The venerable Chicago restaurant, R.J. Grunts, uses a picture of me as a child in one of their new 70s-themed advertisements.
The image used in the ad was taken in the early 1970s. I was attending the circus with my aunt, uncle, and younger brother. My brother, wearing the same Chicago hi-fashion couture as me, is cropped out of the photograph.
Hey, don't I at least deserve a free burger for my embarrassment, R.J.?
This section of water main
has to rank up there in the most weird category of things I've come across on eBay, says the seller of this section of wood pipe, dating to pre-1845; I have to agree with him.
The vintage Chicago water main is essentially a piece of a tree with center hollowed out, given to Jim Shimek, an Engineer. According to the listing, this is part of the real Sewer Main excavated at Wacker and Madison.
Of course, as long-time readers will no doubt recall, I'm an ex-pat Chicagoan, so an item of this ilk is dear to my heart. I've actually given some thought to the Chicago sewer system. In fact, I wrote the following unpublished poem ("Steam") about it, which was inspired by an article I read about sewer systems. It's one of the few poems you're likely to read with footnotes:
STEAM
1.
Gregory stokes the boiler of his heart's desire.
The steam it produces settles like a film over all this revealing everything.
There are only ghosts in the firmament of his mind—
Nothing else matters but her, his Helen, gone like a dream he once had.
He made her vanish by waking up.
Marked like a first-day cover ready for the Philatelist's dusty vault.
Gregory is older now, older than all of this.
He waves his hands around when he talks of her
bragging that she even exists as though that matters somehow.
2.
Every year, 30 billion pounds of steam flow beneath the streets of Chicago
from Edgewater to Hyde Park, a silent river of vapor traveling beneath. 1
Steam they say burns the worst—
it enters every pore like liquid fire—and leaves a mark.
Gregory burns some off in the gym
adding his essence to the ephemeral river that flows below all this.
Steam is an easier concept to grasp than, say, fiber optics.
But producing it on a scale such as this is nowhere near as simple as turning on a kettle. 2
3.
The steam coursing underneath is not to be confused with
that eerie, popular, and unnatural exhaust that rises from city manholes
making it appear as if the whole town is ready to blow.
It's not the same. Don't be confused. It doesn't penetrate the way her eyes do.
Steam in pipes like blood in veins is invisible.
The so-called steam wafting up from the streets is vapor produced when underground water hits hot steel and escapes—a prisoner to roam these cold streets forever. 3
4.
Some of the real steam winds up at St. Vincent's on 12th Street,
the forceps in the operating room are sterilized with it.
The intensity of the heat kills any pathogen. 4
Gregory's heart is open on the table and waiting for the knife.
He bleeds. And waits for Helen's Shakespearean kiss in a dreamless sleep.
Footnotes:
1 Carl Bevelhymer, "Steam," Gotham City Gazette 10 November 2003 <http://www.gothamgazette.com/article/issueoftheweek/20031110/200/674>.
I fondly recall the film study course I took, back in the early 1980s, when I attended Maine East High School. I'm so glad I elected to take that course. Not only was I exposed to the work of Alfred Hitchcock
, something previously foreign to me as a teenager, but I had the distinct pleasure of sitting directly behind one of the Coglonese sisters, a girl in "the popular crowd" and a member of the cheerleading squad. We weren't really friends. I wasn't in her clique, so there was a natural distance that she kept, but she was always cordial. On Fridays, when we'd watch the second half of whatever film we were studying, she'd dress in her full cheerleading outfit, something all the cheerleaders did on game days. As the film would begin, she'd tilt her chair back slightly and rest her head on my desktop; her long strawberry blond hair cascaded down the length of the school desk. The clean aroma of her freshly washed hair rose up off the desktop and mingled with her perfume. The subtle smell of her shimmering hair and delicate perfume was intoxicating in the darkness.
To this day, whenever I'm flipping through the channels and catch a glimpse of one of the films we studied, I smell that cheerleader's beautiful hair. I'm immediately transported back to that darkened classroom, a slight breeze trying to sneak under the drawn window shades, and the black-and-white film flickering on the makeshift screen. It's one of my happiest memories of high school.
Search for books about Alfred Hitchcock.
