Category Archives: Entertainment

Woodstock: Dick Tracy

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This evening, Ann said she was going to see Coyote vs. Acme. I will ask her about it later. Good idea — and I understand its inspiration is the hilarious Ian Frazier piece — but it could be awful in execution. Happens a lot.

Could Road Runner cartoons be a Buddhist parable? The Coyote seeks satisfaction in the world, in pursuing goals, but is rewarded with constant frustration, since in a world of impermanence, simple peace of mind is impossible, much less nirvana. Acme, that is to say society, provides the Coyote tools for pursuing his goals that he inevitably believes will work, but which inevitably do not. He learns nothing from the experience.

* * *

You could say that Dick Tracy considers Groundhog Day an upstart when it comes to Woodstock. The comic strip detective has a distinct place in Woodstock history, since DT creator Chester Gould drew all of them from 1931 to 1977 at his home in the town, where he also stayed until his death in 1985.

Previously, there was a small museum devoted to Dick Tracy in Woodstock. On September 26, 2005, I wrote: “It’s a handsomely restored 19th-century brick building, now housing an art gallery, a restaurant (in the former jail) and the Chester Gould-Dick Tracy Museum. Only $2 to get in that museum, but the family was waiting in the car during my inspection of the inside of the former courthouse, so I merely looked in. Even when I was a kid, Dick Tracy seemed like a comic in amber, so I didn’t feel a great urge to go in. Someday I’ll go, maybe, just for curiosity’s sake.”

That day never arrived, and I believe the demise of the museum was around the time of the economic disruptions of 2008 and ’09. On the other hand, the day did arrive for a visit, sort of, when we went into the old McHenry County courthouse on Saturday. Dick Tracy is even more of a bug in amber than ever, though it is still being published, with a small exhibit on the first floor given over to the comic and the former museum.

Including posters that detail character introductions through the run of the Gould strip from 1931 to 1977. I have to say that my knowledge of Dick Tracy characters is meager.

A detail.

Tracy also gets his Woodstock due on the same wall as the Groundhog Day mural.

Hey, there was a Dick Tracy movie too! Of course I remember it. Saw it on a transcontinental bus ride in ’91. A long-distance bus that had video. A novelty. That was in Australia. Madonna turned out to be the villain? The movie didn’t make much of an impression.

Woodstock Opera House 2026

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Thunderstorms rolled through much of the last day of August, but not consistently – the sun would be out for a while, then a new one would rumble through, with heavy downpours for a quarter hour and then gone – as if to remind us who live on the ground that it’s been an intermittently wet summer. Which is going away now. Summer is, that is. We’ll see about the wetness.

The Woodstock Opera House sent me down a peculiar rabbit hole today. Just who, I wondered, was Patti Rosa? But first, some views of the structure, completed in 1890 and a grand artifact from the period, designed by Elgin architect Smith Hoag, but built by local contractor Simon Brink.

“The year was 1888 and [Woodstock] Alderman WW. Cook made the motion to purchase a lot on the downtown square in Woodstock, which had remained vacant since a fire in 1871,” according to the modern City of Woodstock web site. “Having grown tired of holding council meetings in a local attic, the proposal was to build a City Hall worthy of the town and its citizens. However, when put to a vote the motion came to a tie and it rested on Mayor Merritt Joslyn to cast the deciding vote. Of course he voted in the affirmative…”

“…on September 4, 1890 the grand opening was held with the Patti Rosa Player’s performance of Margery Daw.

“Throughout the next few decades the building functioned as the center of activity for Woodstock and McHenry County. The City offices, library, police and fire department occupied the first floor of the building and the Opera House was contained in the second and third floors. With a capacity of almost 700 movable seats, the Opera House functioned as a public space for a variety of activities including, theatrical events, concerts, weddings, dances, wrestling matches, the annual strawberry festival and graduation commencements to name a few.”

