do you still like winter?..." I could hear them saying under their breath to me.
In all honesty I'd have to respond with a resounding yes. For as much as I get tired of all the hassles of the winter season: the layers of extra clothes, the boots that take five minutes to put on and take off, digging cars out of snow banks only to discover their batteries have given up the ghost, despite all that, I'd take winter drudgery over summer misery. Now don't get me wrong, I love summer as anyone who has read this blog faithfully can attest. But miserable is not an adjective I'd use to describe cold, even bitterly cold weather. In fact, there is a sense of satisfaction being out and about in the dead of winter, a feeling of accomplishment as if you're telling Mother Nature you can take all she has to dish out. Fifteen degrees below zero? No problem. Minus fifty degree wind chill? Bring it on.
Summer heat waves are another story. While it's always possible to get out of the cold in winter, it's very difficult to escape the summer heat. True there's air conditioning, but I always feel like Goldilocks in that artificial environment, it's either too cold or not cold enough, never just right.
I never feel quite so alive as when I'm walking around outside in the bitter cold, properly dressed of course. On the other hand, tossing and turning, trying to get to sleep on a hot summer night just makes me want to die.
Back in 1995 during a terrible heat wave here in Chicago, some 750 poor souls did just that. There are surely winter casualties as well but a small number in comparison.
The summer misery we experience here in Chicago can't hold a candle to the misery our friends suffer in places like the Gulf Coast and the southwest. I have experienced 110 in the shade in Phoenix. True it's a dry heat but so is the heat found in an oven. It's not unusual for folks in the Valley of the Sun in the midst of the great Sonoran Desert to experience days or weeks of temperatures that hover consistently around 120 degrees Farenheit. From my experience, the streets of summertime Phoenix are as deserted as Chicago's were during the past two days of double digit below zero weather. The difference is that today, with the temperature finally above zero if just barely, life has returned to our streets. And believe it or not, after the past two days, today feels downright balmy.
The summer temperatures in the Gulf Coast can't match those in Phoenix, but then again they can't brag about the low humidity either. But the real misery comes during hurricane season when people are routinely forced to evacuate their homes, not knowing for sure if there will be a home to come home to.
No thank you. It may be tempting fate to say it, but I'll take the cold any day.
Blogger professing love of winter drops dead while shoveling snow.Now there's some bitter irony for you.
Well, glad to report that I haven't keeled over just yet, but that lovely, joyful winter that had all the makings of a Currier and Ives print on a Hallmark card, took a nasty turn this past weekend as a major winter storm dumping about 14 inches of snow was followed by record setting sub-zero temperatures, the likes of which we haven't seen in about twenty years.
All that was followed by the predictable posts from the folks living in warm climates thumbing their noses at us. "So do you still like winter?..." I could hear them saying under their breath to me.
In all honesty I'd have to respond with a resounding yes. For as much as I get tired of all the hassles of the winter season: the layers of extra clothes, the boots that take five minutes to put on and take off, digging cars out of snow banks only to discover their batteries have given up the ghost, despite all that, I'd take winter drudgery over summer misery. Now don't get me wrong, I love summer as anyone who has read this blog faithfully can attest. But miserable is not an adjective I'd use to describe cold, even bitterly cold weather. In fact, there is a sense of satisfaction being out and about in the dead of winter, a feeling of accomplishment as if you're telling Mother Nature you can take all she has to dish out. Fifteen degrees below zero? No problem. Minus fifty degree wind chill? Bring it on.
Summer heat waves are another story. While it's always possible to get out of the cold in winter, it's very difficult to escape the summer heat. True there's air conditioning, but I always feel like Goldilocks in that artificial environment, it's either too cold or not cold enough, never just right.
I never feel quite so alive as when I'm walking around outside in the bitter cold, properly dressed of course. On the other hand, tossing and turning, trying to get to sleep on a hot summer night just makes me want to die.
