Category Archives: US: Illinois

Another Look at the Rubber Lincolns

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The weekend before last, we popped down to Springfield for a short visit. As in the capital of Illinois, not any of the many others, or the cartoon town. Ann had expressed an interest, mostly in passing, that she’d like to see the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Museum again. So, like a parent does sometimes, I took that passing whim and ran with it.

The last time we were there was 2010, so I could see Ann’s point. She was only seven years old then and wanted an updated perspective. I also wanted to visit again, just to see if it was any different.

The short answer: not much. Is that part of the museum’s current problems?

Maintaining attendance as the years go by means offering new things from time to time, and I got the distinct impression that most everything was the same as eight years ago — including the short films shown in the museum’s two main auditoriums. I know it costs money to make new films, but that can’t be done in eight years?

Then again, maybe the museum isn’t interested in repeat visitors. School groups come, tourists come. For most people, once is probably it. Or maybe again many years later as a child who visited returns with a child of his or her own. The museum isn’t quite old enough for that yet, but I suppose it will happen.

Actually, I noticed a few small changes. Take a look at the picture of the “rubber” Lincoln family near the museum’s entrance that I took in 2010, with my own family posing.

Now look at this one from 2018, with Ann on the right and a friend of hers on the left.

There are some small differences in the Lincoln family — a different but similar dress for Mary, for instance, and for all I know the life-sized figures might be different ones from the ones standing there eight years ago. But the main difference is behind the Lincolns.

Eight years ago, a life-sized John Wilkes Booth lurked in the background. Now he’s gone. The figure you can see in the back to the left is George McClellan, standing inside the fence with U.S. Grant, who isn’t visible in my picture. (Also obscured, and off the right, are Harriett Tubman and Frederick Douglass.)

Is Booth out for a touchup? Or did the museum get tired of people complaining about his presence? He did murder Lincoln, after all. His figure in such a prominent place is a little like putting a print of the famed photo of Lee Harvey Oswald and his rifle on the wall at the Kennedy Museum.

Never mind all that, I enjoyed the museum the second time around enough to make it worth the trip, though I think it will be my last. I’m sure Ann got her revised impression of the place.

I paid close attention to the rubber figures, which aren’t rubber, of course. As I wrote in 2010, “Though derided as ‘rubber’ Lincolns, they’re actually sculpted foam coated with fiberglass, and then painted, clothed and fitted with a mix of real and synthetic hair.”

The figures are a distinguishing feature of the museum, and on the whole, add to the experience. Here’s the thinkin’, book readin’ young Abe.

The store-keeping Lincoln as a young man in Salem, Illinois. It didn’t work out for him.

Abraham courting Mary. That worked out for him.

The Lincoln-Herndon law office. Perhaps the best tableau in the museum. Clutter is an essential aspect of people’s lives that historical museums often miss. Lincoln had better things to do than tidy his office or discipline his sons. Namely, read.

Can’t very well have a Lincoln museum without Mr. Douglas debating Mr. Lincoln.

Mary Lincoln dressed for her husband’s inauguration.

There is another Mary Lincoln figure, dressed in black, sitting alone in a dim room with the sound of rain in the background. She is depicted grieving for their son Tad, who died in 1862. It’s the saddest tableau in the museum, even more than the Ford’s Theatre depiction.

The first reading of the Emancipation Proclamation to the cabinet. (“By the way, gentlemen, one more thing…”) Clearly inspired by the famed Carpenter painting, if not so formally posed.

And, of course, the Lincolns at Ford’s Theatre.

Booth is depicted entering the door behind them, so maybe that’s the only place to find the rubber assassin in the museum these days.

Streetscapes in the Driftless Area

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Four years ago in June, we visited the Driftless Area, where the modern borders of Illinois, Wisconsin and Iowa meet. I called the trip the Tri-State Summer Solstice Weekend ’14.

Driftless because for whatever reason, glaciers didn’t cover the area during the most recent ice ages. Besides its interesting geography — hills in Illinois, what a concept — the Driftless Area has some charming towns.