In more recent years, the place has been a venue for live entertainment. I’ve seen a number of performances myself there over the years, such as Al Stewart in 2012.

I was glad to see a portrait of Mayor Joslyn in the lobby of the opera house. Without him, it might not exist at all, or in some other, less elegant form. (I removed the glare from the image below.)

The theater puts its greatest hits on a plaque.

But not Patti Rosa. Who would expect that? First is only first and that was probably by chance. Information about Patti Rosa is slender, at least to a not-rigorous amount of Googling. But there is some, such as a review of one of her shows in London.

Patti Rosa at the Jodrell Theatre, London, January 1889:

Patti Rosa, after much preliminary puffing, and accompanied by a newspaper called the Patti Rosa Illustrated News, of which copies were given away on the first night, has made her appearance at the hitherto unlucky Jodrell. Bob, the hotchpotch she appears in, is not a remarkable work of dramatic art; but it is a filling vehicle for the eccentricities, peculiarities, and whimsicalities of the fair and plump Patti, who sings, dances, coquettes, and banjoes her way into the good graces of a few easily-pleased Americans. In her line of business she is, however, what is called ”clever.”’

— The Man of the World, London, Saturday, 12 January 1889)

Some images. All public domain, nicked from various places online.

This one, a faded relic in the most literal sense.

I’ll give it a little revival.

Another fuzzy image of yore.

Looks like a minor hallucination in making this, but I doubt that Patti would have minded.

Patti Rosa’s heyday, and she did seem to have a heyday around the time of Benjamin Harrison’s administration, didn’t last, not even into the 20th century.

Posted at Footlight Notes:

‘NEW YORK, Aug 6. Patti Rosa, a well known soubrette, died at St. Francis hospital from the affects [sic] of an operation performed for appendicitis. She was the wife of [the actor manager] John W. Dunne.’ (The Trenton Times, 6 August 1894, p. 8b)

Well, that’s too bad. Otherwise she might have lived long enough to be an equally forgotten silent screen comedienne.

At this point, there are a number of rabbit sub-holes, or maybe informational tunnels, to wander. I decided not to.

Such as what a soubrette is, or was, and how that particular stock character, or in this case, a kind of shtick, faded from common awareness. Or did it morph into something like the manic pixie dream girl? I’m couldn’t say.

Or the play Margery Daw, which was probably a high-jinks version of an equally obscure short story by one Thomas Bailey Aldrich.

Or whether there is a copy of Patti Rosa Illustrated News anywhere in the world, or whether it’s a lost as Genghis Khan’s tomb, except that no one cares.

Or what was it that made the Jodrell Theatre “unlucky”?

Or the song “Shootin’ Craps.” There’s a revival for that song in the right musical hands.

Or the play Mizpah, or its author, one Con. T. Murphy, Esq. Forgotten, and probably with reason.

Woodstock Willie

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As mentioned before, Punxsutanwney, Pennsylvania, has gone a long way to let the world know about its groundhog and its celebration of things groundhoggish. Of course, that town isn’t the only place to do so, just the best known. I’ll bet few people south of the U.S.-Canada line know about Wiarton Willie. I didn’t know myself until I passed through Wiarton, Ontario, a couple of years ago, because travel is broadening, you know.

Back in the U.S., there is an up-and-coming town for celebrating groundhogs, and it’s less than an hour’s drive from where I live: Woodstock, Illinois. Yuriko and I made that drive on Saturday and spent a few hours in Woodstock’s pleasant downtown. The town has no history of imported northern European folk customs associated with rodents, but of course director Harold Ramis’ decision to film the many Groundhog Day exteriors in Woodstock did the trick.

Since I was there last, a new acknowledgment of the movie has been added in Woodstock Square, which is the hub of the historic downtown.

Very new, as in added earlier this month. In fact, on August 2 – six months ahead or behind February 2.

