Theologian Rendered in Bubble Gum

Saturday felt like the actual first day of spring around here. Warm, partly cloudy, birds atwitter, no coat or even jackets necessary for human comfort.

We spent much of the day in the mid-sized western Chicago suburb of Elmhurst, a pleasant place we briefly considered while shopping for a house more than 20 years ago. We’ve spent some time there since, but not recently, and Saturday was a fine day for walking through some of Elmhurst’s soon-to-be-leafy, soon-to-be-green spaces.

Elmhurst is also home to Elmhurst College, a private liberal arts school that looks every bit like you’d think, with handsome buildings, mature trees, lawns crossed by paved footpaths and students here and there on a warm Saturday.
Some years ago, I took Lilly to a few sessions of the Elmhurst College Jazz Festival, whose high school and college performers play at the college’s at Hammerschmidt Chapel.
Elmhurst College dates from the 1870s, founded roughly at the same time as Vanderbilt, though it doesn’t seem to have evolved into the same sort of academic leviathan. I’m glad some institutions still eschew the upgrade to university and call themselves colleges. I suspect that Elmhurst charges about the same stratospheric tuition as Vanderbilt, however, and there’s no excuse for either of them in that regard.

These days, the college is affiliated with the United Church of Christ. It was founded by the German Evangelical Synod of North America, or the Deutsche Evangelische Synode von Nord-Amerika, one of the 19th-century predecessor denominations of the UCC.

Here’s Old Main. Or the Hauptgebaude, which remarkably has its own Wiki page. One of the more handsome structures on campus, I’d say. The front.
And the back.
The college has a gazebo. Minor, but still a gazebo. All colleges should.

What’s this? I noticed a statue not far from Old Main, standing in its own plaza-like spot.
A founding bishop with “Knowledge is Good” carved on the base in German? I’m not sure the denomination had bishops; probably not, but never mind.

No. It’s a statue of Reinhold Niebuhr in an animated pose.
I didn’t expect that. My own ignorance was at work. Niebuhr did his undergraduate work at Elmhurst College, class of 1910. His brother H. Richard, also a theologian, likewise went to Elmhurst.

In 1997, Niebuhr was honored with this regrettable chewing-gum statue, the work of the late Robert Berks, who is better known for his bubble-gum Einstein in Washington, DC, though I’ve also encountered his Carolus Linnæus statue at the Chicago Botanical Gardens. Carved on one of the white blocks is the Serenity Prayer, which is widely attributed to Niebuhr.

Sad to say, most of what I learned about Niebuhr at Vanderbilt — and I’m pretty sure I learned something — has evaporated after nearly 40 years. He was a U.S. public intellectual in any case, informed by his theology. Is there such a thing any more?

Evergreen Memorial Cemetery, Bloomington

Sometime in the late 1990s, I visited the David Davis House in Bloomington, Illinois. As Lincoln’s campaign manager in 1860 — and important in getting him nominated in the first place — Davis was a behind-the-scenes man at a critical turning point in U.S. history. Lincoln put him on the Supreme Court in ’62.

On Sunday, I took a quick look at the house. As handsome as I remember.
David Davis House BloomingtonBut that isn’t why I swung through Bloomington. I wanted to see the Evergreen Memorial Cemetery. An impressive array of stones among the still-bare trees and brown grass.

Evergreen Memorial Cemetery, BloomingtonEvergreen Memorial Cemetery, BloomingtonEvergreen Memorial Cemetery, BloomingtonSome sizable memorials, too, befitting the prosperous place Bloomington was in the 19th century.

Evergreen Memorial Cemetery, BloomingtonEvergreen Memorial Cemetery, BloomingtonNot a huge amount of funerary art, but some.
Evergreen Memorial Cemetery, BloomingtonI’d come to visit the Stevensons. Here’s the Adlai Stevenson famed for being shellacked by Eisenhower but also for his denunciation of Soviet behavior on the world stage.

Evergreen Memorial Cemetery, Bloomington

This Adlai Stevenson was 23rd Vice President of the United States, from 1893 to 1897, during Cleveland’s second term.
Evergreen Memorial Cemetery, BloomingtonHad President Cleveland’s cancer in ’93 been more aggressive, or medical science not up to its extraction — a few years earlier, probably not — this is also the Stevenson who would have been president.

I didn’t know the Scotts also memorialized on the stone: Matthew and Julia Scott. Turns out Stevenson was married to Letitia, Julia’s sister. Also, Matthew T. Scott was a business partner of Adlai Stephenson, with a distinctly 19th-century CV: land speculation, newspaper publishing, a coal mine.