Back in 1995 during a terrible heat wave here in Chicago, some 750 poor souls did just that. There are surely winter casualties as well but a small number in comparison.
The summer misery we experience here in Chicago can't hold a candle to the misery our friends suffer in places like the Gulf Coast and the southwest. I have experienced 110 in the shade in Phoenix. True it's a dry heat but so is the heat found in an oven. It's not unusual for folks in the Valley of the Sun in the midst of the great Sonoran Desert to experience days or weeks of temperatures that hover consistently around 120 degrees Farenheit. From my experience, the streets of summertime Phoenix are as deserted as Chicago's were during the past two days of double digit below zero weather. The difference is that today, with the temperature finally above zero if just barely, life has returned to our streets. And believe it or not, after the past two days, today feels downright balmy.
The summer temperatures in the Gulf Coast can't match those in Phoenix, but then again they can't brag about the low humidity either. But the real misery comes during hurricane season when people are routinely forced to evacuate their homes, not knowing for sure if there will be a home to come home to.
No thank you. It may be tempting fate to say it, but I'll take the cold any day.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Farewell Michael...
The end of the year causes most of us to sit back and take account of the events of our lives, our communities, and the world over the past year. Most of us take the good with the bad, and we consider a year to be good if we come out slightly ahead.
For Chicago, my home town, it's been a year of losses. It was a particularly bad year for architectural preservation as we lost the beautiful and historic St. James Church in Bronzeville. We also lost the battle to save Bertrand Goldberg's Prentice Women's Hospital which is being demolished as I write this. Perhaps worse than the loss of the building itself was the devastating precedent of the ruling by the city's Landmark's Commission, which declared the building worthy of landmark status then in the next breath, determined that economic considerations trumped that status, clearing the way for the building's destruction. After that disastrous ruling, no building in this city is safe from the wrecking ball.
More mundane to be sure but also worth noting was the loss of the enormous baseball that proudly announced the presence of the former Thillen's Stadium at Devon and Kedzie on Chicago's far north side.
Chicago lost a long time institution this year as all of the Dominick's grocery stores closed their doors for good this past Saturday, leaving thousands of workers unemployed during the holidays. Some of the locations have been purchased by other businesses but the vast majority of them will remain shuttered for the foreseeable future. As many of these stores anchored shopping centers, the businesses that shared those centers no doubt will suffer as a result. And a city already well known for its "food deserts" will have one fewer source of fresh food at reasonable prices in neighborhoods that can't afford to be without them.
There is one more loss to the city that I'd like to note. Today was the last day on the job for a wonderful man who for 36 years was the operator of CTA trains, mostly along the Red Line which runs almost the entire length of Chicago from 95th Street on the south all the way up to its northern boundary at Howard Street. His name is Michael Powell. I first met Michael about ten years ago as I was taking my young son to his grandmother's apartment downtown. As I did as a child, my boy liked to sit up front to watch the operator drive the train. Most of the operators I think appreciated the attention but for the most part kept quiet as the company rules prohibit them from talking to passengers while the train is in motion. Given that by now he's finished his last run, I can safely say that Michael had little regard for that rule. My boy and I learned Michael's life story that day, especially his love of trains. He never wore the standard issue uniform, as you can see in the picture he preferred the more traditional striped engineer's uniform and cap, his "Choo Choo Charlie outfit" as he liked to call it. If anyone was born for a particular job, it was Michael. I was shocked when he told me earlier this month that he was about to retire.
Another policy that Michael had little regard for was the application of the recorded voice of the CTA that calls out stops and lets the passengers know, as if they didn't know it already, that there was a delay. On Michael's runs, you seldom heard that smooth but impersonal voice. Instead you heard Michael's friendly, high-pitched voice commenting on the events of the day, or just informally shooting the breeze in a stream of conscious manner. As Michael delivered his train into the Loop during rush hour, he would typically bid adieu to his passengers with: "May the Force be with you" or other popular aphorisms. Sometimes he would simply say: "goodbye and have nice day." Never would anyone of Michael's regular riders think for a moment that he didn't mean that from the bottom of his heart.
