Monthly Archives: August 2013

Aurora Across the Millennia

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Behind the former Leland Hotel in Aurora is a spot called Millennium Plaza, dedicated on January 1, 2000. It has a nice view of the Fox River, but otherwise isn’t a very inspiring public space. There’s a large bell.

I looked around, but there’s no clue about the bell’s history or what it’s doing there. No doubt it has a history, and maybe an interesting one tied to Aurora’s story. Maybe the municipal committee responsible for creating the plaza ran out of money when it came time to commission a plaque or even a small sign for it.

A tower rises over the plaza.

Not a color or shape I would have chosen. But there it is. Apparently, if you stand at a certain spot not far away on a clear night, the tower will guide your eye to Polaris. The committee found money to add a plaque that explains that. Even though the plaque has been scratched up by bush-league vandals, I’m able to quote it at length.

Millennium Tower stands as Aurora’s Salute to the third millennium. It has brought the business and private sectors of the community together to leave a lasting gift to future generations of Aurora citizens.

Millennium Tower is constructed in a triangular form, with each side having its own plaza representing the past, present and future of Aurora. We enter the tower at Present Plaza, moving to the south and down, we stand on Past Plaza, and to the north and up, we stand on Future Plaza.

I have to say at this point that just wandering around the site as a casual visitor, there’s no sense that it’s divided into three parts, much less ones that sound so temporally disorienting. And not to pick nits — actually, I like picking this kind of nit — what’s the difference between the business and private sectors?

The tower’s orientation is true north. The upper angle of the tower is at 42.5 degrees. Standing on the granite stone at the entrance to the tower, one can sight at the peak of the tower to the North Star.

As the North Star has lead mankind into the future, so today we, the citizens of Aurora, dedicate Millennium Tower to the future generations of Aurorans to guide you into the future millenniums.

Wait, what? It’s interesting that the tower points to Polaris, I guess, though it’s one of easiest stars to find in the sky — the easiest — if you happen to be in the Northern Hemisphere. But what’s this about the North Star leading mankind into the future? As important as Polaris might be to navigation, and even considering that it shows up occasionally as a symbol of constancy in literature, what’s that supposed to mean?

Also, and here’s another nit, I suspect the planners of the tower had never heard of the precession of the equinoxes. That’s something that moves along at a millennial pace. We won’t live to see it, of course, but poor old Polaris won’t be the pole star forever — not even by the beginning of the fifth millennium.

Aurora itself might not last so long, but you never know. Whatever its current troubles, Damascus (for example) has been around a really long time, and probably has thousands of years to go. Aurora might even be a major city someday — where was it that became the capital of a large new empire in the fourth millennium in A Canticle for Leibowitz? Texarkana.

The Leland & The Aurora

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This fine building stands at 7 S. Stolp Ave. on Stolp Island in Aurora. The 1920s was clearly an age of  fine buildings, and we’re fortunate to still have so many in Chicago and environs.

Built as the Leland Hotel in 1928, it’s now Fox Island Place Apartments. A helpful plaque on the exterior wall told me that the structure is on the National Register of Historic Places. “Designed by Anker Sveere Graven and Arthur Guy Mayger… it was the tallest building in Illinois outside of Chicago.”

That seems like reaching to find a distinction, but never mind. “In addition to being a first-class hotel, it became an important entertainment center,” the plaque continued. “In the 1930s it was the recording studio for some of the most influential blues musicians of the golden age of blues recording. This plaque honors this historic building, and these artists.”

And it lists some of them. I will too, just as the plaque does. With some links. As the plaque cannot. Not yet, anyway.

John Lee “Sonny Boy” Williamson – Harmonica Legend

Big Bill Broonzy – Guitar/Singer

Hudson “Tampa Red” Whittaker – The Guitar Wizard

Yank Rachell – Mandolin

“Robert Night Hawk” Robert Lee McCoy – Guitar

Bill “Jazz” Gillam – Harmonica

Big Joe Williams – Guitar

Washboard Sam – Washboard

Lester Melrose – Producer

Across the street from the former Leland is the former Aurora Hotel, now the North Island Apartments. It dates from 1917 and is also a nice bit of work.

Not, as far as I can tell, where bluesmen hung out. A simpler plaque on the building says that one H. Ziegler Dietz was the original architect; hope his commissions didn’t dry up because of the war. The redevelopment architect in 1998 was Carl R. Klimek & Associates.

On Stolp Island

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I took pictures at the western end of the New York Street Memorial Bridge in Aurora, but naturally I had to walk across it too. Or at least across the western section of the bridge to Stolp Island, because I didn’t realize at that moment that the eastern section of the bridge counted as part of the same bridge.

HistoricBridges.org explains: “The New York Street Memorial Bridge is technically a single bridge spanning the entire river. However, in the 1960s, fill was brought in to expand the island northward, and the center of the bridge was buried in the fill. Today, a parking garage is located south of the former center of the bridge and a casino is located north of the former center of the bridge.”

I made it as far that former center of the bridge, where I saw a plaque dedicated to Gen. Pershing.

