An anniversary worth noting, because it so seldom is: the sinking of the USS Reuben James, now 80 years past to the day.
Still famed in story and especially song, if you’re willing to listen. Illustrated in our time by an unusually thoughtful video. The Weavers did a good version of the song as well.
Back to posting around Halloween. Speaking of which, this two-story skeleton can be found about a mile from my house. I’m not planning to get one for my yard.
Also, I’m not planning to watch or care about The Squid Game. Or is it The Octopus Meet? Hard to keep track of all the fashionable shows.
One synagogue open for Open House Chicago last weekend was KAM Isaiah Israel in Hyde Park. It’s across the street from the Obama residence, in fact, though I’m certain that’s a coincidence, and besides, the synagogue’s been there a lot longer.
“KAM Isaiah Israel is the oldest Jewish congregation in the Midwest and its leaders, members and buildings have played an important role in Jewish history, American social justice movements, and architectural history,” Open House says. (KAM = Kehilath Anshe Maarav = “Congregation of the Men of the West.”)
“KAM was founded in 1847 and had several locations in Chicago before settling in Hyde Park… The synagogue’s architecture [Alfred S. Alschuler] was inspired by Byzantine structures and an ancient synagogue in Tiberias, Israel.”
There’s an impressive dome, but I didn’t capture it.
The entrance, also impressive.
“Although KAM began as an Orthodox congregation, our members began to reform their practice almost from the beginning,” the synagogue web site says. “In 1852, conflict over issues of Reform and traditional observances led to the creation of a new congregation, B’nai Sholom. In 1874, KAM became a founding member of the Union of American Hebrew Congregations, now known as the Union for Reform Judaism.”
The ceiling.
Stained glass.
The other synagogue we visited was out in the near western suburb of River Forest: Temple Har Zion. It’s a modernist work of Loebl, Schlossman and Bennett, completed in 1953. 
The building is divided into two large parts. The sanctuary.
On the other side of the wall is Gottlieb Hall, just as large, but without any seats. Its main feature are five stained glass windows designed by William Gropper in 1967, which my pictures do no justice to. Gropper’s best known as a cartoonist.
“Instead of traditional stained glass techniques, Gropper used one inch thick chunks of brilliantly colored glass which were cut to shape and chipped or faceted on the surface,” Temple Har Zion says. “Each window is two stories high and contain 11 panels of this chiseled glass set in a matrix… these vibrant windows which represent some of the most familiar stories of Genesis.”
One of the fascinations of the windows is working from top to bottom — and right to left — to pick out the stories of Genesis chronologically. This is the far right window, starting with Creation toward the top and working down to the creatures of the land and sea toward the bottom.
A detail of the next window: the Flood.
The end of the Flood.
Anyone who insists that the 1960s was a poor period for design isn’t looking hard enough.
During Open House Chicago on Saturday, we wanted to see a place called Boxville — “a 17-[shipping] container open-air marketplace full of art, music, food and a variety of entrepreneurial businesses,” the Open House web site says.
But it looked entirely too crowded as we drove by — people waiting for a tour, or a regular shopping crowd? — and there wasn’t anywhere to park close by. Since Boxville is at the E. 51st Street station on the CTA Green Line, that might be the best way to reach it some other day.
So we went on to Corpus Christi Catholic Church, which is at the corner of Martin Luther King Jr. Dr. and E. 49th St., not too far away. Except that as a functioning Catholic church, Corpus Christi has seen its last mass, which was on June 27.
“Corpus Christi… along with St. Ambrose, St. Anselm, St. Elizabeth and Holy Angels churches, will merge July 1 into one new ‘Our Lady of Africa’ parish, under the Archdiocese of Chicago’s ‘Renew My Church’ initiative, ongoing since 2018,” the Chicago Sun-Times reported in June.
“Under Renew My Church, struggling churches and schools are being closed or consolidated, to cut costs for aging infrastructure, as well as to address a priest shortage.
“And while many parishes continue to struggle with challenges from the changing demographics of Catholic mass and school attendance, the sense of loss from closings and consolidations remains the same.”
Thus the future of the building is uncertain. One of the docents told me she hoped another religious organization would buy the property, but it would be an expensive proposition. Still, someone should consider making a deal with the Archdiocese. It’s a resplendent church, especially inside.