Michael's humor could be cornball but every once in a while he hit the nail right on the head. My favorite experience of riding aboard one of his runs was the day we had a blizzard that dumped about three feet of snow on the city. The storm was so bad that most businesses discharged their employees even before the first snowflake fell. Since we were in the middle of a project, my colleagues and I chose to stay at work and by the time we left, about a foot of snow was already on the ground. Needless to say, the train platform was crammed with cold and frustrated passengers who had no idea how long the journey home would take. After what seemed like an eternity, a train pulled into the station. As luck would have it, it was Michael's train. Although the train was packed like sardines, Michael told everyone to keep calm, that we were all in this together, and that by cooperating, we'd all get home in due time. His charming sense of humor calmed everybody down and soon he had the passengers eating out of his hand. I'd say the blizzard reached it's apex right around the time our train got to the Sheridan station, just north of Wrigley Field. The unfortunate people who got off at that station were hit by a tremendous gust of wind and snow; frankly it was a bit comical as the poor folks looked as if they didn't know what hit them. "Don't laugh..." Michael told the rest of us over the loudspeaker, "...pretty soon, that will be you."
Luck was with me again today as I left home unusually late this being New Year's Eve. It just so happened that I boarded Michael's train for one last time. I heard that familiar voice and remembered him telling me a few weeks ago of his imminent retirement. Something was strange however. That canned CTA voice kept popping up on the loudspeaker, much more often than it ever did during Michael's runs. Just every once in a while, Michael broke in to say "all aboard, thanks for riding." When our train dipped into the subway after Fullerton, that familiar voice broke in again saying, "My name is Michael and I'm about to retire after 36 years. It's been my pleasure to serve you." There was a collective groan from the passengers. Someone aboard our car informed us that in the first car people were signing cards for Michael. Just about everybody got off and headed there to sign his card and wish him well.
So did I.
I got off at my stop, shook his hand and said good bye. He told me that he'd miss me. I said that I'd miss him too.
All choked up, I never got the chance to thank him. It was always a pleasure to ride with him.
Happy New Year Michael, and may the force be with you.
For Chicago, my home town, it's been a year of losses. It was a particularly bad year for architectural preservation as we lost the beautiful and historic St. James Church in Bronzeville. We also lost the battle to save Bertrand Goldberg's Prentice Women's Hospital which is being demolished as I write this. Perhaps worse than the loss of the building itself was the devastating precedent of the ruling by the city's Landmark's Commission, which declared the building worthy of landmark status then in the next breath, determined that economic considerations trumped that status, clearing the way for the building's destruction. After that disastrous ruling, no building in this city is safe from the wrecking ball.
More mundane to be sure but also worth noting was the loss of the enormous baseball that proudly announced the presence of the former Thillen's Stadium at Devon and Kedzie on Chicago's far north side.
Chicago lost a long time institution this year as all of the Dominick's grocery stores closed their doors for good this past Saturday, leaving thousands of workers unemployed during the holidays. Some of the locations have been purchased by other businesses but the vast majority of them will remain shuttered for the foreseeable future. As many of these stores anchored shopping centers, the businesses that shared those centers no doubt will suffer as a result. And a city already well known for its "food deserts" will have one fewer source of fresh food at reasonable prices in neighborhoods that can't afford to be without them.
