Snowbirds

Okay winter doesn't completely suck. We took a couple of more inches overnight, and the trees look all Christmassy. Once January and February roll around, everything starts to look all slushy and gray. But, for the time being, it's kinda cool looking I guess.

This is a place up in Northbrook called the River Trail Nature Center.

Red Tailed Hawk

It's poorly lit because it was early, and because it's a gray day.

My favorite local bird, outside the occasional peregrine falcon.

I hate Illinois Nazis

The fine folks out in Thomson don't seem to be too concerned that the domestic jihadists will start terrorizing the soy and melon fields of western Illinois as soon as the first Gitmo detainees are transferred to our super-max prison there.

I'm not sure if they're paying attention to Rep Mark Kirk (R-IL) at all, or perhaps they, like me, think he's just a frightened little neocon dupe. Personally, I think Kirk's been reading too much Paul Berman but there is something I see as truly pathetic about the Republican party at the moment. The same folks who hatched the idea of preemptive war are now shaking in their Johnston & Murphys at the mere notion that some of the detainees we've been torturing in Cuba are now going to be incarcerated on US soil.

And Kirk isn't alone either. His fellow Illinois Republicans are all singing something close to the same panicky tune about Illinois becoming "ground zero" for terrorist attacks in the US. To hear these pussies talk you'd think that we fought "them" over there for no reason at all now, rather than their old standard ...so that we don't have to fight "them" here refrain.

Their logic absolutely escapes me. It was all fine and well to invade two of "their" countries, and to round up people our intel told us were "of interest." It was okay with these assholes that we hauled some of "them" to a dungeon in Cuba, or a concrete bunker in Torturestan without allowing the accused so much as a trial or the right to state their cases. These gutless turds nodded like horizontally challenged bobble-heads when asked if they felt waterboarding was an acceptable practice, and they came up with lovely euphemisms like "enhanced interrogation techniques" to hide the disgraceful fact that the US government approved of torturing human beings. Sure, all of that was okay with the Illinois Republicans.

But now these NIMBY-ass motherfuckers want me to believe that our security in Illinois is suddenly at risk because the victims of our enhanced interrogation techniques will be in the Thomson super-max prison instead of a chain-link dog kennel in Cuba?

I've got news for the Mark Kirks of the world. From the moment we bombed and then invaded "their" countries we heightened the risk of terrorist attacks on the US. And the decision to rendition our POWs to torture chambers only made the situation more dire. It doesn't matter where we keep our POWs now. That ship left the dock years ago, back when the US still felt justified in claiming any kind of moral high ground.

Hockey

Drifted away from my Blackhawks back in the 70s when they let Bobby Hull leave to play in the WHL. I kept up on them from time to time when they had decent teams, like the year they played the Penguins for the Cup, but for the most part hockey became an afterthought for the last 30 years.

Well folks let me tell you, that entire this town has gone hockey crazy again. It ain't just me. This is just like back in the day, and again raises the question of which team rules the city. Everyone says it's a Bears town but you wouldn't know that this year. The management team of Rocky Wirtz and John McDonough have worked an absolute miracle practically overnight, and the Hawks are the hot topic of sports talk again. (It helps that the Bears are this sucky, but still....)

Prior to his death, Bill Wirtz was seen as probably the worst sports franchise owner in this town since Charles "Old Roman" Comiskey. Everyone hated the guy. He wouldn't put the games on TV because he was afraid it would drive down attendance at the Stadium. I'm not kidding. Marketing not his strong suit.The Hawks were losing fans in droves, and seemed on the brink of collapse. Not to sound cold hearted or anything, but it was a great day in Chicago sports when Bill Wirtz died.

Once he shed his mortal coil, his son took over and Rocky has done the unthinkable in the span of just over two years. The Hawks added a couple of really exciting young players in Jonathan Toews and Patrick "Two Dimes" Kane, and filled the rest of the lineup with really talented players. They're sparing no expense either, as the long term, big buck contract of Marian Hossa can attest.

The team also took steps to bring back some old timers like Stan Mikita, Bobby Hull, and Tony Esposito to serve as franchise ambassadors. Those are guys who had been cast off like trash by the old man, so it was great to see the old fences being mended.

The team is exciting, and the Madhouse on Madison is rocking again. Sellouts for every game. AND, the games are all broadcast on TV.

Before he died, as part of his plan to alienate every hockey fan in this city, old man Wirtz fired a guy who is undoubtedly the best play-by-play man in all of hockey, the great Pat Foley. One of the first things Rocky and John McD did was put Foley back in the booth, and as a result I have to admit I never miss a game any more. Foley and his partner Eddie Olczyk do a fantastic job.

But, I will say that if the Hawks felt like they wanted to make it a 3 man booth, I would love to see them steal Randy Moller away from the Panthers. This guy would fit here in Chicago perfectly.

Exhibit A
Exhibit B
Exhibit C

I rest my case. We gotta get this guy.


(Oh and, it doesn't hurt that my Blackhawks have the best uniform in the history of pro sports.)

Weeping guitar

My god Dhani Harrison looks more like his father with each passing year.

Here's Tom Petty, Jeff Lynne, Dhani Harrison, Steve Winwood and Prince hitting a George Harrison classic.

And who the hell taught Prince to play a guitar like that?

First snow

Southwest baby

One reason I don't fly on airplanes is because I don't believe it's physically possible to keep something that weighs that much up in the air. Like the Monty Python hypnotist sketch, I think it's nothing more than the faith of the passengers that keeps the things up there. If everyone stopped believing in Bernoulli's Principle at the same time, I believe we'd see a spate of aluminum showers.

But never mind that. Let's talk about Southwest airlines.

Ever fly on one of their jets? I haven't, but there was a time in my life when I was privvy to many conversations held by people who'd just de-planed from a Southwest flight, or were on their way to board one at Midway. These were not happy people.

"But their TV commercials are great. Why do you people hate Southwest so much?"

"I'm flying to Indianapolis, but first we're stopping in fucking KC, and then Moline, and then Omaha, and then Minneapolis, and then back here to Midway, and then to St. Louis, and then we get to Indy probably by Wednesday."

"I can drive you there in under 3 hours and there's an open bar."

"For $19?"

"Oh. Well....no not for $19. They charge $19 to take you to Indy?"

"And KC, and Moline, and....did you say this is an open bar?"

"It is if we're on a charter to Indy. But since you're paying $16 to ride in a limo from Oak Brook to Midway, you should be glad I didn't toss you in the trunk with the friggin' luggage."