But maintenance is clearly an issue.
“This Renaissance Revival building by Joseph W. McCarthy has twin spires and a deeply-coffered ceiling,” says Open House. “Brightly colored stained glass windows, designed in Germany by F.X. Zettler, depict the original church members processing with Pope Pius X…
“During the Great Migration of the 1930s, the church went from serving a predominantly Irish-American community to serving an African-American community.”
Fine detail is evident, including small mosaics.
A few blocks south of the Midway Plaisance, in a block that’s clearly gentrifying, is the Shrine of Christ the King. This is how the exterior looked on Saturday.
This is a Street View from July 2017, a year and some months after a fire gutted the church.
“More than 150 firefighters were called the 90-year-old church, located in the 6400 block of South Woodlawn Avenue…” WLS reported in October 2015. “Chicago Fire Department detectives said spontaneous combustion from rags used to stain the floor of the choir pew is the mostly likely culprit.
“The Shrine of Christ the King was originally a Catholic church, known first as St. Clara and then as St. Gelasius. As the size of the parish diminished, the building faced demolition. However, the building was given historic status and taken over by a religious order in 2006.”
Namely, the Institute of Christ the King Sovereign Priest, which has been around only since 1990 and whose U.S. national headquarters is in Chicago. The building is considerably older, the final work of ecclesiastical architect Henry J. Schlacks, completed in 1927 (and suffering a previous fire in 1976).
The interior is still completely unfinished. All you could do is look in from the entrance, and hear about its pending restoration from volunteers. I’m all for that, so I put a small donation in the box on the table at the door.
On Sunday, while Yuriko was busy creating a most delicious marble cake —
— I headed to the North Side to take a look at St. Vincent de Paul Church.
“St. Vincent de Paul serves a parish founded in 1875 by the Vincentian order,” Open House says. “The present-day church was completed in 1897, considered to represent architect James Egan’s finest work… The church is constructed of Indiana limestone blending Romanesque architecture like rounded doorways and arcades with French Gothic details such as the large, soaring windows.”
Wonderful to see, but when I left I also took note of a more everyday wonder. Food. Across the street from the church is a joint called Jam ‘n Honey. People were sitting at tables out on the sidewalk, eating what looked like delicious breakfasts. I’ll have to keep that in mind for future reference.
During Open House Chicago on Saturday, we dropped by a number of open churches, as usual. Chicago has many. Our first religious site was the United Church of Hyde Park, a Romanesque Revival structure designed by Gregory A. Vigeant, dating from 1889.
“United Church of Hyde Park is a tri-denominational faith community (United Church of Christ, Presbyterian Church USA, and United Methodist Church),” the church web site says. A Protestant parfait, I guess.
They’re barely visible, but the names of the Apostles are inscribed around the dome.
There are 12 places for names, and while I can’t read them, I assume they include Matthias rather than Judas. I’d hope so, anyway.
Elsewhere in Hyde Park is Augustana Lutheran Church.
It’s a mid-60s modernist design by Edward Dart, who is better known for Water Tower Place on Michigan Ave., though he did a lot of churches as well.
“A church more than any other building should reflect today’s culture, feeling, and the renaissance of our own era,” Dart said. That meant midcentury brick and concrete, and for all that not a bad design.
The Augustana grounds also include a spot of green space behind a brick wall near the street. Part of the space is given over to a columbarium.
Interestingly, the plaques on the wall (to the right in the above picture) don’t mark niches. Rather, they name people whose ashes have been scattered in the churchyard.
I suppose that’s Paul, though the only thing that tells me so is text on the wall nearby, from his Epistle to the Romans.
One more neighborhood Protestant church: Hyde Park Union Church, a 1906 design by James Gamble Rogers.
A bit dark inside, but I understand the acoustics are really good.
Plus some impressive Tiffany windows, such as one depicting Joshua and Moses.
As the name indicates, the current church was formed by a merger between congregations. In this case, American Baptist Churches-USA and United Church of Christ.
During the course of the day, we passed by a few other churches that I’d have peeked inside, had they been open. Such as a Baptist church in Bronzeville, which is otherwise home to a number of fine churches.
And a Unitarian church of considerable heft, back in Hyde Park.