Just before I left, I took a look at something a little more unusual.
Evergreen Memorial Cemetery, BloomingtonAccording to a nearby plaque, the carving memorializes an airplane that crashed into the tree that used to stand there.

“On May 31, 1948, a group of citizens gathered at Evergreen Memorial Cemetery’s Civil War Veteran’s enclosure…” the plaque begins.

That must be here, very near the tree.

Evergreen Memorial Cemetery, Bloomington“… During the ceremony, a WWII trainer plane flown by James A. Tuley and passenger Chester H. Frahm was flying over Evergreen… to drop poppies over the grounds. The plane crashed into this tree, killing Frahm and severely injuring Tuley,” the plaque continues.

“In 2015 this tree had to come down and cemetery employees felt something more needed to be done with the wood from the tree… chainsaw artist Tim Gill was contacted and he accepted the challenge.”

The Pantagraph published a fuller version of the story.

LeRoy (Le Roy), Wausaneta and Simeon H. West

On Sunday afternoon, as I headed roughly northwest on U.S. 150 in McLean County, Illinois, I impulsively made a turn off the main road onto Center St., which goes directly to the town square of LeRoy. Or rather, the town sort-of-circle.

I came to be in that part of Illinois because earlier in the day, I’d taken Lilly back to UIUC at the end of her spring break. Usually the trip to Champaign involves popping down on I-57 and returning the same way. But the day wasn’t that cold — not like last time — and despite sometime drizzle, I wanted to make a slight detour and return home via Bloomington.

Champaign to Bloomington could mean a short drive on I-74. Or, if you want something different in March, you take U.S. 150, passing close to the still-unplanted fields and by hulking grain silos and through towns like Mahomet, Mansfield, Farmer City, and LeRoy (sometimes styled Le Roy). The road roughly parallels the Interstate. I took it.

When I got to the LeRoy square (circle), I noticed some memorials inside the circle, including a statue on a pillar. While I was still driving, I took it to be a memorial featuring a Union soldier. I parked nearby and got out for a closer look.

The formal name of the round-shaped green space in LeRoy is Kiwanis Park. Visitors are greeted on one side of the circle by a shoe-store mural.

A building labeled “Town and City Hall” is next to the Le Roy Performing Arts & Media Center, which has the look of a former church building, but I didn’t take a closer look.

Also around the circle are an undertaker, the American Legion Post 79, a clinic and some other buildings.

Kiwanis Park itself has a gazebo. I have to like a place that has a gazebo.

There are also smaller memorials, such as one to all U.S. service men and women, and one to honor Victor, LeRoy Police K-9 Officer from 2005 to 2012.

As I got closer to the main memorial, I realized that it was no Union soldier.
It was an Indian.
If anyone else had been with me — and absolutely no one else was anywhere nearby — I would have said, “How about that?” or “That’s odd” or some such.

An inscription on the base says WAUSANETA. The year carved on the base is 1911.

Also on the base: Cultivate love, peace and harmony; life is too short and time too valuable to waste in angry strife. Be slow to believe evil reports about your neighbors. Be diligent in searching for something good to say about others, and when you find it don’t wait until they are dead, but say it at once.

And more: West’s Precepts. Love and thank the supreme power. Control your temper. Try to keep cheerful. Do all the good you can. Be honest, truthful and temperate. Help the poor, needy and sick. Encourage the weak and timid. Make a specialty of trying to add to the happiness of someone to-day…. and all other days.

What on Earth is this? Why is it in LeRoy, Illinois, about as off the beaten path as you can be?

Last night when I got home, I looked it up. It didn’t take long. The wonderfully named Pantagraph newspaper published an article in 2011 about Wausaneta by McLean County Museum of History Archivist/Librarian Bill Kemp.

“Although few know it today, this statue embodies LeRoy’s longtime ties to spiritualism…” Kemp wrote.

“The idea for such a statue came from local resident and ardent spiritualist Simeon H. West, and he foot the bill to purchase, ship and install the pre-cast metal Native American and its elaborate pedestal. West claimed that on more than one occasion he communed with a deceased Kickapoo named Wausaneta, and he erected this statue as a tribute to the chief and his people.

“The Wausaneta statue gazes in a northeasterly direction toward a long-gone Kickapoo fort or stockade located seven or so miles out of town. In late November 1905, West oversaw the placement of a granite marker at this rich archaeological and historic site (now considered part of the Grand Village of the Kickapoo).