There is one more loss to the city that I'd like to note. Today was the last day on the job for a wonderful man who for 36 years was the operator of CTA trains, mostly along the Red Line which runs almost the entire length of Chicago from 95th Street on the south all the way up to its northern boundary at Howard Street. His name is Michael Powell. I first met Michael about ten years ago as I was taking my young son to his grandmother's apartment downtown. As I did as a child, my boy liked to sit up front to watch the operator drive the train. Most of the operators I think appreciated the attention but for the most part kept quiet as the company rules prohibit them from talking to passengers while the train is in motion. Given that by now he's finished his last run, I can safely say that Michael had little regard for that rule. My boy and I learned Michael's life story that day, especially his love of trains. He never wore the standard issue uniform, as you can see in the picture he preferred the more traditional striped engineer's uniform and cap, his "Choo Choo Charlie outfit" as he liked to call it. If anyone was born for a particular job, it was Michael. I was shocked when he told me earlier this month that he was about to retire.
 |
| Michael Powell on his penultimate run |
Michael's humor could be cornball but every once in a while he hit the nail right on the head. My favorite experience of riding aboard one of his runs was the day we had a blizzard that dumped about three feet of snow on the city. The storm was so bad that most businesses discharged their employees even before the first snowflake fell. Since we were in the middle of a project, my colleagues and I chose to stay at work and by the time we left, about a foot of snow was already on the ground. Needless to say, the train platform was crammed with cold and frustrated passengers who had no idea how long the journey home would take. After what seemed like an eternity, a train pulled into the station. As luck would have it, it was Michael's train. Although the train was packed like sardines, Michael told everyone to keep calm, that we were all in this together, and that by cooperating, we'd all get home in due time. His charming sense of humor calmed everybody down and soon he had the passengers eating out of his hand. I'd say the blizzard reached it's apex right around the time our train got to the Sheridan station, just north of Wrigley Field. The unfortunate people who got off at that station were hit by a tremendous gust of wind and snow; frankly it was a bit comical as the poor folks looked as if they didn't know what hit them. "Don't laugh..." Michael told the rest of us over the loudspeaker, "...pretty soon, that will be you."
Luck was with me again today as I left home unusually late this being New Year's Eve. It just so happened that I boarded Michael's train for one last time. I heard that familiar voice and remembered him telling me a few weeks ago of his imminent retirement. Something was strange however. That canned CTA voice kept popping up on the loudspeaker, much more often than it ever did during Michael's runs. Just every once in a while, Michael broke in to say "all aboard, thanks for riding." When our train dipped into the subway after Fullerton, that familiar voice broke in again saying, "My name is Michael and I'm about to retire after 36 years. It's been my pleasure to serve you." There was a collective groan from the passengers. Someone aboard our car informed us that in the first car people were signing cards for Michael. Just about everybody got off and headed there to sign his card and wish him well.
So did I.
I got off at my stop, shook his hand and said good bye. He told me that he'd miss me. I said that I'd miss him too.
All choked up, I never got the chance to thank him. It was always a pleasure to ride with him.
Happy New Year Michael, and may the force be with you.
Wednesday, December 25, 2013
An honest to goodness winter
They say the only two things you can depend upon in life are death and taxes. Once upon a time here at the 42nd Parallel in North America at least, you could add two more things: cold and snow in winter. All that has changed in the past thirty years or so as winters have been getting milder, and white Christmases are are the exception rather than the rule.
Most folks I know are pretty OK with that. While this time of year as they eagerly put on tunes that extoll the virtues of dashing through the snow, jingling sleigh bells, and Jack Frost nipping at one's nose, most people it seems when push comes to shove, are content to leave cold and snow to the reminiscences of Johnny Mathis, Nat Cole, and Bing Crosby.
My son did get to play hockey this past weekend and when I dropped him off (I didn't play myself because I still had Christmas errands to run), the sound of the skates, sticks and pucks of the few kids who had already taken to the ice, took me back to my childhood and my love of the game. As it had gotten considerably warmer by that day, a fog of condensation hovered over the rink and despite being in the middle of the city, I could best describe that scene as something right out of a Currier & Ives print.
