Winter in Streator, Early 1960s

I have had this photo on my bulletin board for several years now, after finding it in a box of other shots. That's my dad and I know it's Streator, because there is Stan the Big Hairy Deal guy's house across the way. I miss the old square frame photos, but this is one that didn't have a date stamped on the side. From the cars, I'd say early 60s at the latest, because we had a '57 cobalt blue Bell-Air when I was a baby, but that was gone before 1960 was done with. The car on the other side of my dad perhaps belonged to my Auntie Irene and Uncle Bill, but Bill ran a body shop from behind their house on Hall Street, and it might easily have been a paying customer's jalopy. I've written of Streator before, how we had little money and so all the family converging in Streator made for a cheap weekend. All-nite poker, the kids sleeping on end tables and dresser drawers, me outlasting the bunch by watching Godzilla movies broadcast from some station in Bloomington. All the adults smoked, the house smelled like the body shop, and beneath it all was the smell of glue and paint for my oldest cousin's Big Daddy Roth models. I am assuming my dad has just come back from Safarcjeks over on Illinois Street with a carton of Pall Malls. He stopped smoking in 1969, by the way. Not really a mystery photo, just one that is unique because it doesn't match up with any one other photo from the bunch.

Curt Swan's Superman

My nieces were over this evening, so I will tell you the story of the night of the Mighty Dog tomorrow. For now, enjoy this page of Curt Swan profile sketches, although several near the bottom seem dubious at best.

Synchronisity in Space & Ashes

One of those weird little disconnects, where your brain takes a second to catch up. A couple of weeks back, I mentioned my friend who hung himself out in remote Victorville, California. Well, every day I check out Astronomy Photo of The Day, the last few have been shots of the Geminid meteor showers. Many of the photos posted you can find at TWAN (The World at Night), and if you checking out the night skies is your bag, check TWAN out, as you'll see posts from around the world. On December 14th, my friend's cremation viewing took place. The photo above, out of all the photos that could have popped up at APOD, was one taken by Wally Pacholka that same night, in Victorville, California. I am in no way making anything of this other than the crazy odd collision in the otherwise barrenness that is anything east of San Berdoo.

ShatnerQuake

I was going to title this post Zero Hour, Three AM, but I'm not certain how the actual words to "Rocket Man" go at the very beginning. All I know is that when William Shatner is smoking and doing his, um, rendition of that song back in 1979, he sure as hell looks like Jack Lord. Well, Bob asked me about my anger at scanning the shelves at Borders, and I told him its not the genre, more the gimmicks that get to me. The tie-ins, crap like that. I'm much happier in a used bookstore. But what did I do but buy a wacky book via Amazon, after someone sent me the link. Regardless of what the book was about, I had to own something with Elvis-bloat William Shatner on the cover. Dig this, though. There's something called a ShatnerCon, and the novel involves an invasion of all these variations of Bruce Campbell. And then there is a fight with all these alternate versions of Shatner. Capt. Kirk, Denny Crane, T. J. freaking Hooker, Priceline Shatner, the above-mentioned Rocket Man Shatner, and hopefully, Twilight Zone Shatner. Now, a lot of people remember "The Terror at 30,000 Feet," the monster on the wing of the plane episode. But my favorite, the name escapes me, has Shatner and that hot chick sitting in the diner and on the table is a little box with a devil on it who will give you a fortune (I think its a fortune, its been awhile, I just dig the atmosphere of the story itself.) I doubt there's any TZ characters in this book, which seems insane enough as it is. Regardless of the writing, I'll enjoy envisioning each character. And there IS a YouTube of "Rocket Man" out there, so be warned.