“In the midst of that day’s heavy snow and howling winds, West had an intense spiritualist encounter, later reporting that he had established a ‘rapport with the spirits of the people who lived there in the distant past.’

It was then that he supposedly learned from these spirits that a Kickapoo by the name of Wausaneta was ‘head chief’ during the fort’s construction. In a later seance, West heard from Wausaneta himself, and was told that the chief had died at the age of 75 and was buried north of the historic marker.”

“LeRoy’s Wausaneta was unveiled to the public on New Year’s Day 1912. West, in his typical new-agey grandiosity, dedicated his statue ‘to the lovers of the beautiful in every country and in every clime until time shall be no more.’ ”

That made my day. It’s exactly the kind of eccentric sight I enjoy finding on the road, especially when serendipity leads me to it.

Short Hyde Park Walkabout

We don’t make it to the Hyde Park neighborhood of Chicago that often, so when we do, if time and weather allow, we take a walk. Today wasn’t especially warm, but not cold either, or windy, and the sun was out. Good day for a walk along a few blocks in Hyde Park.

These views happen to be along S. Blackstone Ave.

Also on Blackstone — 5640 S. Blackstone Ave., to be exact — is the abandoned St. Stephen’s.
The most recent information I’ve found about the structure — which was developed in 1917 as a Christian Science church — dates from about three years ago, when a new owner acquired it with unspecified plans for redevelopment.

Even then, according to the defunct DNAInfo, the building had defied redevelopment for more than 20 years. Looks like it’s still doing so.

To the west of the abandoned church is an oddity in a small park adjacent to William H. Ray Elementary School. An array of concrete spheres.
Those are many, but not all, of the spheres. There are 30 in all. Or so says a stone plaque fixed to the ground nearby; I didn’t count them.

The globes form an artwork called “Like the Time They Go” by Virginio Ferrari, a Chicago sculptor originally from Verona. The date on the plaque says 1977-2002, while other sources simply say 1977. Maybe the more recent date was when Ferrari quit making changes or adding concrete spheres.

The Alamo and Its Cenotaph

March 6 has rolled around again, so of course Remember the Alamo.

During my most recent visit to the Alamo, I also took more than a passing look at the Alamo Cenotaph. Here it is in the context of Alamo Plaza.

Alamo Plaza October 2018Why civic busybodies think the Cenotaph needs to be moved, or Alamo Plaza should be sterilized in the name of History, is unclear to me. I was there on a warm day and Alamo Plaza was alive with people. As a plaza in the here and now should be.

Living urban texture isn’t somehow at odds with proper reverence for the Shrine of Texas Liberty. As I understand the plans for Alamo Plaza, its living urban texture will slowly be strangled. That’s no way to remember the Alamo.

Enough of that. As it stands now, the south face of the Cenotaph — which is 60 feet high — features a figure known as the Spirit of Sacrifice.

Alamo Cenotaph 2018Under the figure, text reads: From the fire that burned their bodies rose the eternal spirit of sublime heroic sacrifice which gave birth to an empire state.

On the east and west faces are depictions of the defenders of the Alamo.

Alamo Cenotaph 2018Alamo Cenotaph 2018None other than Pompeo Coppini did the figures. I’ve come across his work before in Austin and Dallas.

I didn’t capture the main inscription, which says:

Erected in memory of the heroes who sacrificed their lives at the Alamo, March 6, 1836, in the defense of Texas. They chose never to surrender nor retreat; these brave hearts, with flag still proudly waving, perished in the flames of immortality that their high sacrifice might lead to the founding of this Texas.

The San Marcos City Cemetery

San Antonio to Dallas is roughly a five-hour drive straight through, provided traffic isn’t gummed up somewhere along I-35, which it will be in Austin, so best to take Texas 130 around that city, even though it costs extra.

Also best to break the trip into smaller segments and take a look around an in-between place or two. My nephew Dees told me that Aquarena Springs, formerly a postwar tourist attraction — trap — of some renown in San Marcos, is a good thing to see. In recent years, Texas State University-San Marcos remade the place as the Meadows Center for Water and the Environment. Glass-bottom boat tours are star attraction now, rather than the “aquamaids” of yore.

Sounded like a diversion of more hours than we were willing to spare, so we skipped it this time. But we did stop in San Marcos.

First for a look at the Hays County Courthouse, which is a fine old building with a statue of John Coffee Hays outside, whom the Handbook of Texas Online calls a “Texas Ranger extraordinary.” South Texas sculptor Jason Scull did the bronze.
Hays Statue, Hays County CourthouseNot far away is the San Marcos City Cemetery. According to the Heritage Association of San Marcos, the cemetery replaced a smaller boneyard, with burials beginning in 1876. The city took ownership in the 20th century, as it retains today.