"There's no pre-assigned seating, they jam us in like we're damned sardines, the goofy-ass flight attendants put on these stupid little skits while they're giving the safety instructions, the..."

"What?"

"What what?"

"Skits?"

"Oh yeah, they sing the things sometimes. The emergency exits are dum di dee dummmm back there and lah di dah over there, if we have a water landing then lah di dee dah. Dancing around."

"You're kidding me. Seems like they'd take that shit a little more seriously. Those things have landed on water you know. Might be helpful to know about the Mae Wests and shit."

"They don't care. We're cattle. There's no room to move. The guy next to you smells from being on the plane for 2 days before you got on. Kid next to you is picking his nose, while the little monster behind you is kicking the back of your seat. It's like a flying Greyhound bus."

Now that was a long time ago, and I heard Southwest gave up on the summer stock safety instructions bit about 8 years ago , but I imagine with the current lull in the industry they're still trying to squeeze as many people into their fleet of 737s as is humanly possible. I still picture them as "Flying Greyhound buses."
I saw this come across the "Breaking news" feed from the Tribune's website earlier today.

A baby was born today on a flight from Chicago's Midway Airport to Salt Lake City, according to Southwest Airlines.

The flight, Southwest Airlines 441, has landed safely at Salt Lake City International Airport, according to Chris Mainz, a Southwest spokesman.

The flight originated in Columbus, Ohio with scheduled stops at Midway, Salt Lake City and Boise, Idaho before ending at Spokane, Wash.


The flight landed safely in Salt Lake City?

Why wouldn't it have landed safely for God's sake? It's not like the baby was flying the plane.

Never mind the damned routine landing in Utah. Please dear god tell me the baby was getting off in Utah. Tell me they didn't make a 2 hour old human being stop in SLC and then Boise before continuing on to Spokane.

And I don't even want to know how many people on that flight have that unforgettable miracle moment captured on their phone cams.



UPDATE:

A baby was born today on a flight from Chicago's Midway Airport, and officials said mother and child "were doing fine" at a hospital after the flight was diverted to Denver.

The woman went into labor after Southwest Airlines 441 took off from Midway bound for Salt Lake City, according to an airline spokesman. The flight was diverted to Denver, the nearest airport, at about 11:30 a.m. Central time but the baby was born before the plane could land, officials said.

Paramedics rushed mom and baby to the Medical Center of Aurora outside of Denver, where a spokeswoman said "they are both doing fine."

"It went smooth," said Charles E. McMillan, a division chief for the Denver Fire Department. "There wasn't anything out of the ordinary -- well, except that the baby was born on the plane."

The plane was at about 30,000 feet, and 100 miles north of Denver, when the pilot asked if anyone had medical training, according to airline officials. The flight was then diverted to Denver .

Flight attendants threw down a blanket in the back of the Boeing 737 and a doctor on the flight delivered the baby boy with the help of Med Link, which allows flight attendants to call medical personnel on the ground for assistance, airline and airport officials said.

"We now have a new passenger," said a flight attendant on the jet's public address system after the quick delivery, Channel 7 in Denver station reported.

The father and the couple's other kids were also on the flight, the station said.

The flight originated in Columbus, Ohio with scheduled stops at Midway, Salt Lake City and Boise, Idaho before ending at Spokane, Wash.

The family's identity and their hometown were not released. But passengers on the flight told a television station in Salt Lake City that the couple was from North Carolina and the doctor who helped deliver the baby was from Spokane, Wash.

The hospital spokeswoman said the mother did not want to speak with the media.


Personally, I found Southwest spokesman Chris Mainz's version earlier today much funnier.

Road Trip

Well they've done it again. The people at Budget Rent-a-Car have made me an offer I can't refuse.

$168.40 to rent a reasonably brand new car for the week following Christmas. Better yet, for $24 a day I can put as many miles as I wish on their car. That's a mistake on their part.

Two years ago it was $220 for a 2007 Subaru Legacy with 5000 miles on it. My plan was to retrace the route of the Lewis & Clark expedition, which meant 9 days and about 5500 miles round trip. Only made it as far as North Sioux City, SD but that's a story for the archives.

I'm going to be turning the big Five-O in a couple of weeks and I've decided to treat myself to something. I am in absolutely no financial position to be taking a vacation, at least not the kind of vacation one thinks of when considering a winter holiday. Actually, I'm in no position to be spending $168 to rent a car but I've always operated under a rule that says when you can least afford to take a break from work, that is precisely the time to take a break from work. So that's what I'm going to do. And, my vacation will be spent driving. Got myself a new RCA Small Wonder HD Camcorder as a premium from one of my suppliers, and so I'm going to make a video documentary of my trip and post it here when I come home.

But here's the thing...I don't know to where I feel like driving. Some rough calculations tell me that I can cover somewhere between 4500 and 5000 miles if I just drive drive drive. Not sure I want to do that. I'd like to spend a couple of days driving, a couple of days kicking around, and a couple of days driving home. Whenever I open the Rand McNally Atlas my eye seems to float towards the west. I've done Colorado a dozen times, and it's winter. Not only am I not bringing my skis, I'm not carrying enough cash to lodge in Colorado during ski season.

In fact, I'm in the mood for something warmer. Been southeast a hundred times, ain't no way I'm making Texas my destination (sorry Michael, but that state stinks of Jack), so now I'm thinking southwest. I know New Mexico is high desert so it won't be that warm, but I've always wanted to check out the Very Large Array radio telescope in Socorro.

I've never seen the Grand Canyon, which is just about as far as I'll be able to travel while allowing for a reasonable pace of return, so I'm thinking of hitting those two places.

If I hook north from there I can check out Monument Valley in northern AZ. (Monument Valley was just written up in Vanity Fair. A nice read.) Where's Lono and Duc when I really need them? I could use some Arizona advice.

 If time allows I can swing through the southern part of Utah, maybe see Bryce Canyon and what-not.

That'll allow me to pass through my old friend the Colorado Rockies without dumping $300 for a hotel room.

I can already picture the final leg of my trip across the Nebraska and Iowa plains during winter. Nothing like that stretch of highway to make a person feel real small, but in a nice way.

This is going to be my kind of trip, the kind that involves no reservations, no real itinerary, and no schedule to serve.  Money's tight, and this is the best bang I can think of for $168 bucks. What the hell, you only turn 50 once right?

The Witch of November

A wonderful sad song, and a recurring memory of my youth.

Is it really 34 years ago?




The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee.
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
when the skies of November turn gloomy.

With a load of iron ore - 26,000 tons more
than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty.
That big ship and true was a bone to be chewed
when the gales of November came early.