Such as Dubuque, as seen from the hill rising over the town, looking down toward the Mississippi.

Down in the streets.

It’s always good to find a handsome small-town streetscape. On this trip, there was Galena, Illinois.

Mount Carroll, Illinois.

The even more obscure Bellevue, Iowa.

In Bellevue I stopped to look at Lock and Dam No. 12 on the Mississippi River, and took a short look at the town, too.

Allerton Park Statues

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Below is an example, which I chanced across recently, of something you stop reading after only a moment. Full stop, no need to go on, or ever to think about the subject again.

Ever wonder what Daphne and Velma were up to before they met Scooby-Doo and the rest of the Mystery, Inc. gang? A new live-action…

Besides gardens, the Robert Allerton Park & Retreat Center features a number of sculptures. About 100 these days, I’ve read. Robert Allerton collected them, and when he owned the property, there were many more.

Still on display in the Walled Garden is “Girl With a Scarf,” by Lili Auer.

Near the Allerton manse are a number of works, such as this sphinx-like limestone piece, one of two near each other, created by John Joseph Borie III, the architect who designed the house.

It doesn’t count as sculpture, but nearby is a koi pond.

A little further from the house is this figure, about which I have no information.
Out on a tall pedestal between the Bulb Garden and the Peony Garden is a copy of Auguste Rodin’s “Adam.”
Further along is a place called the Avenue of the Chinese Musicians. It is an odd place.

Allerton bought the statues in England long ago.
Given the size of Allerton Park, there are plenty of other places and artworks scattered around that we didn’t get to, some with evocative names, such as Fu Dog Garden, House of the Golden Buddhas, the Sun Singer and the Death of the Last Centaur. Maybe next time.

Allerton Park Gardens

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The Robert Allerton Park & Retreat Center (and why “center”?) is an expansive place, much of it wooded. Because of high humidity last Saturday, we didn’t walk along many of the wooded paths, though I made a mental note that fall, maybe October, would be a fine time to do so.

We did take a look at some of the formal gardens. Such as the Brick Walled Garden.

We walked between the long, tall bushes leading away from the visitors center to find other gardens.

The shrubery forming the row looked like it could be part of a complex maze, but it wasn’t, since it ran in straight lines. Also, it was fairly porous.
This was called the Chinese Maze Garden, and I suppose it would be a challenge for people a foot tall.

The Bulb Garden.
The blooms were off at the Peony Garden, unfortunately. But I liked the wall next to it.
The Annual Garden was fenced in to keep deer out.
A water sprinkler was also running. I spent a refreshing few seconds under it.

The Robert Allerton Park & Retreat Center

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One of the main rewards of looking at maps is finding places you didn’t know about, interesting places that sometimes become destinations. Not too long ago, I was scanning a map of the area near Champaign, and came across the Robert Allerton Park & Retreat Center. Curious, I looked it up.

Soon, I decided that besides Arthur and Arcola, our other main east-central Illinois destination on Saturday should be Allerton, which covers more than 1,500 acres in rural Piatt County, not far from Monticello, Illinois.

Robert Allerton (1873–1964), whose father was one of the founders of the Chicago Stock Yards, and who thus inherited a fortune, set about building an English-style manor house around 1900 on land along the upper Sangamon River. A handsome house it is.

These days, the property belongs to the University of Illinois. Allerton, presumably tired of paying the taxes on it, donated it to the school in 1946. The manor house, besides being rented for events, is a conference center and not open for tours.

Too bad. But the grounds and gardens are extensive, and punctuated by sculpture from the time of Allerton. They are open, and at no charge. More about that tomorrow.

Arthur and Arcola 2018

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On Saturday, we were at a small bookstore and antique shop in Arthur, Ill., down in what’s known as the Illinois Amish country of the east-central part of the state, and as we were leaving, Ann mentioned that she’d seen some Amish romance novels in the store.