A 78RPM record signed by Baby Dodds
is being auctioned on eBay. The recording is of Forty and Tight b/w Piggly Wiggly by Johnny Dodds and His Beale Street Washboard Band.
Speaking of washboards and Beale Street, I was fortunate to see another band, Lynn August and the Hot August Knights, play the washboard on Beale Street in the late 1980s. Earlier that day, we drove down to Memphis (from Chicago) to visit Graceland as part of a friend's bachelor party (but that's another story). Anyway, Lynn August played the washboard late into the Memphis night, and it was memorizing.
At the time, Beale Street was a dangerous place to be after midnight as I found out. When we left the jazz club at 2am or so, we discovered the mobile home we'd rented for the weekend had been burglarized. A friend had went ahead to retrieve the mobile home and noticed people jumping out of the back window as he approached the vehicle. Almost instantly, he was surrounded by police. In the confusion, he was briefly considered a suspect while the police rounded up the other would-be robbers who were in the process of making off with our large supply of liquor and other goods. Fortunately, no one was hurt, and, after some explaining, our somewhat drunk and very frightened friend, was released from police custody. The robbers totally demolished the interior of the mobile home and broke all the windows. We had to drive back to Chicago later that day, in the blazing heat of August, with no air conditioning. The partially wrecked, hulking mass of a vehicle broke down outside of Cairo, Illinois. (The muffler had somehow been crushed.) We were stranded in Southern Illinois for hours and hours, until a friend's sister came down and picked us up in a station wagon. It was a long, but unforgettable weekend.
But I digress. Back to our discussion of Baby Dodds: According to All Music Guide, Baby Dodds was arguably the first important jazz drummer. Baby Dodds was one of the earliest to vary his patterns during a performance; a strong example of his adventurous style can be heard on a trio performance (with Jelly Roll Morton and Baby's brother Johnny) of "Wolverine Blues" in 1927. A major influence on Gene Krupa, Dodds worked in New Orleans with Willie Hightower, Bunk Johnson, Oscar Celestin, and others and played with Fate Marable's riverboat band in 1918. He joined King Oliver in San Francisco in 1922 and settled in Chicago the following year. In addition to recording with Oliver's classic Creole Jazz Band, Dodds was an important part of sessions led by Jelly Roll Morton and Louis Armstrong's Hot Seven. He remained in Chicago for decades, performing and recording regularly with his brother, Johnny Dodds, until the clarinetist's death in 1940. During the traditional jazz revival, Baby played with Jimmie Noone, Sidney Bechet, Bunk Johnson, and Art Hodes, appeared on the This Is Jazz radio broadcasts of 1947, and visited Europe with Mezz Mezzrow the following year. During 1945-1946, he recorded the first unaccompanied drum solos. Despite ill health in the 1950s, Baby Dodds kept playing until two years before his death; his memoirs are well worth reading.
Search for books about Jazz Records.
Quick! We need to bring back the Willard Weathermaster. It was the only battery in the world with climate control! Since today is Climate Change Action Day, I've search high and low for a solution to this monumental problem. It was right under our nose all the time--and all we had to do was turn a simple key--but Big Battery, like the Everyready Company and Die Hard squashed the Willard Weathermaster—driving it off the market before we knew how much we needed it. Of course, back in the 1950s, you could toss your Tarrytown butts on the street and spill gasoline down storm drains and generally muck up the planet without any guilt.
Forsooth! The Willard Weathermaster was ahead of its time. Today, all we have to remind us of this breakthrough technology is this really cool vintage ad being offered on eBay.
As I recall, a lot of technologies have been lost to us over the span of mankind's existence. Didn't the Romans (or was it the Greeks) have a whole bunch of nifty technologies that we can't remember? If only the Romans and Greeks ran print ads in newspapers and magazines, things might have been different.
Perhaps, in some decrepit old garage, on some lonely stretch of blue highway, there's a Willard Weathermaster still on the shelf in a dusty old box. If so, we need to find it. And fast. The future of the planet and mankind hang in the balance.
Seriously, climate change is no laughing matter. According to Daniel Scocco's post on climate change, agencies of the European Union estimate that if things don't change the average temperature around the world might increase as much as 6°C by the end of this century. And folks, that's bad.
Search for books about Climate Change.