The ship was the pride of the American side
coming back from some mill in Wisconsin.
As the big freighters go it was bigger than most
with a crew and good Captain well seasoned.

Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
when they left fully loaded for Cleveland.
And later that night when the ship's bell rang,
could it be the North Wind they'd been feeling?

The wind in the wires made a tattletale sound
and a wave broke over the railing.
And every man knew, as the Captain did, too,
t'was the witch of November come stealing!

The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
when the gales of November came slashing.
When afternoon came it was freezing rain
in the face of a hurricane West Wind.

When supper time came the old cook came on deck
saying "fellows it's too rough to feed ya."
At 7PM a main hatchway caved in
he said "fellas it's been good to know ya."

The Captain wired in he had water coming in
and the big ship and crew was in peril.
And later that night when his lights went out of sight
came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

Does anyone know where the love of God goes
when the waves turn the minutes to hours?
The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay
if they'd put fifteen more miles behind her.

They might have split up or they might have capsized.
They may have broke deep and took water.
And all that remains is the faces and the names
of the wives and the sons and the daughters.

Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
in the ruins of her ice water mansion.
Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams,
the islands and bays are for sportsmen.

And farther below Lake Ontario
takes in what Lake Erie can send her.
And the iron boats go as the mariners all know
with the gales of November remembered.

In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed
in the Maritime Sailors' Cathedral.
The church bell chimed, 'til it rang 29 times
for each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee.
Superior, they say, never gives up her dead
when the gales of November come early.

Gordon Lightfoot 

Walter

Hard to believe it's been 10 years.

In the mid-70s my beloved Bears were shitty. Very, very shitty.

I was 16 in 1975, and very caught up in the sport of football. I was a high school kicker when the Bears picked Walter Payton in the first round of the NFL draft. People think kickers aren't real players. Not real members of the team...until we miss a PAT. Then they get the bigger picture.

I was absolutely obsessed with football, and I followed everything about the Bears. Everything. No idea who this guy was when we picked him 4th in the 1st Round.

That was before the InterWeb TubeNets.

Jackson State?

Whooo-what?

CBS Channel 2 ran some grainy video that night. Bruce Roberts screaming smack and comparisons to Gale Sayers.

Yeah right. But I watched.

Hey, this Payton guy's good.

But maybe he's just running around and over idiots. Maybe he just looks like Superman because his opponents all suck. Or maybe, he's that good. I'm a Bear fan, so I went with he's that good.

He was that good.

For the first 10 years of Walter Payton's career, he was essentially the only reason to watch the Bears games, and I watched every damned one of them.

I had never seen, nor have I seen since, a better football player than Walter Payton. The only other runner I'd put in Wally's class is Barry Sanders. Another guy who could break your ankles.

As a 5'10", 205lb rookie, Walter still had the speed of youth. He could get to the corner. And, because he was Walter, he'd turn that corner, and cut north looking for somebody to run over.

Run out of bounds? Walter Payton? Uh, no not so much.

He'd gain a first down, stiff-arm you into a neck brace, insult your dog, and then help you up off the ground.

For a decade, Walter was the face of this somewhat oldish football franchise while they languished.

The Bears sucked out loud, and yet they'd sell out. People wanted to watch Walter run. He'd gain 100 yards, and people would be happy. Loss? Who gives a shit, did you see that over-the-top springboard thing Walter did?

Walter was also the Bears backup punter, kicker (Yeah baby!!!), and 3rd string QB.

I think one year Walter threw (as a running back) 3 touchdown passes, or maybe it was 10.

They tell me he punted a ball 80 yards up at Lake Forest one day.

But he was always on shitty teams.

And then it happened.

10 years into Walter's career, the Bears defense had one of those weird time-space things where suddenly everyone is a beast.

The line, was Hampton, Fridge, McMichael, and Hartenstein.

The LBs, were Otis Wilson, Mike Singletary, and Wilbur Marshall.

No need to name the D-backs, because nobody ever got through the first two gears of the meat-grinder. (Fencik, Frazier, Richardson, and I forget...Terry Schmitt?)

Heck, even a sucky QB like Jim McMahon had a decent year.

Anyway, finally Walter Payton got to play in a Super Bowl. The 1985 Bears were a force of nature. Best I ever saw. Walter had slowed a step, but he'd given this city so much joy by then, that everyone saw the 46-10 trouncing of the Patriots as the culmination of a career for Walter Payton.

There was some grumbling afterward about Ditka letting Fridge score a TD, and Walter being left with his dick in his hand, but you rarely heard Wally even talk about it. When asked, he'd dodge the question and then stiff-arm the reporter in the mouth before gaining a first down.



In his astonishing NFL career Walter Payton:

Ran for 16,726 yards.
Rushed for 110 touchdowns.
Caught 15 touchdown passes.
Threw for 8 touchdowns.
And, when combining kickoff/punt returns, rushes. passes and catches....accounted for just under 22,000 yards of Bears offense.

On mostly shitty teams.

Twenty two thousand yards. About 13 miles.


Back in the day, for awhile I drove a limo.

It was after Wally had retired.

I was parked in front of the Oak Brook Hills Hotel, when who came walking out the front revolving door but Walter Payton. As he approached me on the sidewalk, I quickly pulled out my airport numbers and jammed a 3 and a 4 in front of my usual number 80.

Now I was American 34.

He saw what I'd done, I made a big production out of it, and he just pointed at me as I saluted him from the driver's seat.

Walter was the shit.

And then it happened.

Walter Payton got sick.

At first he'd kept his illness quiet, but word got out.

We all knew.

10 years ago today, Walter Payton lost his battle with a rare autoimmune liver disease. Even though we knew, it shocked the shit out of this town. People cried when they heard the news. We'd lost family.

While Walter was never a candidate, his wife Connie and their kids have stayed front and center in raising awareness of organ donation, with the help of our Secretary of State Jesse White.

Hey folks, consider organ donation, okay?

Save a life on your way out of the party.

Cool Way Up, Fast Way Down

Unfortunately they've muted the music from Loveland Pass Street Luge due to a copyright beef. I like something that starts out smooth and tasty and then gets whipping. Like this.

God damn I miss Colorado.

Indian Summer

We're having one of those October days in Chicago, the kind that make Snowbirds homesick.



As I was driving to the shop, I thought this might be a great opportunity to get started on that "Doors of Park Ridge" poster.

East of the Pickwick Theater, any turn north off of Touhy Ave. brings you through the older section of town. Some of these houses have been here for a century. In most cases, the old houses that remain were the larger houses back in the day. Nice big Georgians and Mediterraneans and Victorians, houses with some fucking charm. There are some modest sized homes that remain, but they were fairly large back when they were built.