I can’t remember visiting a Unitarian church before, though I probably have. Still, I was definitely curious to know how this one is decorated inside. Like this, turns out.
Distinctly cool nights now, but on Saturday and today we enjoyed pleasantly warm and clear days. Just right for walking around the city and looking at things.
After an absence last year, Open House Chicago returned this year, though seemingly with fewer sites. But I’m not really sure, since I didn’t compared this year’s list with previous years, and it doesn’t matter anyway. There were plenty of places on the 2021 list that we hadn’t been.
In fact, we attended the event both on Saturday and Sunday — a first for us. On Saturday, we spent our time in Hyde Park and adjoining neighborhoods, mostly seeing religious sites. On Sunday, Yuriko had cake class in Humboldt Park, so while she did that, I made my way through the thick of the city to see a museum and a church in two different neighborhoods. On the way home, we both visited a synagogue in River Forest.
The first place we saw wasn’t a church, however. Just after 10 on Saturday, we paid a visit to the Penthouse Hyde Park, which is currently a high-rise of high-end apartments. The building was developed in the 1920s as the Piccadilly Hotel & Theatre, a hotel with a theater included inside the building, as was more commonly found in New York once upon a time, but not so much in Chicago.
The theater was demolished about 50 years ago. Recent renovations began under new ownership beginning in 2015, with the apartments finally leasing this year. The image above, from 2019, is a little dated, since the entrance has been renovated since then.
The main attraction at Penthouse Hyde Park for Open House visitors were the ballroom on the top floor, and the views from that floor.
The ballroom.
Adjoining the ballroom is an outdoor terrace, 14 floors up. The views are sweeping. These are other apartment towers in Hyde Park, though closer to Lake Michigan.
The view toward downtown.
The view west.
A good way to start the event. A number of other fine sites were to follow, as usual with Open Houses.
RIP, Laura Ford, mother of two friends of mine in high school, Catherine and Melanie. I remember her fondly from the times we hung out at Catherine’s house in the late ’70s. She’s pictured here in May 1979.
More recently, she would comment occasionally on something I’d posted on Facebook — she really liked pictures of our dog — though I can’t remember the last time we met in person.
I didn’t know her exact age until I read the obituary, and was slightly startled to realize that when I met her, she wasn’t even 40 yet. Of course, from the vantage of high school, that seemed vastly old. Now, not so much.
One more pic from Normal, Illinois, last weekend.
As we drove toward Normal, Yuriko asked what kind of bird the ISU mascot was supposed to be — a cardinal? I told her I didn’t think it was supposed to be any particular species, though it does look something like an angry cardinal.
Later Ann said she thought “redbird” was picked since too many other places used cardinals. The dictionary definition of redbird (Merriam-Webster) is straightforward enough: “Any of several birds (such as a cardinal or scarlet tanager) with predominantly red plumage.”
I had to look further into scarlet tanagers. Only some of them are actually scarlet, it seems. Not sure that would be such a hot mascot name anyway. If you want an unusual bird mascot name, I’d go with the Andean cock-of-the-rock. Funny name, funny-looking bird.
I noticed that Dick Cavett had a small part in Beetlejuice. I don’t think I’d ever seen him in a movie in which he didn’t play himself, such as in Annie Hall or Apollo 13, which was a TV clip of him joking about sending a bachelor astronaut to the Moon.
In Beetlejuice, he played Delia’s agent, attending a dinner party she held. Delia was the story’s cartoonish antagonist, and among other things an artist who produces bad sculpture. Leaving the party, Cavett’s character got in a good parting shot:
“Delia, you are a flake. You have always been a flake. If you insist on frightening people, do it with your sculpture.”
College campuses, at least when the weather is temperate, have a lot to recommend them as walking destinations. Green space with expansive trees, good-looking or at least interesting buildings, the possibility of public art, inexpensive museums sometimes, a youthful vibe but also historical tidbits, and overall no admission charge.
And the certain knowledge that you (I) don’t have to show up for class, finish assigned reading or write papers. That’s all done.
Before we dropped Ann off at her dorm on Sunday and returned home, we all took a stroll through Illinois Wesleyan University, which is in Bloomington, though not to far south of ISU. I’m glad to report that its motto is still in Latin.