The square passes for Gobbler’s Knob in the movie. It looks little like the actual Gobbler’s Knob, but in the world of movies, that’s a big so what. Local artist Erik Blome did this latest iteration of Woodstock Willie. I’d seen a work of his before: Jack Benny and his violin (and alligators) in Waukegan.

There is a newer plaque, and an older one, near the latest Woodstock Willie statue.

Not far from the square, behind the town movie theater, is an older Willie.

Woodstock has its own groundhog fest, and this is the place from which Willie emerges. I assume that it – cage isn’t the word, maybe temporary pen – is moved to Woodstock Square for the February 2 event, though it’s unlikely I will be at that event to see for myself.

Other local plaques refer to the movie. This one has been in place for quite a while.

Others look newer.

Even the grand Woodstock Opera House wants its role in the movie acknowledged.

Also near the local movie theater is a Groundhog Day mural, evoking the movie’s promotional materials, and adding Woodstock Willie retroactively.

A good mural, but how is it Ned Ryerson (Stephen Tobolowsky) rates a spot? It is a funny bit and all, but I’d much rather see Rita Hanson (Andie MacDowell) there.

South Prospect Avenue, Park Ridge

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In downtown Park Ridge, Illinois, the Chicagoland grid, which isn’t quite uniform even in the city, breaks down just a little. A cluster of streets, and the commuter rail line, meet at the partial junction of Touhy, the Northwest Highway, Summit and South Prospect Avenues.

The downtown, which is about 15 miles northwest of the Loop, draws a fair number of visitors on a summer Saturday. Parking was tight, but I managed to shoehorn my car into a space at the library. The library building was dedicated in 1957, back when these kinds of rhetorical flourishes still made their way onto bronze plaques.

Close to the immortal words of Emil Faber, “Knowledge is Good.”

South Prospect has a row of handsome small buildings.

But none to compare with the Pickwick Theatre.

“Designed by the firm of Zook & McCaughey, the 1,500-seat, Pickwick Theatre opened November 26, 1928 with Colleen Moore in Lilac Time plus vaudeville acts on the stage,” Cinema Treasures notes. “It was equipped with a Virtuoso organ which was opened by organist Walter Flandorf.”

In as much as they are known any more, Zook & McCaughey are known for the deco Pickwick. The architects’ rendering, in the public domain, is borrowed from the blog Corridors, which looks to be a real treasure trove of the built environment.

My Architecture & Design Photography: R. HAROLD ZOOK AND WILLIAM F. MCCAUGHEY, The Pickwick Theatre Building, 1928, 3-11 South Prospect Avenue/6-12 South Northwest Highway, Park Ridge, Illinois. (10 Photos & Illustrations).

I had somewhere else to be, namely lunch at the Harp & Fiddle across the tracks, or I might have taken in a movie in the historic auditorium, which now seats 1,000, because I never have. But I did have time later to play with one of my images of the Pickwick (the first one, above).

Prompt: Art deco illustration style.

Prompt: 1920s commercial art style.

I like that second one especially. There’s no doubt that it’s AI, but it hews to my goal of not being slop. The cars — a little stilted, but that’s AI for you — are from the 1920s, but the movies are still from the 2020s.

Viking Details

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A number of flags hang near the Viking under its protective structure in Geneva, Illinois. As “Bob” our guide told us, they represent flags associated with the ship and its voyage. Its ultimate destination is represented by the modern Stars and Stripes near the bow. Not to be nitpicky — sometimes I want to be, though — a 44-star flag would have been more appropriate, being current in 1893.

There are also a couple of Norwegian flags.

The current flag is to the left, of course. To the right, the flag that the ship actually flew, is the Norwegian flag bearing the union mark of Norway and Sweden. I don’t believe I’d ever seen that one before, and for good reason: the union mark was removed toward the end of the 19th century at insistence of the Norwegians, even before the union itself was dissolved in 1905.

Other flags associated with the ship (some retroactively) are behind the stern.