Though you climb a small hill at the entrance, most of the cemetery is level. Though not heavily wooded, the cemetery has trees to remind us that late February in central Texas is early spring.

San Marcos City CemeterySan Marcos City CemeterySan Marcos City CemeteryThere are some larger stones and some funerary art, but not a lot.
San Marcos City CemeteryAs Jay pointed out, ready money in 19th-century San Marcos — when such art was more likely to be erected — was in short supply, at least compared with a place like New York, home of Green-Wood and Woodlawn, or even old Charleston.

Still, there are some more ornate markers, such as the draped obelisk of Z. T. Cliett (1847-1892).
San Marcos City CemeteryOr the stone of Dr. P. C. Woods (1820-1898).
San Marcos City CemeteryA nearby Texas Historical Commission marker says that Dr. Woods came to Texas from Tennessee, as so many did (T for Texas, T for Tennessee). Commanding the 32nd Texas Cavalry Regiment during the war, he patrolled the border with Mexico and the Gulf coast against possible Union attack, and fought in Louisiana, where he “received an arm injury which impaired him for the rest of his life.” That didn’t keep him from being a farmer and doctor in postbellum Texas, however.

Thomas Reuben Fourqurean (1842-1925) (interesting name) had a metal marker to denote his service to the CSA, of the kind that’s easy to find in older Southern cemeteries.

San Marcos City CemeteryAnother marker — local, not state — tells the story of Ann B. Caldwell (1800-65), who was reinterred here in the 1870s from an earlier San Marcos cemetery.
San Marcos City CemeteryIn life, she had been among Stephen F. Austin’s colonists and then an early settler in Hays County.

The cemetery’s old enough to include weather-worn stones whose names have been lost to time.
San Marcos City CemeteryEveryone’s stones will eventually disappear in the fullness of deep time, of course. These stones simply have a head start on the others.

Image Adjustments

Not long ago I downloaded a new version of PhotoScape, the program that I use to adjust images. I’d used an earlier version for years, mostly to do simple things, such as crop, adjust sizes and lighten or darken an image.

The new version, even the non-premium one, has a lot more bells and whistles. Curious, I decided the other day to play around with some of the added functions. I picked an image from my files for that purpose.

In case the scene isn’t familiar, that’s the Heald Square Monument on E. Wacker Dr. in downtown Chicago, dating from the late 1930s. Prominently placed yet seemingly little noticed. It’s a bronze by the renowned Lorado Taft depicting George Washington and the two main financiers of the American Revolution, Robert Morris and Haym Salomon.

It’s also the kind of thing I take pictures of. I took this one on January 29, 2013. The light wasn’t especially good and in fact I brightened up the above image somewhat. Still a little drab. It was a drab day, I think.

So add a little color. Add a mirror image to the bottom.

Or do other effects the names of which I forget.
Or finally, my own favorite, kaleidoscope.
That’s only a small sample, not including the functions you have to pay extra for. Interesting.

The Newberry Library Map Mural

I’ve read that the first floor of the Newberry Library on the Near North Side of Chicago is newly renovated, and it did have a newly polished look when Ann and I were there on Saturday. But it’s been a while since I’ve been inside the library, so I don’t really remember what it used to look like.

I’m sure that I’d never seen this intriguing mural before, which is above the landing between the first and second floors near a back entrance to the building.
A map mural. Even better, an historic map mural, along with a train at a station under the map and what looks like a telephone and telegraph office in a balloon off to the side.

The mural looks new, so either it is, or maybe an older image was expertly refurbished. I didn’t see any signs or plaques nearby to tell me which, or who the artist is, and the library web site doesn’t seem to say, so for now I’ll let the matter rest. It’s always good to find a map mural.

My guess is that the map depicts the nation ca. 1900 — united by rail, telegraph and the still fairly new telephone, with a new century of progress to look forward to. Or possibly 1887, when the Newberry was founded, or 1893, when the current building opened.

Though not cartographically precise (West Virginia looks especially mashed), the map’s close enough to evoke the United States of the period. One detail I noticed was that South Dakota’s towns were Deadwood and Yankton, even though the territorial capital moved to Bismarck in 1883 (presumably Al Swearengen would then refer to those “c—suckers from Bismarck” rather than Yankton).

Also, note the pre-land boom, pre-drain the Everglades, pre-Disney, pre-Florida Man Florida.
A little fuzzy, but it’s clear that there’s no Miami and no Orlando.