It looks like it was tacked on to the parking garage, but the plaque came first, put there in 1960 for Pershing’s centennial (about 12 years after he died). Not far away was a bas-relief, flanked by eagles. I didn’t see a sign describing the work, but it’s safe to say it honors the ordinary soldiers of the Great War.

Across the street, in front of the casino, is the statue “Victory.”

“The Chicago Architectural Bronze Company manufactured the bronze tablets and light fixtures. Roman Bronze Works of New York City cast the bridge’s crowning central figure of Victory,” according to HistoricBridges.org.

Does anyone entering the casino mistake her for Lady Luck? Of course, Lady Luck doesn’t spend much time in a casino, however much gamblers want her to. Or maybe she does, but hews more closely to Fortuna, who inspired both good and bad luck. I think Dame Probability runs the joint – and she’s always on the side of the house.

The New York Street Memorial Bridge

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On Saturday afternoon, I got a good look at the New York Street Memorial Bridge in Aurora, Illinois, which spans the Fox River.

My vantage for this image was from the Fox River Trail, next to the river. The bridge connects the west bank of the river to a large island — large enough, in fact, that a good bit of downtown Aurora is built on it — and then another section of the bridge (not pictured) connects the island with the east bank of the river. The building in the background is the Hollywood Aurora Casino, which is located on the northern tip of the island — Stolp Island, to use its euphonious name.

HistoricBridges.org tells me that “the New York Street Memorial Bridge was designed as a memorial to World War I veterans. The bridge is far more than a typical memorial bridge where a simple memorial plaque is placed on the bridge. Instead, the bridge displays a truly beautiful design where the bridge itself is the memorial. At each end of the bridge, a concrete statue titled ‘Memory’ rises up above the railings at the westernmost and easternmost pier points.”

This is one of the “Memory” statues. At the base of this statue — and I suppose the other three, though I didn’t check — is a plaque. Oddly, its language doesn’t explicitly memorialize those who fought in WWI, but considering the date on the plaque, those who built the bridge probably assumed that everyone would know who it was for. The plaque says:

MEMORIAL BRIDGE

Aurora – Illinois

1930-1931

Be this memorial forever dedicated to the defenders of American ideals; as a reverent memory to the departed; as a vivid tribute to the living; and as a patriotic challenge to posterity, that these ideals shall not perish. Anon.”

More from HistoricBridges.org: “The bridge was originally proposed and designed by Aurora City Engineer Walter E. Deuchler, but citizens then requested the bridge be a memorial bridge and so Emory Seidel and Karl Miller of Seidel Studios of Chicago… were hired to redesign the proposed bridge as the memorial bridge seen today.”

More about the bridge is at the site, including information from the National Register Historic District nomination form.

A closer look at “Memory.”

Posterity drives and walks by her every day. Who sees her as anything more than a bridge ornament? A few, perhaps. Could be that “Memory” has mostly been forgotten.

Summer of ’78

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So few are the images I have of high school friends that this might be the only one I haven’t posted at some point. It’s provided to me courtesy of Catherine, who’s in the picture.

From left: me, Ellen, Donna, Tom T., Melanie, Kirk, Nancy, Tom J. and Catherine.

It might have been taken by Catherine and Melanie’s father (R.I.P., Mr. F.). I can’t pinpoint the day, but it was in August before senior year started (senior year for all but two in the shot). Mid-August, because I’d been in Austin early in the month and then on a bus epic of a trip to Stevens Point, Wisconsin, and back from the 5th to the 10th.

It might have been August 14, 1978. I marked on the calendar I kept at the time that I’d gone to Ellen’s – with a fair number of other people – to listen to The War of the Worlds concept album, which was brand new. In full, it was called Jeff Wayne’s Musical Version of The War of the Worlds. I remember all of us sitting in her living room, listening to the whole thing as if it were a live performance. I doubt that very many people even remember that record any more, though I’ve read it was more popular in the UK than the US. Who owned it among my friends, and who suggested we listen to it, I couldn’t say.

This picture was taken at Catherine’s home, not Ellen’s, so either it was another day, or we migrated from one place to the other – entirely possible. I’m glad to report that, as far as I know, everyone in the picture is still alive, except almost assuredly the cat. Among us, we have 15 children, though I might be miscounting that.

Speaking of items from the past, but not quite so long ago, it’s been 10 years to the day since we moved into our house.

Dog v. Skunk

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We usually let the dog out in the back yard one more time before we go to bed, and usually she isn’t very noisy. There isn’t much to stimulate her barking – nobody walking their dogs in the park behind our fence, no active squirrels or birds, no kids playing. But one recent night she cut loose and made a lot of noise.

Barking isn’t something that should come from your yard at 11 p.m. or midnight, so I went to bring her in. She was focused on the edge of the deck, snout down, pawing the ground. Something was under the deck. At first I thought the raccoon – a raccoon – had returned, since one seemed to live there for a little while a few years ago. Then I smelled skunk.