Left to right: The flag of Newfoundland and Labrador – really retroactive, considering it was adopted in 1980 – Greenland (even more retroactive, 1985), Iceland, the Faroe Islands and the Shetland Islands.

When we left the ship-shed, we weren’t quite done with the Viking. Turns out the ship’s figurehead, depicting the goddess Freya, isn’t attached to the ship, even though the same nonprofit owns it. For now, Freya is on display at the Geneva Public Library. We had to go see that.

The figurehead has been restored to its 1893 painting scheme. Freya, it seems, had acquired a number of coats in the decades after the fair. Currently, she stands on the second floor of the library, along with the — figuretail? — which attaches to the stern, anyway.

An impressive bit of work.

Nearby are a few Viking-related items behind glass. For my purposes, I had an AI image program remove the glass and its glare, but I left the artifacts looking the same. Such as the helmet. No horns, of course.

A model of the ship.

A copy of The Thrall of Lief the Lucky: A Story of Viking Days (1902) by Chicagoan Ottilie A. Liljencrantz (d. 1910). There’s an AI animation doable for the cover of this book, but I don’t feel like spending any credits on it. This is the script: The thrall, whom I assume is the dark-haired fellow, says, “In the final chapter, I die of typhus.”

Naturally, I’d never heard of Liljencrantz (who has?), but she wrote a number really popular of Norse-themed historical novels in the early 20th century, taking inspiration from her own Swedish heritage but also from visiting the Viking in 1893 as a teenager. She did much to popularize Viking stories in modern America, as did the visit of the ship itself – just another instance of the World’s Columbian Exposition being one of the founts of the modern world. I believe we have the fair to thank for Ernest Borgnine, among others, being a Viking (briefly), for the inanity of Hägar the Horrible, and for Donald Duck going to look for the Golden Helmet and the deed to North and South America.

For its part, The Thrall of Lief the Lucky was made into The Viking (1928), a Technicolor silent. Since the book is now well in the public domain – and available at Project Gutenberg – time for a gritty film reboot. If The Odyssey can do well at the box office, so can Lief; tough men in wooden ships are tough men in wooden ships, eh?

Just for fun, I took a dive into the Project Gutenberg posting of The Thrall of Lief the Lucky. File it under they for sure don’t write ’em like that anymore (unless AI does). Three more-or-less random samples:

Egil laughed, a hateful gloating laugh, and settled himself against a tree to see the finish. As Helga’s arm was flung up the second time, the thrall leaped upon her and tore the whip from her grasp and broke it in pieces. He would that he might have broken her as well; he thirsted to,—when he caught sight of the laughing Egil, and everything else was blotted out of his vision. Without a sound, but with the animal passion for killing upon his white face, he wheeled and leaped upon the Black One, crushing him, pinioning him against the tree, strangling him with the grip of his hands.

The attraction proved to be a chattering brown ape that some sailor had brought home from the East. Part of the spectators regarded it as a strange pagan god; part believed it to be an unfortunate being deformed by witchcraft; and the rest took it for a devil in his own proper person,—so there was great shrieking and scattering, whichever way it turned its ugly face. It happened that Sigurd was better informed, having seen a similar specimen kept as a pet at the court of the Norman Duke; so the terror of the others amused him and his companion mightily. They stayed until the creature put an end to the show by breaking away from its captor and taking refuge in the rigging.

Then both became silent, for Leif had faced about and was awaiting their full attention before announcing the next move. “I dislike to see brave men disgrace their beards with bondmaids’ gabble,” he said sternly. “Fix in your minds the shame that was spoken of Biorn Herjulfsson because of his lack of enterprise. The same shall not be said of us. Rolf Erlingsson and Ottar the Red and three others shall follow me; and we will walk inland until the light has entirely faded from the highest mountain peak yonder, and the next point below is yellow as a golden fir-cone. The others of you shall follow Valbrand for the same length of time, but walk southward along the shore, since it may be that something of interest is hidden behind these points—”

Mid-Summer Fauna

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This morning I woke from a dream briefly persuaded that there had been a crossover TV show combining Star Trek and Gilligan’s Island. This is the kind of idea that evaporates immediately after your conscious mind snaps back in place with the thought: no, that never happened. Sometimes, emerging from a nightmare, the feeling is relief. Other times, emerging from a good dream, the feeling is that you want more. I’m not sure what this particularly odd dream counted as.