Sadly, almost all of the Cape Cods are gone. My favorite.

Late in the 20th century, and through the first decade of this century, it was decided that small houses are stupid. Everyone had to have 3800 sq ft. Everyone needed 6 bedrooms, 4 baths, a "Great Room" with a vaulted ceiling to greet visiting heads of state or some fucking thing, oh and don't forget the solar frickin' greenhouse.

So now, the old section of my adopted home town is a mix of great old homes, and McMansions.

And I watched it happen. Outside of my brief foray into the glamorous world of executive transportation, I have worked on the homes of this community since the day I graduated from high school in 1978. With absolute honesty I can say that I treat all my customers the same way, but I take extra satisfaction when I work on an old house. I pay more attention to details. I hate McMansions. Every time I saw another old, smallish home torn down I got bummed out. Whenever I get a call from a McMansion owner, I just shake my head.

It's not that I half-ass my way through a McMansion window replacement job, but I am also well aware of the fact that those windows should not need replacement. Not yet. They're only 20 years old. The windows on the older homes, the hundred year old homes, are still functioning beautifully. Wood prime windows protected by wood storm windows that were manufactured with such quality that it still boggles the minds of the wonks at Pella.

And the doors, they had character.

They had stories. Like this one here.





Can't you just feel the history? Imagine the thousands of times children ran up those steps and dashed in the door with great news or a cut knee.




Or that one. I picture some pimple faced kid carrying a flower in a box, wearing his first tux, got the old man's 57 Chevy idling on Elm, nervously edging his way up that sidewalk.


A look across the street, and I know with certainty that history lives there. I know now that a young girl, and then a young woman walked through that very door, every day of her life, loaded with ambition, and visions of greatness. That was 40 years ago, and I'll bet you a trillion dollars that if Hillary found her way to my little blog here, the memories would come flooding back.

Doors.

Back in 1992 we flooded Chicago. Well, I didn't but the people at Great Lakes Dredge and Dock did. While working on the Kinzie St. Bridge, near the Merchandise Mart, they punched a hole in the floor of the Chicago River, and we all learned that our high-rises have basements. We also learned that if you have a series of antique coal delivery tunnels connecting all of the basements, and if you allow the Chicago River to begin flowing into those tunnels, the result is chaos. Bedlam.

There's a chapter of Behind Black Glass devoted to an evening I spent driving a man named Witt Barlow from local TV station to local TV station. It was the night of The Flood. That charter was one of the most memorable experiences of my life. Mr. Barlow was the boss at Great Lakes Dredge and Dock. The honcho. I had Satan in my car.

Witt was in defensive mode. He had 3 young publicists traveling with him, and they had charts and graphs and all kinds of visual aids that were being passed around the back seat of my car.

Oh, and I was totally eavesdropping.

At one point Witt motioned towards the blowup up a picture taken in the flood zone and said "But you can see right there that those are the creosoted piles. We didn't drive those! Here's the ones we drove right here. THOSE AREN'T OURS!"

And one of the publicists said, "Yeah. Yeah. Say that. That sounds good."

And Witt said, "It's the truth."

And the publicist said, "Even better."

I'll never forget that exchange for as long as I live.

Shortly after that, although not shortly enough thanks to Richie and his merry band of morons, a man named James Kenny and another guy named John Kenny came along and made a management decision.

While Daley and his fellow criminals cowered in the corner of an office at 121 N. LaSalle, the kids at Kenny Construction decided to stuff a very large fucking cork in the hole in the floor of the Chicago River. Then, they went upstream and sealed off the tunnels thataway, and then they went downstream and sealed off the tunnels down there, and with that the basements of Chicago stopped taking on water.

Genius. Pure, simple, stupid, genius. Grace under fire.

Kenny Construction became local heroes. Kenny Construction took its place in the history of Chicago. Rightly so. Kinda.

Some years later, a man walked in my shop, looking very much like Arnold Palmer.

Dude dripped class, although he tried to hide it. Jeans, blue oxford, Polo windbreaker, Johnston and Murphy loafers. Looking closer to 50 than 70.

"Are you related to the people that saved the city from the flood?" he asked with a strange grin.

"Uh, no, I spell it differently."

"Bet ya get asked that all the time."

"You have no idea. I hear James Kenny got the Irish Ambassador gig."

"He did. He's a friend of mine."

"Then why did you ask...."

Just grinned at me. He was testing.

"Ah."

His name is John O'M. Turns out he worked for the company that laid the foundation for Trump's new tower by the river. Actually, he's sort of in charge at that company, but you'd never know it unless I told you.

"What can I do for you Mr. O'M?"

"Call me John."

"Thank you."

"I need you to fix my door. It's on an old house, and I don't want to replace it."

"I can do that."

"I know. How's your dad?"

"He just retired."

"I know."

The son-of-a-bitch was testing me the whole time, the bastard. I guess I passed because John and I have become friends. Not like every day friends, but in the last decade I've spent many hours sitting at my desk and talking with him. Not exactly a father figure, I have one of those, but a real solid guy who has seen far more than I have. I'm lucky to know him.

I told him my Witt Barlow story.

(For awhile John, I drove a limo. My dad and I were fighting..... "I know." Fuck!)

Turns out that my friend John and his company had plenty to do with plugging the leak too, although they didn't carp about Kenny Construction getting the face time on WGN.

Oh, and he trusted me enough to let me work on his door. He wanted to keep the old wood, but put modern storm protection over the entryway to keep the elements at bay.


That's John's front doorway. The side-lites and the storm door were easy. The transom window not so much.

And they have a great tree on their parkway that always goes code red around now. It's one of the reasons I took this picture. The girl walking up the sidewalk with her lab tried to step out of the picture while I tried to include them.



"Beautiful tree isn't it?"

"It sure is."

"Hi buddy!"

"That's Riley."

"Hi Riley. Gooooood dog. Stop sniffing my balls Riley. I've been watching that tree turn colors like this for over 30 years now. I never get used to it. I love the house too. Friends of mine."

"What a shame. Terrible news."

My fucking heart sank. Oh no. Don't tell me this. Not my friend.

"They moved."

"Oh."

My Stockholm Syndrome

Seems pretty clear to me that there's something very interesting about Scandinavia, something that I'd ignored for far too long. And that includes the kids in Finland and Iceland in my world, although for some reason some people want to give the cold shoulder to the Finlandians and Icelanderinos.