I really wanted to get her in. It wasn’t easy, but I did it. By then the reek of skunk was pretty strong. It turned out the dog hadn’t been sprayed directly, or at least the understructure of the deck caught most of it. Good thing, since the dog smells like dog and needs to smell no worse. Soon the stink wafted faintly into the house. It was gone by morning, except for the deck, which still smells of skunk, though not that much (the rest of family feels that it’s more powerful that I do, though).

About 20 minutes later, as I was in bed reading, I heard barking from elsewhere. As I’ve said, that’s fairly rare, but I think it was the dogs a couple of houses down from us, having their own encounter with the skunk.

Not Quite a Nap

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Finally, a day worthy of the name summer, at least in the North. Sunny and nearly 90 F.

But regardless of the outside temps, summer’s a fine time for afternoon naps, especially if you stay up late to finish something, but don’t finish it, and then get up early the next day to finally finish it. Because it must be done.

After the task is complete, you recline on your comfy couch, not even for a real nap, but to rest your eyeballs (a phrase I learned from Festus Haggen). As lethargy takes over, a certain dog shows up on the couch and burrows her way in. You’re too tired to shoo her off. Another resident of the house, one of your offspring, takes a picture of the scene.

The Unreliability of Comets

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Another gray day today, but at least not strangely autumn-like. Underneath the sheltering cloud cover, it was warm and humid.

Above the clouds—really far above them—is Comet ISON (and why can’t famed comets have real names?). Space.com tells me breathlessly, in the tradition of headlines, that “Space and Earth Telescopes to Track ‘Comet of the Century.’ ”

In the text, the article hedges its bets: “Comet ISON was discovered in September 2012, and is due to swoop in close to the sun in November. When it does, it may become as bright as the full moon, visible to the naked eye even in daylight. Or, it may not.”

Maybe the editors are old enough to remember Comet Kohoutek, a previous “comet of the century,” although the previous century, which failed to be aesthetically pleasing for us earthlings. Or maybe the equally disappointing 1986 return of Halley’s Comet.

Side note: Czech astronomer Luboš Kohoutek is still alive at age 78, at least according to Wiki, and probably still adding to the boatload of comets and asteroids he’s already discovered. An astronomer from the time when men were men and comets were named after their discoverers, not the machines that detected them.

Another aside: I’ve never heard of this comet (or maybe I’d forgotten about it).

Lost Words

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Strange day, outside and in. Not strange outside, exactly, but cooler than it ought to be in early August. Cool and wet.

By inside, I mean my computer — the one I mostly use for work. My Word program was corrupted, or elves came and messed up some of my Word documents, or something happened over the weekend. A handful of files I remember working on a saving on Friday and Saturday were not saved when I opened them on Monday. At least, not saved as of the last time I worked on them, but as of an earlier, less useful version. Some hours of work swallowed up — where? why? I don’t ever remember anything like this happening before.

And then, I was supposed to do an 11 Pacific/1 Central interview, which somehow I’d written down on my paper calender — I’m old-fashioned that way — as 12/2. I missed the interview. So much for old-fashioned paper being more reliable than, say, a Word program. GIGO doesn’t just apply to computers.

Grindelwald Graffiti

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In early August 1983, I made my way to Grindelwald, Switzerland. I could describe the majestic alpine scenery to be enjoyed there, or the memorable walk up to the Blue Cave, which is carved in a glacier, or the stunning cable-car ride. Instead, I’m going to relay the graffiti I found in the men’s room of the Grindelwald Youth Hostel all those years ago, which I recorded in my travel diary.

All of it was English, oddly enough. I bet it’s a unique array of information, even in the petabyte – exabyte? — realms of the Internet, even though I’ve seen a few of the lines elsewhere.

Time flies when you’re unconscious.

Sprio Agnew is an anagram for “Grow a penis.”

Spitoon rules the cosmos.

Stamp out quicksand.

Beware of limbo dancers.

Six months ago I couldn’t spell El Salvador. Now I’m going to die there.

Why does everyone scream when I say Waffen SS?

Toto, have we found the hostel yet?

The wall also featured a cartoon of the man in charge of the hostel, who was known as the “warden.” I knew it was the warden because the figure was labeled that. I never had any run-ins with the warden. I don’t even remember meeting him.

Speech balloons from his mouth said:

Bring up some f—king firewood!!! Or we’ll burn your f—king passports!!! If there’s not a s—tload of firewood up here by 12:00 we’ll kick everyone’s ass!!!

Under the cartoon were comments about the warden.

Who says Himmler’s dead?

He makes me vomit.

Nazis got to live, too.

This is the best hostel I’ve been in in 15 months, all due to the warden.

There was also a long rant that I didn’t record word-for-word, the gist of which was that the Australians should be glad that the Americans “saved them in WWII.” It concluded, “If it weren’t for us, you Aussies would be speaking Japanese.”

Under that, someone else had written: Then at least someone could understand them. 

The quality of bathroom graffiti, never very high, is probably down these days, and it might even be a fading phenomenon. Why write there when you can use web site comment sections?