Still, the idea isn’t quite as ridiculous as it sounds (just mostly), since those shows aired roughly during the same period. For a uncharted place in the Pacific, visitors seemed to show up with regularity on the Island, for all the good it did the castaways. Also, the Enterprise was known to travel in time somehow, especially to the 20th century, though if I were putting such a crossover together, I think it would be one of the shuttles landing on the Island.

All this only goes to show what Jung said about the unconscious. Like Camelot, it is a silly place.

***

Another fine local place to visit in the summer, or really most of the year, is Spring Valley. At Spring Valley, according to the Schaumburg Park District, “the following activities are encouraged: Walking, birdwatching, sketching and painting, photography, reading and writing, relaxing, and learning.”

We don’t do all of those, but walking is a fine thing to do, as is photography. Summer is a lush time.

Complete with its own array of flora.

The preserve also includes a open-air farm museum, which I’ve noted before, and recently. But the time we were there in May, the animals were on vacation, or at least tucked away somewhere. In July, we got a look at the cows.

Behind fences, and a good thing too. Those beasts are massive.

Pigs.

Also behind fences, and a good thing. Those beasts are smelly.

Yet another example of something not just for kids, though people often think that. Sure, the kiddie-winkies enjoy visiting a pseudo-farm. I can attest to that personally, having taken small children to this very place, once upon a time. But also enjoyable for us adults. If nothing else, seeing such animals up close reminds us of where our burgers and bacon come from.

Downtown Glen Ellyn: Murals

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Today I noticed that Animal Crackers (1930) is on one of the streaming services I subscribe to, so naturally I watched the first 15 minutes or so. As you should do, to enjoy Groucho’s definition-of-jaunty rendition of “Hooray for Captain Spaulding.” I was happy to see that the print included a full version of the song – without a briefly jarring cut of one of Groucho’s lines that has marked the song every other time I’ve seen the movie.

Namely, this line:

Mrs. Rittenhouse: He is the only white man who covered every acre —

Spaulding: I think I’ll try and make her —

Guests: Hooray, hooray, hooray!

Exceedingly mild stuff here in the 21st century, but 1930s censors felt differently.

Broadway World reported in 2016: “The new restoration of Animal Crackers includes footage unseen here for over 85 years. In its year-long restoration, Universal utilized a 35mm composite nitrate dupe negative from the British Film Institute. The negative not only contained the best resolution of any other known element, but also contained long-unseen footage excised from U.S. prints in the 1930s due to censorship cuts, including a ribald line in Groucho’s signature ‘Hooray for Captain Spaulding’ number and his song and dance upon returning from Africa, Harpo pulling perennial Marx foil Margaret Dumont’s slip out from under her dress, Groucho telling a joke about a ‘shotgun wedding,’ and more.”

The streaming version must be the 2016 one, since, besides the restoration of lines, its resolution is beautifully crisp. I will be sure to watch the rest of the movie, probably in bits, as I tend to do here at the gates to my dotage, and look for the other moments. Which must have been more skillfully cut, since I didn’t know they were missing.

The clip of the song available on YouTube is a bit fuzzy, but it is lyrically restored.

One more thing along those lines: I discovered that this photo is in the public domain. As is the movie. Yes.

***

Murals aren’t just for cities or small towns. Suburban example: Glen Ellyn, Illinois.

“Spread Your Wings” by Rose Fenske (2026)

“Frida” by Geoff Bevington (2020)

“Downtown Glen Ellyn Murals” by Tony Fitzpatrick (2021)

I’m assuming that “Downtown Glen Ellyn Murals,” generic as it is, is the title of that one.