Just another thing I’d never thought of. The world keeps tossing things like that at me. According to Time, at least, the Amish romance novel is quite a thing:

“In Amish romance novels, there is no sex, but lots of babies; no nakedness, but layer upon layer of clothing is removed; and no physical contact between unmarried couples— unless perhaps God wills it through a tornado, or a house fire, or a buggy accident — and, well, it turns out that happens between attractive Amish singles quite a lot.”

It also turns out that most of the readers and most of the writers of such yarns aren’t Plain People at all, though the magazine does mention one example:

“The authors of Amish fiction freely admit that most of them are not Amish, either. ‘I can think of only one Amish writer I know of,’ says [author Beverly] Lewis, who made a point of living with Amish families to learn more about them. ‘She’s Old Order Amish, Linda Byler, and she has a bishop who’s given her permission to write Amish novels. She had an electric typewriter reconfigured to have batteries in it, which are allowed in Amish culture, so she can write.’ ”

Wonder what actual Old Order Amish think of all the weird attention the rest of the world pays to them. Maybe not much. They’re probably pretty busy doing other things most of the time.

We drove down to that part of Illinois over the weekend just to look around, and it is a little odd as a destination. I’ve never seen any Amish, or Mennonites either, wandering around looking at the Chicago suburbs just because they’re different from home.

This was our second visit; the first time was in 2007. This time we spent time in Arthur, at the book store, and at a small street festival, a few antique stores, and an ice cream shop. Tasty soft serve, served by women in bright-colored Mennonite dresses: purple for one, nearly lime green for another. We also poked around Arcola for a while, including a visit to the Visitors Information Center, located in a renovated Illinois Central depot, ca. 1885, and an antique store.

As far as I could remember, not much had changed in either town, or the farmland between (fairly dense with farmhouses), except that one of the restaurants we went to in Arcola had closed, and so had the distinctly non-Amish Raggedy Ann Museum in Arcola.

Not to worry, the woman at the desk at Visitors Information Center told us. A new one was opening up. Or maybe had just opened, though a lot of the old one’s collection went to the National Toy Museum in Rochester, New York. We decided not to follow up on that tip. Visiting a Raggedy Ann museum is a thing you need to do only once.

Whatever the status of the museum, Arcola hasn’t forgotten Ragged Ann and Andy. In 2016, the town unveiled these painted bronzes near the Visitors Information Center.
The artist is named Jerry McKenna, a Texas Hill Country sculptor.

We also looked at a few of Arcola’s wall murals. They weren’t there in 2007.
“During the week of June 20-24, 2012, over 130 artists from across the United States as well as Canada, New Zealand, Scotland and Australia descended upon Arcola leaving behind 15 historic murals,” the town’s web site says. “Known as the Walldogs, the loose affiliation of sign painters, graphic artists and other talented individuals reunite annually to entertain and transform a community with their special brand of artistic interpretation, entertainment, and friendship.”

Cahokia Mounds State Historic Site

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When leaving Illinois via I-55 in mid-April, I considered stopping for a look at Cahokia Mounds State Historic Site, which is still in Illinois, but within sight of St. Louis. We stopped there in 2000, I think, when we spent time in St. Louis and Hannibal, Mo.

But we didn’t get far into the place that time — barely beyond the visitors center and museum. Mostly Cahokia is an outdoor attraction. Back in 2000, it was November, and the weather was crummy. We also had a three-year-old in tow.

So I’ve been meaning to stop again for a while. But in mid-April this year, the weather was as crummy as any November day, so I drove on. I figured I might catch it on the return about two weeks later, when the weather might be better.

So it was. On April 29 I stopped at Cahokia to wander around the grounds and try to imagine the long-gone inhabitants of a city so prominent in pre-Columbian North America that it’s now a World Heritage Site.

There isn’t much visible to go on. Fields, trees and non-natural mounds. Most of the importance of the site is invisible.

UNESCO says that Cahokia “was occupied primarily during the Mississippian period (800–1400), when it covered nearly 1,600 ha and included some 120 mounds. It is a striking example of a complex chiefdom society, with many satellite mound centres and numerous outlying hamlets and villages. This agricultural society may have had a population of 10–20,000 at its peak between 1050 and 1150.”