While I now acknowledge that Danes, Swedes, and Norwaychkins should consider themselves the cream of the human crop, the hippest people on earth, I must insist that we toss the Finnies and Icers in that same hopper of hipness.

Fair is fair. If you have to tell someone you're from a place that got its name from ice, or you come from a land that sees 45 minutes of sunlight every third year, you're a Scandinavian.

For the better part of my life, Scandinavia meant hot blondes, smoked fish and cross country skiers.

But pasty, both the hot blondes and the skiers, sometimes both. Very pasty people, the Scands. It's from the lack of light, and yet they never get Seasonal Affective Disorder. That's because they're the coolest people.

I can see that now.

You never hear about anybody from up there starting a fucking war, do ya?

No.

Well, not lately.

So I started getting this warm feeling for my frosty friends just this past week. I'm well aware of the fact that the Olympic voters flew to Copenhagen from all over the planet, but the fact remains that the Dennish were the hosts of the party, and they set the tone that ultimately resulted in the resounding victory we Chicagoans, for the most part, celebrated on Friday October 2nd.

Thanks Copenhudlians.

I figured that was the end of my passing fondness for people from the Land of The Midnight Snowmobile Ride, but no, they've drawn me in deeper now.

A Nobel Peace Prize?

You kiddin'?

Another Nobel for the University of Chicago?

A Nobel Peace Prize to former Illinois state rep, former Illinois Senator, and current US President Barack Obama?

He's from Chicago too! Not originally, but after Kenya and Hawai'i, he moved here. He did community service here. His wife's from here. You could look it up.

44 is Nobel Prize #84 for the University of Chicago?

Two Nobels in one week for the Maroons.

These people are really too kind.

I'd like to say that it might be a bit premature, but I won't. I figure the Nobel people are going for overall effect here. Certainly Barack is a terrific guy, a hell of a speaker, and yes he's from Chicago, but he really hasn't had the chance to fulfill most of his promise. Right now he's potentially great, but I'd like to see him actually withdraw our troops from several dozen places, and THEN give Chicago our Barack his Nobel.

But again, I'm from here and not from Stockholm, Denmark or Helsinki, Iceland. In those places, I can certainly imagine that Barack Obama is seen as the guy who took the first steps in undoing everything that his predecessor had screwed up. They must see Barack as the dude who stopped the naked agression practiced by the man before him, and they probably see that as a form of bringing peace. They must think of America as less threatening now. I'm good with that.

I could easily throw a few caveats out there, but I don't want to have anything negative to say to, or about, my new Scandinavian friends.

I'm captive to them now.

Alone in The Wilderness

Caught a video when it was first released in 2003 on WTTW, Chicago's PBS station, about a man named Dick Proenneke, and was reminded of Dick while watching The National Parks: America's Best Idea.

A most remarkable man, and a most remarkable story.

The documentary is entitled Alone in The Wilderness, and is based on the book Dick and Sam Keith released in 1973 called One Man's Wilderness: An Alaskan Odyssey.

Dick was born in 1916 in Primrose, Iowa. After joining the US Navy in 1942 and serving as a carpenter, Dick contracted rheumatic fever and was given a medical discharge. He went to school to study diesel mechanics, and became certified. He plied his trade briefly in Iowa, and then moved to Oregon in 1948.

It was in 1950 that Dick moved to Shuyak Island, Alaska and began servicing heavy equipment and diesel engines for the gang at Kodiak Island naval base. He spent the next 18 years as a highly sought after mechanic, as well as a salmon fisherman. Finally, he took a job with the US Fish and Wildlife Service at King Salmon on the Alaska Peninsula.

In 1968, Dick retired and moved to Twin Lakes, Alaska which is where the real story starts.

I was delighted to discover that the documentary has been uploaded.

Thank God for YouTube.



Bob Swerer and his son Bob Jr. flew in to see Dick in the early 90s, and Bob has graciously added this video as something of an epilogue to Dick's amazing story.



In 1999, at the age of 82, Dick Proenneke left Alaska to live out the rest of his life with his brother in California, and in April of 2003 Dick passed away after a stroke.

He left his cabin to the US Park Service. It is a popular place for tourists to go and marvel at the man's skill, and it has become something of a symbol to dreamers like me.

One of the narrators of Ken Burns' incredible parks documentary made the most wonderful observation about Denali, and the other vast Alaskan National Parks: " I may never visit Alaska, but it is important to me to know it's there."

I feel the same way about Dick Proenneke's cabin at Twin Lakes.

The National Parks: America's Best Idea

He has done it to me again. At some point, I'm going to have to come right out and say it; Ken Burns is a national treasure. I guess I just did.

My first exposure to Ken's work was in 1990, The Civil War , a mind boggling look at how our country almost destroyed itself, with impartial analysis by some of the greatest historians alive (and in the cases of Shelby Foote and Steve Ambrose, sadly gone now.)

Then, in 1994, came Baseball, a marvelous 9 part historical romp through the national sport starting in the mid-1800s and progressing to the modern era.

In 1997, Ken produced and directed Lewis & Clark: The Journey of the Corps of Discovery, and I officially became a Ken Burns disciple. I have watched this thing at least 10 times, and each time I find something new. That, I think, is the greatest quality of Ken's work. The visual effects are so stunning at times, that you almost forget to listen to the narration. But the effort that Ken puts into his research, the little background stories that he somehow digs up, are a delight in and of themselves.

Ken and his longtime bud Dayton Duncan, another Lewis & Clark scholar and all around cool dude, somehow manage to find the perfect readers for their scripts. From David McCullough, to Ken Olin, to Matthew Broderick, ...Burns always picks the right people to play the right characters, and you find yourself forgetting that's Ferris Beuller reading the part of John Ordway.

It's obvious now, that high profile Hollywood types have no problem checking their egos at the door when Ken Burns asks them to take part in one of his productions.

Hal Holbrook, doing the narrative for Lewis & Clark, was obviously inspired. You could hear it in his voice. He was the perfect choice.

Other works by Burns include: Jazz, Frank Lloyd Wright, Mark Twain, World War II, and the Brooklyn Bridge.

What I would give to spend a few hours over a few bottles of wine with Ken Burns and Dayton Duncan. And oh to be able to step back in time and invite Ambrose and Foote.

Well, they've done it again. This time, Ken and Dayton given us a real gift, an absolutely wonderful look into the National Parks of the United States. It's only been 2 installments so far, but it's spellbinding.

You simply must set aside time to watch The National Parks: America's Best Idea.

In the usual Burns style, he blends astounding cinematography with his trademark slow-pans across old black & white photographs, and weaves them together so seamlessly that the 150 year age difference between HD video and monochrome doesn't even occur to the viewer.