“It’s About Time” by Alberto Aguilar (2003)

I’ve been to downtown Glen Ellyn twice since the beginning of warm weather this year. In wandering around both times, I came across the murals by chance. The organization Downtown Glen Ellyn provides a little detail.

There are more. Cool.

A shop not far off Main St., which is the main shopping nexus in town, was the last home of Young’s Appliances. Right now a real estate agent’s sign indicates that the place, which looks entirely empty, is for sale.

A storied store, dating from the earlier decades of the 20th century, as middle-class homes started buying household appliances in quantity. As far as I can tell, defunct a few years now, but for all that the sign’s in pretty good shape. Is the sign considered an i-word locally, and so maintained? (I refuse to use icon that way, though I know it’s a losing battle.)

Also not far off main street.

The store is tucked at the back of a multi-tenant retail space on the first floor of a building on Main. Crowded at the moment I took a look, mostly with kids, so I took a pass. But I would like to find out just what flavor of pop culture sometime.

AI Listens to “Moonlight Cocktail”

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More fun with AI today. I subscribe to a transcription service which is incredibly useful – there was nothing I disliked more about my job than transcribing interviews by hand. I’d mention the system by name, but not unless I receive a month or two free. Are you reading me closely, Algorithm? Have the company make me an offer.

The transcription isn’t as accurate as its ads claim, however. That’s to be expected. It’s pretty good though, and I can work up accurate quotes, especially if I compare the transcription to the recording. But it isn’t very good at listening to song lyrics. This morning, I let “Moonlight Cocktail” play as the system struggled to transcribe it, to see what would happen.

“Moonlight Cocktail” is best known as a Glenn Miller recording, released in early 1942. Considering how popular the song was – number-two song for that year after “White Christmas” – it’s remarkable how completely forgotten it’s been. It shouldn’t be. It’s a wonderful, lilting piece, evoking in rich strokes the common experience of young sweethearts tucking themselves away somewhere pleasant during the “blue of a June night.”

Its dulcet music was by Luckey (Lucky) Roberts (d. 1968), all-about man of popular music in the early 20th century whom you can imagine tickling a keyboard vigorously at a lively Harlem nightspot, if you put your mind to it. Sweet lyrics by Kim Gannon (d. 1974), best known for “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.”

The first two stanzas, as recorded by the Glenn Miller Orchestra:

Couple of jiggers of moonlight and add a star
Pour in the blue of a June night and one guitar
Mix in a couple of dreamers, and there you are
Lovers hail, the moonlight cocktail

Now add a couple of flowers, a drop of dew
Stir for a couple of hours ’til dreams come true
As to the number of kisses, it’s up to you
Moonlight cocktails need a few

As heard by my transcription system:

Awful of jiggers of moonlight and the sun pour in the blue of the June night and roar good heart. I had a couple of flowers of dry or dew, slur for a couple of hours till dreams come true. As for the number of kisses, it’s up to you.

Interesting, though I don’t know what it means, that the system got the sentence, “As for the number of kisses, it’s up to you” exactly right, which the Modernaires sung in close harmony, but then didn’t catch the next sentence at all, which lead singer Ray Eberle started, only to be finished winsomely by the Modernaires. Actually, it bypassed the lines beginning “Mix in a couple of dreamers…” as well. The ways of AI are mysterious.

Guess the system needs more work – but who really needs a transcription service for songs anyway? How could it overcome the challenges associated with (say) “Louie, Louie”? All questions for minds (or machines) more probing than mine.

As long as I was playing around with the song, I used another AI system, one of the many image generators, with this prompt: Draw cover art for the song Moonlight Cocktail.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

Homer in Lombard

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You hear the most remarkable things sometimes, and I mean unbelievable things, marvelous in their stupidity, in passing in You Tube commercials. I let some ad run while doing something else today, some AI service that promises — pretty big promises — to be your peachy-keen personal assistant in some way. The line that caught my half-attention: “And don’t worry! [Product name] won’t be offended if you want to talk to a real human being.”