Yes I'm one of those people who truly appreciates the change of season. Despite its hassles, I love winter. I love the sight and smell of the freshly fallen snow that covers everything in its path like a soft blanket. I love the sounds of winter, the ones mentioned above as well as the squeaky sound of footsteps on the snow. I love the howl of the wind on a cold winter night. In a slightly perverted way I even like the sound of snow shovels and the whine of automobile tires (when they're not mine) as they futilely spin on the ice and snow.
My most memorable Christmas was the one of 1968. We recently moved into our new house and as luck would have it, on a cold December 25th morning, our furnace went out. We spent the entire day huddled in the kitchen heated by our oven as the rest of our house became uninhabitable. That was the day the crew of Apollo 8 became the first human beings to circle the moon. As they came out from behind the moon's shadow and regained radio contact with the earth (thus becoming the first people to experience earthrise), the crew on that Christmas Day were moved to recite the passages from Genesis describing the creation of Earth, our beautiful planet seen for the first time as a lonely island floating in a desolate sea of emptiness. My Christmas present, the Mattel Matt Mason Space Station received the evening before had to wait as the real, live spacemen, even if seen only on a small black and white TV in the kitchen, were just so much more impressive. Despite the inconvenience, I will remember that as one of my best Christmases for as long as I live.
My worst Christmas came fourteen years later. My uncle had just died suddenly as well as our family's long time next door neighbor. On Christmas Day that year we visited my grandmother, (who due to her fragile condition was not informed of her son's death). Playing on a TV at the nursing home where she lived was a movie that had been very special to me as a child. Seeing glimpses of that movie, as well as my grandmother who didn't recognize me, only made the grief I was already experiencing all the more painful. Topping it all off, it was about 65 degrees outside that day. From that moment on, mild weather on Christmas has reminded me of a world thrown off kilter, just as it was on that day so long ago.
Well I'm happy to report that today, December 25, 2013, we have snow on the ground in Chicago. True, it's only a small dusting of the white stuff, but it's still a white Christmas.
Just the way it should be.
Merry Christmas everyone!
Most folks I know are pretty OK with that. While this time of year as they eagerly put on tunes that extoll the virtues of dashing through the snow, jingling sleigh bells, and Jack Frost nipping at one's nose, most people it seems when push comes to shove, are content to leave cold and snow to the reminiscences of Johnny Mathis, Nat Cole, and Bing Crosby.
 |
| Photograph by Beth Iska |
Not me. Despite noticing that my body is slightly little less tolerant to cold weather than it used to be, I've welcomed our recent arctic blast with much joy. Two weeks ago, my son and a friend were only slightly disappointed when their plan to play hockey was ruined because of the six inches of newly fallen snow on their outdoor ice rink. Instead, they grabbed their sleds and despite being improperly dressed, spent two hours on the good sized sledding hill at our local park. The rest of us joined them later and spent a good time ourselves on the frigid highest point in our neighborhood. For some reason, my six year old daughter never before had the desire to go sledding, so this was her first experience of it. After getting bored with going down the puny slopes for the little kids, she eventually overcame her apprehensions and took to the big hill like a seasoned professional. From the photograph taken by her mother, you can see the look of pure joy on her face.
My son did get to play hockey this past weekend and when I dropped him off (I didn't play myself because I still had Christmas errands to run), the sound of the skates, sticks and pucks of the few kids who had already taken to the ice, took me back to my childhood and my love of the game. As it had gotten considerably warmer by that day, a fog of condensation hovered over the rink and despite being in the middle of the city, I could best describe that scene as something right out of a Currier & Ives print.
Yes I'm one of those people who truly appreciates the change of season. Despite its hassles, I love winter. I love the sight and smell of the freshly fallen snow that covers everything in its path like a soft blanket. I love the sounds of winter, the ones mentioned above as well as the squeaky sound of footsteps on the snow. I love the howl of the wind on a cold winter night. In a slightly perverted way I even like the sound of snow shovels and the whine of automobile tires (when they're not mine) as they futilely spin on the ice and snow.