I had to chuckle when I saw the opening bid price for a match cover from Chubby's Hearth on eBay. That fact aside, I'm featuring the item because Chubby was the name of my beloved Golden Retriever, who I lost to cancer more than five years ago. I have mentioned ol' Chubby a few times before, in previous posts, but this vintage piece of ephemera gave me a good excuse to mention her again.
When I feature such pieces, I normally include an image of it in the post, but I thought I'd show off my precious girl instead. If you're curious, click on over to eBay and check out the cover--it's pretty cool, too. For those interested, the match cover comes from a joint that was established in 1933. Chubby, the dog, was established in 1994.
The amazing thing about Chubby was she had a cadre of friends, fans, and well-wishers. The house cleaning lady loved her, as did the guy who painted our house, for instance. Frankly, she was the most popular person in our household and for good reason: she was absolutely pure gold.
I want to share this amazing envelope. The artist Dave Dube, a loyal reader of this blog, designed the envelope and sent it to me along with a nice note.
Thanks, Dave!
In the early 80s, I attended a performance of the Second City in Chicago with a group of close friends. We were seated next to two gentlemen that we recognized immediately as John Candy and Eugene Levy.
It was around the time of the release of the The Blues Brothers movie and John Candy had a supporting role in the film. Eugene Levy hadn't hit it big by the time we sat down to watch that evening's performance on Wells. Nonetheless, he was known to us through his work on the brilliant TV show SCTV, but, it was Candy, the rising star, who took our breath away.
The question at our table was how to get John Candy's attention. I came up with a plan. I told everyone at the table to sign a napkin with some schmaltzy autograph-type line like "All the Best" and "To A Great Friend" and so forth. I gathered up all the napkins and toss them on Candy's table. Candy thought the idea was hilarious; Levy not so much.
John Candy waived me over. A moment later I stood in front of the two comic geniuses. Candy was smiling and Levy wasn't. I shook Candy's hand and sheepishly told the star how much I admired his work. I knew Eugene Levy and was a fan of his also, but, for some reason, all of the energy and attention was coming from Candy.
John asked if I'd like a drink as the waitress came over to the table. Facing Candy, I asked, "Orange Whip?" He nodded in recognition of his great line from The Blues Brothers. "Three Orange Whips!" I said to the waitress. Without missing a beat, she snapped, "There's no such thing as an Orange Whip." Candy laughed. He told the waitress to bring beers instead. Candy, pointing to the pile of signed napkins, asked if he could return the favor and present me with an autograph. Shook up by the waitress and overwhelmed by the actor's kindness, I was having trouble forming complete sentences. I just nodded and said something like, "...thank you, yes, thanks." He presented me with the autograph featured in the post. On the napkin, he wrote, "Where's the money you owe me?" and signed it.
I glanced at Eugene Levy. He had an odd look on his face: a mixture of hurt and insult. I'd failed to even acknowledged him in those brief moments. I'd been absorbed by John Candy and his warmth, humor, and charm. Levy looked disappointed and angry, and I felt I'd intruded enough, so I thanked Candy again for the autograph and excused myself without waiting for the beer to arrive.
I'm sorry Mr. Levy for that slight. My nerves, the excitement, and the thrill of that moment got the best of me. I wished I'd asked you for your autograph. To this day, I cherish the Candy autograph--it's one of the great pieces of ephemera from my life.
Search eBay for John Candy memorabilia.
While chatting with my 78-year-old neighbor in his father's woodshop, I noticed a strip of old newspaper on a shelf with other scraps of wood. My neighbor, a retired veterinarian, said his father, who died last year at the age of 97, found the newspaper while refinishing an old piece of furniture. The strip had sat on the worn, old shelf for decades, untouched, until I pulled it down.
A close read of the scrap made it clear this was printed during the Great War--with a present-tense reference to President Wilson, among other clues.
Here's a taste of some of the copy:
"Four German officers are known to be with Francisco Villa at the present time, according to confidential information received here. The whereabouts of Villa himself remain a mystery, although the main body of his troops was reported to have been in the vicinity of Rosario, Durango, Monday."
It makes me wonder what other brilliant ephemera lurks in the antique drawers and on the dusty shelves in that wonderfully, ancient woodshop.
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