Even better, I knew what it meant without looking it up because of the long-ago Latin teaching efforts of Mrs. Quarles and Dr. Nabors. But I have to say that even a little knowledge of the etymologies of the English words “science” and “sapient” would be enough to guess “knowledge” and “wisdom.”
Illinois Wesleyan, which as far as I can tell is only tenuously connected to the Methodist church, is pleasantly green though not quite the arboretum that is ISU.
A good many buildings were newer-looking than I expected for a college founded in 1850.
But not all of them.
There was a scattering of artwork, such as “Aspiration” by Giles Rayner (2015), a British artist specializing in water sculpture.
For whatever reason, no water flowed when I was there. It would have been cooler, literally and figuratively, had it been.
Elsewhere is “Family With Dog” by Boaz Vaadia (also 2015), a Brooklyn-based artist.
That second picture is my own composition, “Daughter With Dog With Family With Dog” (2021).
One of the things Ann wanted to do when we were visiting was see a showing of Beetlejuice at the Normal Theater, a single-screen moviehouse of ’30s vintage only a few minutes’ walk from her dorm. Since Yuriko didn’t want to see the movie, she stayed in our room with the dog and I went to the show with Ann.
As it happened, I’d never seen that movie. Neither had Ann, but she didn’t have the opportunity to see it when it was new. Not sure why I didn’t. I saw a fair number of movies in my late ’80s Chicago bachelor days — first run, foreign and arthouse — both highly memorable (e.g., The Princess Bride) and much less so (e.g., the ’87 movie version of Dragnet).
It’s a fun romp. A good example of a movie that doesn’t take itself that seriously, entertainment by a talented cast working from a good script that also includes all sorts of interesting visual detail. Tim Burton certainly has a gift for the visual, which you’d think would be mandatory to be a director, but apparently not.
Lots of weirdness, bright and dark, all mixed in effective ways. For a few moments, I’d swear the look of the afterlife owed a lot to German Expressionism, but also Brazil and Kafka, with B horror movies and screwball comedies and Fellini and Saturday morning cartoons and who knows what else thrown in to the rest of the movie.
Now I believe I need to see some of the other Tim Burton movies I’ve missed, such as Edward Scissorhands, The Nightmare Before Christmas, Big Fish, Sweeney Todd and Big Eyes, and maybe re-watch Pee-wee’s Big Adventure and Batman, which I haven’t seen since the decade they were made.
Better yet, I saw Beetlejuice‘s rampant weirdness in a real movie theater. Not a multiplex, either. The Normal Theater is one of the scant few survivors of another age of moviehouses: a neighborhood theater from that time when a lot of neighborhoods had them.
It isn’t a movie palace, but its Art Moderne style is charming to modern eyes, which are inured to bland interiors.
“The architect was Arthur F. Moratz, youngest sibling of Paul O. Moratz, another prominent local architect,” the theater web site says, which also includes some good pictures. “In Bloomington, Arthur Moratz buildings include the acclaimed Art Deco-style Holy Trinity Catholic Church at the north end of downtown, and his own residence, 317 East Chestnut Street.”
When it opened in 1937, the theater had 620 seats (these days, 385). First movie: Double or Nothing, with Bing Crosby and Martha Raye. Soon it found its niche in the world of Normal moviehouses.
“The Normal, generally speaking, did not screen the just-released prestige pictures and big budget epics,” the web site says. “Those were shown instead at the Irvin (and sometimes the Castle), which were both owned by Publix Great States Theatres. After all, why would the chain compete against itself? For its part, the Normal was known for genre and B pictures, especially westerns and musicals, as well as second-run fare.”
Of course, after its heyday, the theater followed the usual course for such places, with the 1960s and ’70 being unkind to it, though the Normal limped into the ’80s, surviving as a discount theater (dollar tickets and later $1.50).
I remember paying $1 at the Josephine Theatre in San Antonio ca. 1974 to see a Marx Bros. double feature, two of their lesser-shown works, Out West and At the Circus (I think, though one of them might have been The Big Store). Later in the ’70s, that theater showed X-rated pictures, which were advertised in small print in the newspapers, and no one I knew ever went there. I’m glad to say that the Josephine was later restored, and until the pandemic at least, was open.