I am delighted that Ken and Dayton have chosen our National Parks as their newest subject, and have not been disappointed in their angle of delivery. Again, Burns and Duncan have found a way to transport viewers back to the late 19th Century, and allow us to almost talk to John Muir.

By touching on the enormous opposing political pressure being exerted on Teddy Roosevelt while he was unblinkingly setting aside enormous tracts of land to be protected forever, we come to better understand the true greatness of TR. TR understood the meaning of the word forever.

But besides the obvious players like Muir and TR, Burns and Duncan have, again, found the lesser characters to be a large part of the story. Bit players become major heroes, and villains.

In the case of Yellowstone buffalo (Titonka), they tell of a guy who was out in the dead of winter poaching the shit out of these symbols of the American west. He had piles of dead buffalo laying all over a snow covered plain and was busy removing their heads, which he planned on sending to a taxidermist in Omaha.

Phil Sheridan and some of the US Cavalry were patrolling the park, because Congress could not be convinced to allocate funds for a permanent park service. They came upon this fucking scumbag, who was so busy chopping heads that he didn't even hear them approach. Looking up, he was somewhat surprised to be looking into the muzzle of a gun pointed at his head.

As the poacher laughed it off, he told them that the worst thing that could happen was he'd be fined a couple of thousand bucks and he'd lose some hides. No biggie, as he was making a bundle.

He knew that the great herds that once covered the plains had been all but eradicated. He knew that the herd in Yellowstone were all we had left. And, in a warp of American logic that is all too common, this jagoff decided he wanted to be sure to kill them off before someone else got them, ...before they were all gone.

Unbeknownst to the shithead, a writer was accompanying the Cavalry patrol that day, doing an article on Yellowstone during the winter. Shocked and appalled, he wrote a scathing article that appeared in papers across the country, discussing the plight of the almost extinct American buffalo. Public outcry! People wrote their congressmen. People demanded action. And the buffalo was saved from extinction.

The commercialization of Niagra Falls made the US a laughingstock across Europe in the 1800s, and people like Muir and TR wanted desperately to prevent profiteers from taking over Yosemite Valley, Yellowstone, The Grand Canyon, and Mount Rainier among other national treasures. They considered the billboards circling Niagra to be a national embarrassment, and they didn't want it repeated as Americans spread westward.

For instance, in a legislative loophole that allows the president to sidestep congress, Teddy Roosevelt thwarted Arizona politicians efforts to keep the Grand Canyon for themselves. He couldn't call it a National Park without congressional approval, so he exercised his presidential power of decree, and declared the Grand Canyon a National Monument.

There are some sad moments, where we learn of politics of reality trumping the politics of idealism. The arguments about whether we should allow our parks to be completely wild and free, or to be simply protected places whose resources could be utilized if need be.

Shows like The National Parks: America's Best Idea are the types of productions that cause the viewer to stop and think. It causes us to give thanks for the people who came before us, and who left us the wonderful gift of our National Parks. A gift we all own together. Programs like this remind us of how important it is to understand our own history.

And nobody does history like Ken Burns and Dayton Duncan.

Going downhill fast

The day started off great. The day after a Bears win always starts off great.

First, my dear friend Queen Noor of Jordan sent me an e-mail. I don't usually post private e-mails, but Lisa specifically asked me to share this with all of my friends.

Queen Noor is very very excited, okay?,,.and she has great news. She just attended a UN Security Council special session on nuclear proliferation and disarmament, chaired by President Obama. Seems they unanimously passed a resolution to rid the world of nukes. Here, I'll let Lisa tell you, it's only a 53 second video and, as usual, is well worth watching.

So that was very nice, but then I learned that not only does Barack have time to discuss nukes with Lisa, he also has time to climb aboard Air Force One on Thursday night and fly to Denmark. This is big news in Copenhagen, and the Danes are beside themselves with anticipation.The purpose of the trip, in the middle of the most serious financial crisis in most Americans' lifetimes, and with the health care debate raging white-hot, is to pitch the city of Chicago for the 2016 Summer Olympic Games.

First Lady Michelle Obama will be traveling there tomorrow to warm up the crowd, and Bouncy McOverdraft plans to pop in late Thursday, check out the Tivoli Gardens and help with a Viking ship excavation, and then attend the final meeting prior to the selection announcement on Friday. Back on the plane, and shoot on home.

It should be noted that Denmark has consistently finished first in surveys ranking the happiest places in the world, it has the world's highest level of income equity, and along with New Zealand is rated the most peaceful country on the planet. Also, along with Sweden and New Zealand, Denmark possesses the least corrupt politicians on earth.

Happy, peaceful, financially robust and non-corrupt Denmark. That's where Barack Obama is going to tout unhappy, violent, bankrupt and ultra-corrupt Chicago, as a good choice for a world gathering.

Good idea. Hey, it can't cost that much to bounce across the pond and back on AF1 can it? It's a short hop. Garment bag only. He can bring the little shampoo bottle and the mini toothpast tube.

The four finalists are Rio de Janeiro, Tokyo, Madrid, and Chicago. Rumor has it that it's going to come down to Rio and us.

In the words of Chicago Mayor Richard Daley "They just had games in Beijing which is close to Tokyo, London has already gotten 2012 and Madrid is right there, and Rio has the soccer thing which is even bigger than the Olympics." (translation: "Japanese look pretty much like Chinese, Spaniards live pretty close to the Brits, and let's face facts, they only care about soccer in Brazil so they should be happy with that soccer thing." [The 2014 World Cup]}

Rio de Janeiro deserves to win the competition. There's never been a South American olympic games, and that time has come. Besides, it's Rio. Rio has great beaches, and tons of Brazillian chicks wearing those little dental floss bikinis. I'm rooting for Rio.

But Obama is going to Copenhagen to pitch for Chicago. Oprah is already there. Jordan isn't going, but he already voiced support for the games coming here. Oh gawd, I think we might win the fucking 2016 Summer Olympics.

I'm moving.

Doors Around Town

The Heurtley House in Oak Park~ Frank Lloyd Wright



The Great Hall~ Columbian Exposition-1893


Another one of Frank's





Park Chapel~ North Side





River Forest




Frank Lloyd Wright- Oak Park



Ditto





Andersonville- Near North Side


The Chicago Historical Society




Park Ridge



Park Ridge



Bond Hall- University of Chicago



State Street in The Loop



Gold Coast
(one of my all-time faves)



Bucktown Duplex


Another one of Frank's- Oak Park

Greetings from Obama Country!