Stomach Steinways

Dick Contino called his accordian a stomach Steinway. I need to write about Dick one day. Google him. He's in Chicago for local summerfests. Neat guy. Anyhow. This fellow was in front of the Borders across from the Chicago Theater last Monday. I stopped there on my way to the readings, just to see what is on the shelves to further depress myself. This fellow wasn't out front when I walked in, and as I walked out I thought maybe a falling brick had hit me in the head. From far away, I honestly thought I was looking at Cab Calloway. After realizing this was not the case, I talked with him a bit. He's up here from Alabama, for who knows what reason, it being below zero and all. I asked him if he could try "Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone" and he actually came up with a good, if somwhat (and expected ) jaunty version of it. I handed him a fiver and as I walked down the steps to the subway I could hear regular polka music floating over my head. Later, I walked over to the Red Lion, our old haunt, because someone told me that it was boarded up even more securely. I took a phjoto once I saw the smiley face on it, but with the photo developed, it seems I caught a ghost on film. Or maybe just some tall guy smoking an unfiltered Pall Mall exhaling as he leaned over my shoulder. What do I know? I was cold.

More Unmarked Helicopters

If anything, these photos show you how schizophrenic our weather is, because the photos were taken on two consecutive days two weeks back.The bottom two are from a vantage point at the bus kiosk as I waited for the Cicero bus northbound. Two hours later, after having driven me home and we jawed in the driveway, Andrew Kudelka saw one of the helicopters coming back towards its mothership stuck in a hanger at Midway. The sky actually looks this blue as it gets colder, which kind of pisses me off. But I guess its like having your cake and eating it, too. I'd rather having hot weather and sky the color of horseradish. The two that show the grim cloud cover are just 14 hours later, where the clouds came, who the hell knows. Its Chicago. But there's the helicopter flying over my backyard as I was typing here, and a few minutes later, I heard one again. Its over by the trees, near Leamington Avenue. If I had been outside picking up dog crap, there's a good chance these would have been cooler photos. This way, though, it looks like I'm hiding. Or senile.

Nick and Vito's

Yes, yes, it say's Vito & Nick's right there in the window. But in my old neighborhood, 9 out of 10 people simply said Nick & Vito's when asked what kind of pizza they wanted. Mind you, this place is still around, I mean with the interior looking exactly as it did in the 60s, linoleum floor and all. Pulaski Road has not been kind to businesses the further south one goes. This has nothing to do with the gangs and such, for now even Tuzio the Tailor has closed up shop and scrammed back to Italy. Bulow's Drive-In was torn down for the first strip mall--tiny as it was--in our area. Appliance stores became a video rental place run by Chicago cops, then it became a series of cell phone stores before being boarded up, as maybe 30% of the old neighborhood is. Taverns became real estate agencies and then went back to being taverns, the only difference being that the first time the place was a tavern, shots were called hookers, and old white guys snuck away from their wives at 7 in the morning. 79th & Pulaski was a hub, of sorts, because of William J. Bogan High School (dubbed the Great White Hope while I attended classes because it was the last 100% white school in the city, the year my sister started, there was one black girl and, inexplicably, two Chinese boys). Across the street is a White Castle, and that place will be there after the the cockroaches run the planet. We nicknamed Pulaski "Pizza Row" in the 70s because between 81st and just past my block, maybe 85th Place, there was Pizza Hut, Pizza Pete, Pudgy's (now a huge chain called Waldo Cooney's), an Conte's, which stood toe-to-toe with Nick & Vito's even though there was only two benches in a driveway to hang out. Their last name is Barraco, and there are plenty of Barraco's scattered throughout the area, one is just down 87th past where I live now. Its only a stand up place, you can stand by the window and eat pizza slices. Nick & Vito's was the place, though. We had alleys in the old neighborhood, so I'd enjoy walking through my auntie's back yard, down her alley and then the intersecting one that led to the parking lot. For any of those reading who have ever been there, you'll agree with me when I say that these pizzas seem so thin compared to all the Chicago-style places, but the look is deceiving. And it is probably the greasiest pizza in existence. Which is a good thing. After a few slices, your fingers had a sheen like you'd been juggling a glazed ham. The Barraco's franchises are a different type of pizza, the triangular slice deal. The original place cut their pies up like chessboards. I liked to fold one piece on top of the other. I can imagine a planet somewhere out there that has a grocery store where the equivalent of Saltine crackers is a box of Nick & Vito's pizza squares. And, yea, I'm one of the 9 out of 10 who call it by the wrong name. And now I'm hungry.