As for the Normal, I don’t know whether it ever showed dirty movies (the web site is silent on the matter), but in any case, it closed in 1991. “The reason we closed it is that nobody went to it,” the owner said at the time. No doubt.
Amazing to relate, the town of Normal then bought the place, and a combination of federal grants, donations and local tax dollars was used to restore the theater, with a re-opening in 1994. It’s been showing old movies, foreign films and art pictures ever since — everything a nonstandard, nonchain theater should show. Admission: $6. A bargain these days.
This month is devoted to various horror and horror-adjacent movies, serious and not. Besides Beetlejuice, on the bill are Halloween (1978), PG: Psycho Goreman, The Witch, The Brood, Nightmare on Elm Street and its immediate sequel, Destroy All Monsters, Dead of Night (Ealing Studios), Mad Monster Party and The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
I encouraged Ann to take advantage of the theater, and I think she might. The movie theaters I had access to in college, especially Sarratt Cinema at Vanderbilt and the Texas Union Theater at UT, were an entertaining part of my education — something I didn’t appreciate until some years later.
Heavy rain for a while today and cooler temps, but not till afternoon, so there was time for one more lunch on my deck.
Ann invited us to visit her over the weekend, which we did, heading down to Normal on Saturday morning and returning Sunday afternoon, spending the night in a motel near I-55. Daytime temps were nearly as warm as when I dropped her off at ISU in August.
Toward the end of the day on Saturday, it had cooled enough for a short walk — including the dog, whom we brought — around the prettier parts of campus. Mostly that meant the ISU Quad. What’s a university without a quad or two?
As mentioned yesterday, most of the foliage is still green. An eastern approach to the Quad.
“The Hand of Friendship,” which honors Robert G. Bone.
Bone (1906-1991) was the ninth president of Illinois State Normal University, which was renamed Illinois State University during his tenure. Though only president for 11 years (1956-67), he oversaw a lot of construction, including the tower where Ann lives. Later, the school’s student center was named after him.
The Quad also counts as the heart of the arboretum that spans the campus — the Fell Arboretum, to cite its formal name, honoring one Jesse Fell.
Fell (1808-87) was the sort of businessman that America spawned in the 19th-century — lawyer, real estate speculator, newspaper publisher and sawmill owner. Specific to Illinois, he was a friend of Lincoln’s. He founded towns in central Illinois and helped organize counties there as well, and is considered a founder of ISU.
As for the arboretum, apparently Fell not only profited from cutting down trees, but was a fanatic when it come to planting them, so ISU named it in his honor.
Elsewhere, we saw a plaque on a rock honoring the horticulturist who designed the original landscape for the campus, William Saunders (1822-1900), who also happened to be a founder of the National Grange of the Order of Patrons of Husbandry, an organization I had only scant knowledge of before. That is to say, little that I remember, though I’m sure heard about the Granger movement in a U.S. history class. Always good to learn or re-learn something.
In the middle of the Quad is a lush garden.
The centerpiece is the Old Main Bell, dating from 1880.
Old Main was the campus’ first building, which stood from 1857 to 1958. A memorial honors the building not far from its bell. Unusually, it depicts all four elevations of the building.
We wandered on. This is Cook Hall.
“One of Illinois State’s most interesting buildings and the oldest one still standing on the Quad, Cook Hall was originally built to be a gymnasium,” ISU tells me. “It was completed in 1897 and was named after John Williston Cook, the University’s 4th President (1890-1899). He earned his diploma in 1865 from Illinois State Normal University and in 1876 he became a Professor of Mathematics.
“The building has also been known as the ‘Old Castle’ or ‘The Gymnasium.’ The governor at the time, John Altgeld, had a great liking for medieval castles and insisted all new state construction during his term in office resemble castles. You’ll find a Cook Hall look-alike at many other state schools; they are called ‘Altgeld’s Folly.’ ”
Really? I had to look into that more, and found this Wiki item about Altgeld Castles. It does indeed seem that a raft of crenellated, or quasi-crenellated buildings at Illinois state schools dates from the 1890s. I remember seeing Altgeld Hall at UIUC, but didn’t know it was part of a pattern. An eccentric pattern. That’s two things I learned (or relearned) today; makes for a good Monday.
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