Let me italicize the part of that that needs it: “And don’t worry! [Product name] won’t be offended if you want to talk to a real human being.”

What? It’s just my opinion, of course, but taking offense means some sort of emotional capability, yes? As in, one specific to human brains. And AI systems have the emotional capability of a bag of hammers, yes?

Back when we saw Lilacia Park in Lombard, we also took a stroll down St. Charles Street, a major shopping street in that town, north of the Metra commuter rail tracks. A pleasant street with a number of local businesses.

Among other St. Charles Street businesses is Devious FX-Bob James Oddities & Curiosities, but we only spent a short time there. As the store’s web site says, “We offer goth jewelry, unique art, and unusual items you will not see anywhere else.” The skulls for sale, both human (replicas?) and animal, creeped out the other members of my party, so we went on our way.

On Park Ave., which intersects with St. Charles, Homer Simpson shills for a resale shop.

Specifically, JL Vintage Odds and Ends. It isn’t the only place I’ve seen Homer in a probably unauthorized commercial pose. Yet at this point Homer, I believe, belongs to humanity as a whole, strict ideas of intellectual property notwithstanding.

Odds and ends, all right. The oddest thing inside was, again, Homer.

Punxsutawney Phil, Spirit Animal

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The strange thing about Groundhog Day, to me at least, isn’t its taproots in northern European folklore or even that weather forecasting based on mammal movements has been known for centuries if not millennia. Or that Germans brought its celebration to North America and that the event morphed in various ways, or that it became more widely known internationally because of a certain very good movie. Or even that the town of Punxsutanwney, Pennsylvania, has capitalized on Groundhog Day.

What mystifies me is why, among all the possible folkloric-flavored immigrant quasi-holidays, Groundhog Day has consistently been featured on calendars for longer than I can remember. It puzzled me as a kid, since I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen such a creature, and what I heard about the day involved some nonsensical thing in faraway Pennsylvania. That might have been childish provincialism at play, but even now it still strikes me as odd that so many Americans pay attention to the day, or at least have heard of it.

Just for grins – because I knew I wouldn’t get a compelling answer – I asked ChatGPT, “When did Groundhog Day start appearing on calendars?” I’ll boil the answer down for you: “Dunno. That’s just the way it’s been for years, Jack.” Maybe that’s how educators can get around AI cheating: assign essays on questions that don’t really have any answer. How many pancakes does it take to shingle a doghouse?* – that kind of thing. The learning isn’t in the finding an answer, but in the writing.

* Actually there is an answer: 42. Because oranges can’t fly, submarines have no doors and ice cream has no bones.

On the way home in late April, I spent the night in Punxsutanwney and had a gas the next morning looking for as many depictions of Punxsutanwney Phil as I could find. It’s an endless pursuit, something like looking for all the Lincolns in Springfield, Illinois.

This one was the closest to my motel. It was at my motel.

Downtown Phils, such as in front of a florist and an optometrist and a “beauty bar.”

In front of a bakery and on a trash can and at the post office.

Of course he had his own shop. I bought postcards there.

The tallest Phil, I think. I had to park the car to get a good look.

Patriotic Phil. We could do worse for the semiquincentennial.

Phil carved from wood.

Metal Phil, one of four at some of the crosswalks that included a switch on the pole to let the lights know you were waiting.

Serious Phil.

The city flag.

Actually, this one looks more like a cartoon bear. But I’ll bet it’s Phil anyway.

He’s everywhere.

Then there’s official Phil. He and mate Phyllis live behind glass, in the “burrow.”

The groundhog clearly counts as Punxsutanwney’s spirit animal, a concept that seems to be elastic enough to include mascot and whatever else you care to pack in. More towns ought to have them.