My most memorable Christmas was the one of 1968. We recently moved into our new house and as luck would have it, on a cold December 25th morning, our furnace went out. We spent the entire day huddled in the kitchen heated by our oven as the rest of our house became uninhabitable. That was the day the crew of Apollo 8 became the first human beings to circle the moon. As they came out from behind the moon's shadow and regained radio contact with the earth (thus becoming the first people to experience earthrise), the crew on that Christmas Day were moved to recite the passages from Genesis describing the creation of Earth, our beautiful planet seen for the first time as a lonely island floating in a desolate sea of emptiness. My Christmas present, the Mattel Matt Mason Space Station received the evening before had to wait as the real, live spacemen, even if seen only on a small black and white TV in the kitchen, were just so much more impressive. Despite the inconvenience, I will remember that as one of my best Christmases for as long as I live.
My worst Christmas came fourteen years later. My uncle had just died suddenly as well as our family's long time next door neighbor. On Christmas Day that year we visited my grandmother, (who due to her fragile condition was not informed of her son's death). Playing on a TV at the nursing home where she lived was a movie that had been very special to me as a child. Seeing glimpses of that movie, as well as my grandmother who didn't recognize me, only made the grief I was already experiencing all the more painful. Topping it all off, it was about 65 degrees outside that day. From that moment on, mild weather on Christmas has reminded me of a world thrown off kilter, just as it was on that day so long ago.
Well I'm happy to report that today, December 25, 2013, we have snow on the ground in Chicago. True, it's only a small dusting of the white stuff, but it's still a white Christmas.
Just the way it should be.
Merry Christmas everyone!
Sunday, December 15, 2013
Don't Mess with Mr. In-between
One e-mail message line on my inbox screamed this:
Obama's illegal alien uncle to appear at new immigration hearing.And another:
Oklahoma City will not cancel pornographic play mocking the Bible.
From a site devoted to the leanings of the other side comes this:
Libertarian Writings that Read like Comic Books.And this:
Truth, No Strings Attached.And again:
Some Filthy Facts About the Rich.
I've been on the mailing lists of these and similar web sites for some time now. If strangers were to casually glance at my inbox, they would draw the conclusion that my political views are schizophrenic to say the least. Other than their wildly divergent points of view however, there is very little difference between the sites. I never asked to subscribe to them, the organizations responsible for the publications are spamming me, they got my address from other sites that I do subscribe to. I could simply unsubscribe but frankly I'm entertained by headlines such as these, much like those of the tabloids at the checkout line. The difference between these messages and the ones at the supermarket is that the e-mail headlines are lead-ins to articles that are meant to be taken seriously.
I also don't unsubscribe to these sites because unlike most Americans it seems, I'm interested in what people who don't necessarily share my point of view have to say. Good heavens, I might even learn something.
More than anything, what these web sites have in common is the tone of their discourse. There is seldom an attempt to lend any credence to the other side of the argument as if to say people who don't believe as they do are simply a bunch of irritating, misguided fools. On both sides of the ideological divide, the websites, periodicals, and TV networks devoted exclusively to one point of view or another are essentially saying this: "We're right, and everybody else is wrong."
Small wonder why our current government is so dysfunctional, the rhetoric of these internet articles, and the comments that follow them, seem to be a beacon for our politicians as well.
There is a war going on in this country and the weapon of choice by the combatants is hyperbole.
I distinctly remember a time during the late sixties and early seventies when this country was bitterly divided over the war in Vietnam. While we have our own serious problems today, I can't see an issue in our time, no not even Obamacare, that comes close to the divisiveness that Vietnam produced. Yet today I'd say we as a nation are as divided if not more so, than during that difficult time.
What accounts for the lack of tolerance, subtlety, and common sense in our current political discourse is anybody's guess. Perhaps it's because we don't have a common enemy bringing us together as we did during the Great Depression, World War II and the days after September 11, 2001. Maybe it's the proliferation of cable TV outlets, the internet, and social media which provides a platform for every political ideology no matter how extreme or goofy, and promotes the segregation of those with like minds. Or maybe its just the old ennui, I have no idea.