Just had to go to the post office, couldn't trust the corner box. Get this stuff postmarked by 3PM on the 1st just to show what a fine upstanding pay my bills on time kinda guy I am. Pulled into the parking lot, waited in the queue, and tossed some letters in the box at 2:55. (Dude was just coming out of the building with the big official US Postal Service mail basket to empty the boxes.Yes!)

I then pulled around the building and parked my car. Dug around in my briefcase/duffel/catch-all bag and found my camera. I composed myself, put on my game face, and formulated my story. Pulling a few sheets of company stationery from my case, I tossed them in my measuring clipboard and approached these two guys who were standing on the sidewalk.



"So I saw you guys standing here when I mailed my letters, and actually parked my car so I could walk over and talk to you."

"Glad you did."

"I'm Michael."

"Nice to meet you Michael, I'm Dick."

"Can I ask you a few questions?"

"Sure."

"Don't mind me, I need to keep notes."

"That's fine."

"What's the story dude? Gimme the pitch."

"We want to take back the country from the Nazis currently in charge."

"That's Lyndon LaRouche you're talking about?"

"LaRouche PAC. We're representing Mr. LaRouche in getting out the message about the Nazis in Washington, specifically Obama."

"Yeah I noticed you have a little Hitler mustache painted on him."

"He's as bad as Hitler if you think about the health care policy."

"Adolf Hitler."

"That's right, and if you want to talk about the economy, they're calling it "globalism" but it's just a bunch of guys here, this is the Federal Reserve, and these are the banks that got bailed out, and...."

"That's got nothing to do with "globalism." And another thing, the banks got bailed out by Bernanke and Paulson. Those were Bush's guys. They gave the banks 750 billion dollars and they didn't even ask for a fucking receipt!"

"Exactly."

"What do mean Dick? You're calling Obama a Nazi but then you mention the bank bailouts which happened under Bush."

"The Nazi thing refers to his health care program. It's patterned after Hitler's T4 Initiative...."

"Is that a handout?"

"Yeah, but we're asking for support."

"Sorry Dick. I'm not giving anybody any money until I know the facts. I know I'm not entirely happy with the policies Obama's team has come up with, but I also know our health care system is fucked up. Where does LaRouche stand on this? Is he running again in 2012?"

"No. He's not running. But if you read that pamphlet, it covers his views on Obama and Obama's health care ideas....you know, like the Death Panels. We want to end HMOs and rebuild the Hill-Burton Hospital System. Also, it's time to discuss colonizing Mars."

"Mars? Well I agree with that, but I have Blue Cross. I've heard the mention of "death panels" and I think that's already been addressed."

"Well that's what they say! They're liars! Are you aware of the way old people were killed off in Nazi Germany?"

"The legislation does not have any language about panels of people deciding who lives and who dies."

"Just read the pamphlet....."

"Michael."

"...thanks. Just read the pamphlet Michael. You'll see."

"Okay, now about this globalization thing. What's that you're saying about the Federal reserve?"

"We need to realize that if we don't halt globalization...."

"Uh Dick, I think you're a little late on that. The US is not calling the tune anymore."

"Oh yes we are. If you look at the unemployment figures from..."

"From China? Is that what you're going to say?"

"200 million unemployed."

"They also have 1 point something billion people. Our numbers are worse. And their unemployment problem came hand in hand with a newfound love for capitalism. Too bad, we owe China so much money, that we might as well just come out and say it....They own us. The rest of the world is talking about dumping the dollar. We are not going to stop globalization Dick. The world is going to globalize, with us or without us. We need them more than they need us."

"Well, I see what you mean but...."

"But nothing. I came over here to ask you why you're out here at a US Post Office, representing Lyndon LaRouche. I'm unhappy with the 2 Party System, and I'd like to hear some other voices, some new opinions."

"That's who we are."

"No that's not who you are. You're a guy who paints a Nazi mustache on Obama's face, and sets up a card table in front of the US Post Office, in what is probably the whitest border suburb of Chicago. You LaRouche people have one of the Obama is Hitler stands set up down at 79th and Stoney? You want to promote a guy whose message seems to be that Barack Obama is Adolf Hitler. From the pamphlet you gave me here, and I will read it believe me, I'm getting another Nazi vibe with the photoshopping of Obama into an old shot so that it looks like he's having a good laugh with Adolf Hitler and a bunch of fucking Aryan youth."

"Well, I don't decide what pictures they use for the literature."

"I know that Dick. Let me ask you a question, do you mind if I take your picture? I got one from back there, but I want a close-up of your little display here. I'll be blogging about this in about 30 minutes."

"No no, that's fine."

"Smile Dick."



"Excellent, hey one more question,....speaking of Nazis. Ya figure you'd have been able to set up a little anti-Hitler lemonade stand like this in front of one of his post offices in say...oh....1942?"

"Probably not."

"I agree. One more picture. Uhhhh, I'm not sure that guy with no shirt on wants to be in my blog."



"Gotta go. Bye Dick."

Ah, I see. No wait, I don't.

Posted something earlier about Chris Kennedy running for Roland Burris' about-to-be vacant US Senate seat. He'd launched an exploratory committee, and told the papers he was launching an exploratory committee. The old trial balloon.

Last week, Kennedy announced he won't be running for the Senate, nor the Governor's office. I found that odd, and oddly timed.

Today, Gov. Pat Quinn announced that he is appointing Chris Kennedy to the University of Illinois board of trustees. A few weeks ago, Quinn said the entire board should resign after it was discovered that Illinois politicians and power-brokers were using their connections on the U of I board to gain admittance for less than stellar but powerfully connected high school seniors.

Of the 9 trustees currently on the board, 7 have offered to resign. The two holdouts will be leaving, I assure you.

And the University of Illinois has Chris Kennedy on the Board of Trustees. Nice guy and all, but Chris comes from a background where connections carry clout, and name recognition opens doors. Wonder what the hell Quinn is up to. Guarantee you he's up to something.

Patrick "Two Dimes" Kane

There's stupid, and then there's stupid.

Imagine for a second that you're Patrick Kane, 20 year old right winger for the Chicago Blackhawks. You were named the NHL Rookie of The Year in June of 2008 (for the 2007-08 season.) You helped lead the Hawks to the conference finals this past season before losing out to the Detroit Red Wings.

Things are looking up, right? Got the world by the ass, with a cheek in both hands.

So, after the season you decide to head back to Buffalo,NY your hometown. On a nice August night, you decide to go out for a few cocktails with your 21 year old cousin James Kane.

(I'm assuming that 's what you were doing, even though you're not 21.)