Also, the states depicted were not quite all states at the beginning of the 20th century. Arizona, New Mexico and what became Oklahoma were still territories.

That would be my only quibble: before it became a state, Oklahoma was actually two territories, the Oklahoma Territory and the Indian Territory. The Indians of the Indian Territory wanted to be admitted as the state of Sequoyah, but Congress wasn’t having it, and so the two territories were joined to form the modern state in 1907.

How do I know that the map doesn’t depict borders sometime after 1907? Because of the depiction of Canada.
The wonderfully named Assiniboia was a district of the NW Territories, as were Saskatchewan and Athabasca, all before 1905 (Keewatin was a separate territory before 1905, then became a district of the NWT). A major reorg of prairie Canada was done in ’05, making it look mostly like it does now.

So the map depicts pre-1905 Canada, but post-1907 Oklahoma. Ah, well. It’s small quibble about such a fine example of a mural.

Cable House & “Victory”

Catercorner from the Dreihaus Museum on the Near North Side of Chicago is the headquarters of Dreihaus Capital Management, which is in the Cable House, an 1886-vintage Richardsonian Romanesque mansion.
In the late 19th century, it was probably the biggest thing on the block. Now tall structures look down on it.

“Its distinct peach-pink façade is Kasota stone, a sedimentary rock from the upper Midwest,” the Dreihaus Museum web site says. “That soft, radiant hue, along with steep gables and abundant ornamentation, are distinct contrasts to the sterner gray of the Samuel M. Nickerson Mansion on the opposite corner.”

“Ransom Reed Cable (1834-1909) commissioned the mansion from the firm Cobb & Frost in 1885. Cable… served as president of the Chicago, Rock Island & Pacific Railway for 15 years.”

Cable went the way of all flesh and then, for much of the 20th century, undertakers John Carroll Sons occupied the house. Now modern office space, the interior isn’t in a 19th-century style any more, according to the museum.

Dreihaus Private Equity is in the Cable House’s former carriage house and (I assume) the small office building next to that.

Standing on a column in front of the office building is a sculpture I don’t think I’ve ever noticed before: “Victory” by Daniel Chester French.
Some closeups are here. According to a nearby plaque, it was cast by the D.C. French Roman Bronze Works, NY, in the 1920s from a working model for the First Division Memorial in President’s Park in Washington, DC.

I don’t remember seeing the DC memorial. Maybe I did. But I’ve definitely run across Daniel Chester French before, besides the Lincoln of the Lincoln Memorial: a statue that evokes the 1893 Columbian Exposition here in Chicago and some allegories in Lower Manhattan, among others.

The Last Days of the Heartland Cafe

At the intersection of W. Lunt Ave. and N. Glenwood Ave., tucked in a corner of Chicago’s far north Rogers Park neighborhood, is the Heartland Cafe. A neighborhood institution.
Word is that the Heartland is closing on December 31. That was a surprise, since it’s been around a long time — opening during the last year of the Ford administration.

I first went there in 1987 with a friend of mine, Becky, who liked the Heartland because of its vegan options. She was a vegan and told me that suitable items on Chicago restaurant menus were hard to find. After that introduction, I went periodically in the ’80s and ’90s, not because of vegan or even non-meat offerings — widely available now — but because the place makes good food at reasonable prices.

When I learned of its closing, I knew I wanted to go one more time. So we went on Sunday. The drive to Rogers Park from Humboldt Park, where Yuriko takes her cake class, is a slog. Driving through the city is usually a slog. But I’m glad we went.

For lunch I had a very non-vegan Reuben sandwich, a good choice. Yuriko had a breakfast burrito, also good.

Google Maps, which has incorrect information sometimes, is wrong about the Heartland. Its thumbnail description for the place is “vegetarian eatery with a hippie vibe.” Meat is all over the regular menu, so no. And a hippie vibe? What does that even mean? Besides, hippies were passe even by 1976.

As restaurants go, the Heartland has more of a diner vibe. Simplicity.

The Hope poster shows more than mere political sympathies, though it does do that. Rather, the Heartland is one of the places that Barack Obama appeared during his run for the U.S. Senate in those seeming long-ago days of 2004.

Murals adorn the Glenwood embankment across from the restaurant.

They weren’t there the last time I went to the Heartland, whenever that was (ca. 2000 would be a good guess). They’re part of a Rogers Park-specific initiative, Mile of Murals, and were painted in 2010 by a variety of artists.

Among many other things, the Heartland makes an appearance on the wall.

Guess the image will be there longer than the restaurant itself.