What worries me is that the voices that scream the loudest on both sides are the ones that get the attention, leaving the subtle, unbiased, and measured views behind.
No ideological group holds the monopoly on overblown rhetoric and hyperbole; both sides spew it as freely as a drunken sailor spends money on a twelve hour shore leave. But if I had to crown a king of bluster, a crown prince of bombast, and a champion of the art of summing up all the world's problems into one sentence, usually wrapped around an infantile temper tantrum, that title would have to go to Rush Limbaugh.
Limbaugh's political views are well documented, as they say he's a little to the right of Attila the Hun. That alone for me is not a problem, far from it. In fact sometimes, rarely, but sometimes I agree with him. It's not his message I find objectionable, but the way he delivers it. Limbaugh is as subtle as a twenty pound sledge hammer, blasting his targets, that is to say anyone who doesn't subscribe to his world view, with insults and diatribes that would not be out of place in a professional wrestling ring. He seems to reserve the bulk of his wrath for women supporting women's issues. Recently Limbaugh labeled a women who publicly supported medical insurance paying for birth control pills a "slut." Of course it's all an act, no one in their right mind should take Limbaugh any more seriously than the circus known as the Jerry Springer Show.
But unfortunately, many people do.
Limbaugh's latest target has been none other than the Pope. When Cardinal Bergoglio of Buenos Aires stepped into the shoes of St. Peter in the Vatican this past March becoming Pope Francis, it quickly became clear that he would be a quite different pontiff than his predecessor, Pope Benedict XVI. Benedict, now officially Pope Emeritus, is a brilliant theologian who was instrumental in the creation and implementation of the reforms of Vatican II which brought radical change to the Catholic Church. But the former Cardinal Ratzinger would later change some of his views on the sweeping changes that took place since the Second Vatican Council met in the early sixties and became very well known, even before his pontificate, as a strong voice for conservatism in the church.
Unlike Benedict, Francis, the first pope from Latin America, has rejected many of the trappings of the royal Vatican lifestyle, going out of his way to show that his pontificate will be devoted to the basics, that is to say, ministering to the poor and the helpless, and concentrating on the most fundamental tenets of Christianity, namely the gospel of love and forgiveness.
In recent months Pope Francis has made strong statements about some of the failings of capitalism, specifically the culture of greed that unrestricted capitalism left unchecked, can create.
This is where old Rush, huffing and puffing as usual, comes in. Though not a Catholic himself, he tells us he very much admires the institution. Specifically, Rush strongly approves of the Church's stand against abortion and gay marriage. He brags about being wined and dined aboard a yacht by the former Cardinal O'Connor of New York during a "Pro-Life" cruise. He claims to have visited the Vatican on numerous occasions and correctly points out there would not be a Vatican, and all its treasures, were it not for the vast amount of money that capitalism provides. And he writes admiringly about Pope John Paul II's strong opposition to communism and the late pope's claim that Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan (two of Limbaugh's personal heroes) were important figures in the downfall of Communism in central and eastern Europe. Rush is right about that too.
But in the Gospel according to Rush:
...juxtaposed against the actions of Pope John Paul II this pope (Francis) and the things that he released yesterday or recently are really striking.
There has been a long-standing tension between the Catholic Church and communism. It's been around for quite a while. That's what makes this, to me, really remarkable...