A road cuts through the site, and on the other side of the road from many of the mounds and the visitors center is the centerpiece of Cahokia: Monks Mound.
At this distance, it’s hard to tell, but those are stairs with people climbing them. Monks Mound, at about 100 feet high, and 955 feet by 755 feet at the base, is the largest Pre-Columbian earthwork in the Americas, and the largest pyramid north of Mexico. Clearly the Mississippian-culture Indians were determined to build the thing, since they’re presumed to have built it over some centuries using baskets to move soil and clay.

The least I could do was climb to the top. The view’s a good one. Note St. Louis off in the distance, including just-visible the Gateway Arch (which is more clearly visible with your eyes).

The opposite direction, into the flatness of Illinois.

The top of the mound itself is fairly flat, though I understand the archaeologists have discovered a number of subtle gradations up there, and found evidence of a large building toward the back of the mound. That’s assumed to be a chiefly or priestly residence, which would be consistent with most human behavior in most places, but the Cahokians aren’t around to tell us.

Another mystery: why did they leave? Cahokia was abandoned long before Europeans came this way, or even European diseases, so it wasn’t that. Climate change? Their own plague? Other Native Americans driving them away? I believe archaeologists’ answers to the question boil down to, Dunno. Go figure.

The Trans-Pecos & Llano Estacado

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Back on April 14, I headed for Texas by car. I spent most of following two weeks in that state, arriving home today. Along the way, I drove 3,691 miles and change.

The main event was the wedding of my nephew Dees and his betrothed Eden on April 21 at Hummingbird House, a gorgeous outdoor wedding venue just south of Austin in the full flush of a Texas spring. An actual warm and green spring, unlike the cold and still brown spring I left in Illinois.

Rain had been predicted for the day, as it often is this time of the year, and there was an indoor pavilion just for that circumstance, but the Texas spring accommodated the bride and groom and wedding party and all the guests by not raining. If fact, the sun came out just before the ceremony, which was picturesque as could be.

I was remiss in taking pictures of Dees and Eden or anyone else, except for a few shots of my family.They’d flown to Austin the day before the wedding, in time for the rehearsal dinner, which was a pizza party in Dees and Eden’s back yard. The logistics of my family getting to Austin were a little involved, but everything worked out.

As for me, I’d spent most of the week before the wedding with my brother Jay in Dallas, arriving in Austin the Thursday before the wedding. The morning after the wedding, a week ago now, Yuriko, Lilly and Ann and I drove to San Antonio, where we all visited my mother and brother Jim. They flew back home that evening, leaving me to drive back to Illinois.

I wanted to return a different way than I’d came, especially since I had the week off from work (the week before the wedding was a work week). So I didn’t pick the most direct route home.

Namely, I drove west from San Antonio to Marathon, Texas, a town of a few hundred people in West Texas whose main distinction is its proximity to Big Bend National Park, which I visited last Tuesday. There are many impressive things to see there, but I was most astonished by the cliffs on the Rio Grande that form Santa Elena Canyon.

The next day I went to the Trans-Pecos towns of Alpine, Marfa and especially Fort Davis. Not far from Fort Davis is the McDonald Observatory, which I’ve had a mind to visit for years. It was cloudy and misty and a little cold when I got there, but that doesn’t matter when you’re looking at impressive telescopes. In Fort Davis itself, I visited the Fort Davis National Historic Site.

The next day, I drove north, through Midland-Odessa and Lubbock and finally to Amarillo, a shift in scenery from the desert of the Trans-Pecos to the high plains of the Llano Estacado. Along the way I made a few stops: the Presidential Archives and Leadership Library in Midland and the Buddy Holly Center in Lubbock.

While in Amarillo, a city I had not seen since a brief visit in 1979, I took the opportunity on Friday to see Palo Duro Canyon State Park, which is about 30 minutes outside of town. It’s a great unknown among natural areas in Texas and, for that matter, the United States.