At around 4 AM you grab a cab (first mistake, always take a limo) and tell your driver to take you over to Chippewa Street, an area of Buffalo known for its nightlife. Upon arrival, the cabbie informs you that the fare is $13.80 . You and your cousin chip in and give the guy $15.

Do you tell him to keep the change? I mean, you're a hotshot NHL star, and a local celebrity to boot (in both Chicago and Buffalo I'm sure.)

No.You tell the driver you want $1.20 change.

Despite the fact that you're an American, you did spend some time in '07 playing for the London Knights in the Ontario Hockey League before being brought up by the Hawks, and it was there no doubt that you learned the Canadian custom about tipping. It can be the only explanation.

Scottie Pippen learned the hard way here that gratuities are a staple for people in the service businesses. After screeching about the automatic 15% tip added to dinner parties of 15 or more, Pippen made headlines and became forever known as Scottie "No Tippin'" Pippen. He'll never live that down in Chicago, and word has it he's afraid to come back here after being booed during a Bulls game halftime show celebrating the life of Johnny "Red" Kerr.

So there's no way you, Patrick Kane learned the art of squeezing a nickel to try to get two dimes in this town, it must have been during your brief stay in Ontario. Limo drivers have a saying: What's the difference between a Canuck and a canoe? A canoe occasionally will tip.

Anyway, so you're Patrick Kane, and you want your $1.20 change.

The cabbie tells you he doesn't have two dimes.Oh well, no biggie right?

Wrong.

That's when you flip out and start beating the hell out of the cabbie. You grab him by the throat, you rough him up, and together with your cousin James you take back the money the you gave the cabbie.

Even though you signed an entry level NHL rookie contract for a mere $875,000 per for three years, you had incentives in there (including big bucks for winning the Calder Trophy) that could earn you something closer to $3.5 million a season.

But you want your $1.20 back so badly, that you beat up a cabbie and take his money.

Now it's 5AM in Buffalo, and the cops pick up you and your cousin James. You are booked and charged with second-degree robbery, a Class C felony, as well as fourth-degree criminal mischief and theft of services, both Class A misdemeanors, and you are taken to the Erie County Holding Center.

You begin to worry about returning to Chicago ever again, because you know what awaits you there. You consider a change of careers. You consider retiring at age 20.

As you look at your cousin James across the holding pen, it suddenly occurs to you that you, Patrick Kane, are a very very stupid young man.

Just goes to show you, you should always tip the help.

For Emmett

The Last Quatrain of the Balled of Emmett Till

after the murder,
after the burial
Emmett’s mother is a pretty-faced thing;
the tint of pulled taffy.
She sits in a red room,
drinking black coffee.
She kisses her killed boy.
And she is sorry.
Chaos in windy grays
through a red prairie.

Gwendolyn Brooks~ 1960

Most people know the story of Till, a black kid from Chicago who was beaten to death at the age of 14 because he had the nerve to whistle at a white woman in the lovely little cracker shithole known as Money, Mississippi. His eye was gouged out, and he was shot in the head. His body was weighted down with the fan from a cotton gin, and his body was dumped in the Tallahatchie River where it lay for 3 days before being discovered.

Till had traveled to Mississippi in August 1955 to stay with his uncle, Moses Wright. Three days after hs arrival, he was outside a general store owned by Roy Bryant and his wife Carolyn. Accounts vary but there's general agreement that, on a dare, Till whistled at Carolyn Bryant. Considering the timing of the "event", hot on the heels of Brown v Board of Education, and the location, deep in the heart of cracker country, it's somewhat understandable that Till's uncle told him he should get the hell out of that place.

Roy Bryant had been out of town on the 24th, but upon his return his 21 year old wife told him of Till's act of public defiance. Niggers just didn't whistle at white women in 1955 Mississippi. According to most accounts, Bryant and his half-brother J.W.Milam drove to Wright's house in the middle of the night, 12:30 AM Sunday Aug 28th, and roused Emmett from his sleep. They took him to Carolyn Bryant to confirm his identity as the person doing the whistling (or grabbing her about the waist asking for a date, or saying "Bye, baby.." depending on which story is to be believed.) Once she IDd Emmett as the offender, he was tossed in a pickup truck and taken to a beat up old shed on a plantation in nearby Sunflower County.

Initially, with Till still missing, Bryant and Milam claimed they had indeed taken him for a ride, but insisted they were just trying to scare Emmett, and only roughed him up a bit before releasing him. After hearing about Emmett, Medgar Evers went to Money, and passed himself off as a cotton picker so he could interview others about the missing Chicago kid.

Within 3 days, a body was discovered in the Tallahatchie, bloated and beaten beyond recognition. A ring on a dead finger, given to Till by his father, allowed positive identification. The dead body in the river was Emmett Till.

Bryant and Milam stood trial, and were acquitted by an all white jury of 12 men. Deliberations took just over an hour. According to one juror, it would have taken less time, but they stopped for a soda break.

Till's murder was seen as one of several key events during that shameful period of US history which led directly to the Civil Rights Movement.

After their acquittal, and thanks to laws protecting them against double jeopardy, Bryant and Milam admitted to killing Till in a January 1956 article in Look Magazine. They were paid $4000 for the story.

Emmett's body was brought back to Chicago. At the funeral, Mamie Carthan Till, Emmett's mother, insisted the casket be open."I wanted the world to see what they did to my baby." Emmett was buried at Burr Oak Cemetery on Sept 6, 1955. (the same day Bryant and Milam were indicted.)

In 2004, the US Dept of Justice announced that they were reopening the case to see if anyone else was involved in Emmett's murder. No autopsy had ever been performed, so the FBI exhumed Till's body in May 2005. After the autopsy was performed by the Cook County Coroner's Office, identifying the remains as those of Emmett Till, the body was reburied in a new casket.

Till's original glass topped casket was to be used as a shrine to Emmett, as well as the Civil Rights Movement according to the people who ran Burr Oak Cemetery. Instead, they tossed Emmett Till's casket in a storage shed where it has become home to a family of possums.

The people running Burr Oak Cemetery are now under investigation for re-selling as many as 300 plots. There are reports of bones being scattered about in rows of hedges, and trucks being loaded up with the remains of unearthed bodies.

Initially, it was feared that Emmett Till's grave had been dug up, the body discarded, and the plot sold again as part of this massive scandal that has rocked Chicago. As it turns out, it appears Till's body is still in his grave.

As of this morning, a new section of Burr Oak has been found to be the site of more grave digging and Tom Dart, Cook County Sheriff has now declared the entire Burr Oak Cemetery a crime scene.