...I'm not Catholic, but I know enough to know that this would have been unthinkable for a pope to believe or say just a few years ago. But this passage, "The culture of prosperity deadens us. We are thrilled if the market offers us something new to buy. In the meantime, all those lives stunted for lack of opportunity seem a mere spectacle." I have to tell you, folks, I am totally bewildered by this.Here Rush shows that he's way out of his league. Fair enough, the non-Catholic Limbaugh couldn't possibly (or could he?) know that both Popes Benedict XVI and John Paul II, while being harsh critics of communism, also had stern warnings about "unfettered capitalism." According to Rush's great hero J.P.II in 1987:
The tension between East and West is an opposition... between two concepts of the development of individuals and peoples, both concepts being imperfect and in need of radical correction... This is one of the reasons why the Church’s social doctrine adopts a critical attitude towards both liberal (unfettered) capitalism and Marxist collectivism.
...can it perhaps be said that, after the failure of Communism, capitalism is the victorious social system and that capitalism should be the goal of the countries now making efforts to rebuild their economy and society? Is this the model which ought to be proposed to the countries of the Third World which are searching for the path to true economic and civil progress?
The answer is obviously complex. If by ‘capitalism’ is meant an economic system which recognizes the fundamental and positive role of business, the market, private property and the resulting responsibility for the means of production, as well as free human creativity in the economic sector, then the answer is certainly in the affirmative... But if by "capitalism" is meant a system in which freedom in the economic sector is not circumscribed within a strong juridical framework which places it at the service of human freedom in its totality (in other words, unfettered capitalism), and which sees it as a particular aspect of that freedom, the core of which is ethical and religious, then the reply is certainly negative. (Emphasis and comments are mine)Pope Benedict XVI would later go on to write much the same on the subject. In that vein, Pope Francis
has added little or nothing to the Church's doctrine on capitalism. What he has done, which has come as a breath of fresh air to many, and a thorn in the side to folks like Limbaugh, is place less emphasis on hot button topics, social issues such as abortion and gay marriage, in favor of living and preaching the Gospel. In other words, the focus of his ministry as stated above, is directed toward the hungry, the poor, the dispossessed, the sinners, (groups Limbaugh doesn't have much time for), as well as the so called righteous. As a result, Pope Francis has brought the Vatican in step with what goes on daily in the lives of Catholic parishes around the world. Contrary to the general (non-Catholic) public's perception, as any practicing Catholic can tell you, the Church's heart resides within the hearts and souls of its people, not within the mysterious halls of the Vatican.
Judging from his words, Rush Limbaugh clearly knows little about Catholicism or the Catholic Church. What he knows or understands about Christianity is also somewhat suspect. If Limbaugh were looking for some truly radical theology he could chomp is pointy incisors into, he should read this:
For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’
“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’
“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’That said, it is important to point out that despite Pope Francis's ingratiating words for those on the Left to believers and non-believers alike, the Church's doctrine regarding the controversial issues of our time is not about to change. Don't expect to see the Pope coming out in favor of abortion, or gay weddings inside St. Peter's any time soon. This is as it should be I believe. It's one thing for individuals, government and statutory law to be swayed by changing times, public opinion, and ideology, but I believe that the Church is the one institution in our lives that must remain steadfastly true to its mission, namely the Gospel.
Popes come and go, some of them such as Francis and John XXIII are claimed by the Left, while others like John Paul II and Benedict XVI are claimed by the Right. However I suspect that none of those pontiffs would have appreciated being labeled as a poster child for any particular ideology.
The nutty political discourse we're now experiencing maybe OK for the secular, temporal world in which we live. However when all is said and done, we will all be judged (by a greater power if you believe in such things, and most certainly by those who survive us), by the way we treated others. The fundamental message of Christianity and other religions is so simple and profound that we lose sight of it among the all the busy details of our lives. That message is this:
Love and forgive one another.
That's all.
In the words of the great Rabbi Hillel, spoken 2000 years ago:
the rest (of scripture) is commentary.We may claim the Almighty for ourselves but God is neither liberal nor conservative, Democrat nor Republican. He is neither a Communist nor a Capitalist. His message doesn't belong exclusively to the Right or to the Left, to the Jew or the Gentile, or to you or me. It belongs to all of us.
In the end, that message is the only one that matters.
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