I had enough time that day after visiting Palo Duro — the days are getting longer — to drop by and see the Cadillac Ranch, famed oddball tourist attraction, which is on the western outskirts of town.

This weekend was a long drive home: Amarillo to Lebanon, Missouri, on Saturday (I’d stopped in Lebanon the first day out, on the way to Dallas), and Lebanon to home in metro Chicago today. Tiring, but I did squeeze in two more sites. In Claremore, Okla., on Saturday, I saw the Will Rogers Museum. Not bad for an entertainer who’s been dead more than 80 years.

Today I stopped just outside St. Louis and took a walk around the Cahokia Mounds State Historic Site. Not bad for a culture that’s been gone for about 800 years.

Primary Day

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Today Illinois held its primary election for divers offices. At the entrance to my polling place at Quincy Adams Wagstaff Elementary were divers signs.

At about 2 p.m., when I went, the poll wasn’t particularly crowded. Voting took all of about 10 minutes. Many of the offices had only one candidate. Others, I knew little about. In that case, my strategy is usually to vote for the last person on the ballot, because I’ve read that the first person has an advantage just for being first.

In the last few days, the postcards and robo-calls have been pouring in. One robo-call I got yesterday — note that it was yesterday, the day before the election — said (details changed):

“Hi, this is Mortimer Snerd, candidate for state representative. I will bring honesty, integrity and transparency to Springfield. Today is election day, so please don’t forget to vote. Polls are open till 7. I hope I can count on your support. I’m Mortimer Snerd, and I approve of this message. Paid for by Citizens for Mortimer Snerd.”

Oops. The robot doing that robo-call jumped the gun just a little.

A couple of days ago, a voice purporting to be the wife of a candidate — let’s call him Charlie McCarthy — was left on my answering machine:

“Recently, you might have received calls on behalf of his opponent, making false accusations about my husband. The truth is, everything we’ve told you about Yancy Derringer’s questionable record is completely true and properly cited. Since it’s hard to counter facts, he’s resorted to name-calling. Please join me and punch number 666 on your ballot, Charlie McCarthy for judge.”

I’m afraid I can’t vote for Charlie McCarthy (campaign slogan, “He’s no dummy.”) That would put the nation at risk of another wave of McCarthyism.

Not Indicted Yet

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First things first: Remember the Alamo. Today is a good time to listen to some Dimitri Tiomkin.

Wind and cold yesterday to remind us that winter lingers, that it’s the time of the year when the season is an unwanted guest who gives no indication of packing his bags. Then in the evening, snow. Just a covering, so I figured it would melt today. No. We got more in the morning. Then it melted. Mostly.

Got an oddity in the mail not long ago: an anti-Bruce Rauner campaign booklet called The Governor You Don’t Know, subtitled “The Other Side of Bruce Rauner.” It’s an actual paper publication, and a smallish thing, 4 in. x 6​¾ in., with a four-color cover but all text on its 48 pages (three forms of 16 pages, I bet). And I mean all text — not even any black-and-white illustrations.

The byline names the chairman of the Chicago Republican Party as the author, with a forward by a Republican state representative. Interesting copyright note: “Permission is hereby granted to reproduce any part or all of this book until March 31, 2018.” After that, all rights reserved.

I’m not going to do that, but I will quote from the forward: “In this book, you’ll be taken behind the scenes as the author reviews the salient events that explain why we are taking the extremely rare step of unseating an incumbent governor from our own party.”

The Illinois Republican party, it seems, is a tad peeved at the governor. I can certainly think of some criticisms of him myself, but I will give Rauner this: he’s never been indicted. In some states (Illinois, Louisiana) that’s a pretty high bar for a governor.

On the back of the booklet, we’re informed that the woman looking to unseat the governor in this month’s primary, or rather her campaign, paid for the book. As politicos go, she’s a dime-store demagogue, as noted by the underrated columnist Neil Steinberg.

All very interesting, but I’m still left with a nagging question. Why did I get it? Am I on some kind of dime-store demagogue fan club mailing list? If so, I’d prefer not to be.