SIU and Buckminster Fuller Too

On October 10, Ann and I tooled around the Southern Illinois University campus a bit, agreeing that it isn’t the aesthetic experience that some college campuses are. Visitor parking proved hard to find, so we didn’t take a walk on campus.

We did spot the Wham Building on Wham Drive. Ann suggested that the donors were the British pop duo, now about 35 years passed their heyday. Though as a matter of style, it ought to be the Wham! Building. Their connection to SIU? None that we knew, but never mind. Maybe they decided they had enough money to fund a building on a college campus, and they threw a dart at a map to determine where it would be.

Not long after that conversation, we heard a local station playing “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go.” Coincidence or synchronicity? Coincidence, I’d say.

Not far from campus is a residential neighborhood with a fair amount of student housing, marked by some genteel seediness. Parking was easy around there, so we stopped for a short walk down a residential street.

Some of the residences stood out more than others. Some for their décor. It might be hard to see in the picture, but there’s a neon sign in the window of this Halloween-ready house: PALM READER.Carbondale palm readerOther properties stand out for more fundamental reasons. The R. Buckminster Fuller and Anne Hewlett Dome Home is at the intersection of two small streets in an otherwise unremarkable location in the neighborhood.fuller dome carbondale
fuller dome carbondale
The dome is fenced off and closed. But someone used to live there. Bucky himself, as it happens. A sign on the fence says: “Buckminster Fuller is considered one of the leading visionaries of the 20th century. He patented the geodesic dome in 1954 and it is his most enduring legacy. In April 1960 he assembled this dome home (The Fuller Dome) and lived in it with his wife Anne until 1971.”

How long had it been since I’d thought about Buckminster Fuller? Before finding out about the dome, that is, which was a few days before our visit to Carbondale. A long time, that’s how long. I suspect much of the world can say the same. Whatever Fuller’s contributions to civilization, and I’ll be the first to say geodesic domes are pretty cool, he’s headed for obscurity as surely as Ernie Pyle.

Reading about Fuller made me think of Lucy Kulik, a sixth-grade teacher of mine. She taught us math and I believe also led our participation in Man: A Course of Study almost 50 years ago. I hadn’t thought about her in a long time, either, and checked to see whether she was still among the living. Possible, but not likely, though it turned out she died only last year at 97, and now has a stone at Fort Sam Houston National Cemetery next to her husband, an Air Force lieutenant colonel — something I didn’t know about her.

RIP, Mrs. Kulik. The details have faded after a half century, but I remember you were a good teacher.

In class one day Mrs. Kulik mentioned Buckminster Fuller as the fellow who invented a dome made of triangles and who wanted the world to give up the words “sunrise” and “sunset.” I’d never heard of him at the time, or if I had, I’d forgotten.

Fuller suggested the words sunsight and sunclipse to replace sunrise and sunset, arguing that the common words reflect an incorrect understanding of the way the Earth and the Sun move. You could argue that they do, of course, and the words he suggests are perfectly fine, but to object to sunrise and sunset on those grounds itself reflects an excess of literalism in understanding language. That might be a reason his suggestions didn’t catch on.

His domes might be cool — you can’t stand in front of the Expo ’76 Fuller dome in Montreal and not feel a little awe — but I also have to add that a few of them go a long way. In the case of Carbondale, one is probably enough.

Jeremy Rochman Memorial Park, Carbondale

During the early planning for our recent trip, I didn’t give Carbondale, Illinois, much thought as a possible destination, but then Ann mentioned a park there she’d heard about from a friend who used to live in the area. After a little further investigation, I worked Carbondale, especially the park, into our plans.

“A vocal fan of the role-playing game Dungeons and Dragons, Jeremy ‘Boo’ Rochman was tragically killed in a car accident at the young age of 19,” Atlas Obscura says. “To honor his memory, his father bought a parcel of land across the street from their home in order to build a memorial park. His late son’s passion was for the role-playing game Dungeons and Dragons, so his father decided to turn the park into a fantasy land that his son would have been proud of.”

Jeremy Rochman Memorial Park is on the outskirts of Carbondale. When you arrive, various painted concrete creatures greet you.Jeremy Rochman Memorial Park
Jeremy Rochman Memorial Park

Jeremy Rochman Memorial Park

Jeremy Rochman Memorial Park

Including an enormous dragon, good for climbing, if you’re agile enough.Jeremy Rochman Memorial Park
The “castle” — the whole place is sometimes called Castle Park or Boo Castle Park — is a wood and stone structure with an elaborate set of passageways and stairs for kids to climb around.
Jeremy Rochman Memorial Park
With plenty of figures of its own.
Jeremy Rochman Memorial Park
Jeremy Rochman Memorial Park
Jeremy Rochman Memorial Park
The park wasn’t overrun with people, but we did notice a birthday party off in one corner.Jeremy Rochman Memorial ParkIf ever there were a good place for a children’s birthday, this is it.

Shawnee National Forest ’20

During my break from posting, Arlo Stribling was born to my nephew Dees and his wife Eden in Austin. Congratulations to the new parents, here’s hoping the boy is a joy. Best regards to little Arlo, an emissary to a future my generation will not see.

On the afternoon of Friday, October 9, Ann and I went southward for a visit in and around Shawnee National Forest, which stretches in large patches — in typical national forest style — from the Ohio River to the Mississippi, or vice versa, occupying a lot of extreme southern Illinois. We looked around the east part of the forest. The weather turned out to be flawless for such a little trip, warm and partly cloudy.

We spent the first night in Mattoon, Illinois, continuing southward the next morning. The first place we went on Saturday morning wasn’t in southeast Illinois, but further west: Carbondale, visiting Castle Park, or more formally Jeremy Rochman Memorial Park, on the outskirts of town. Afterwards, we looked around Southern Illinois State University, and saw the nearby Buckminster Fuller House. A domed house, of course.

Heading east on Illinois 13, we eventually made our way as far east as that road goes, Old Shawneetown, a husk of a formerly much more populous place on the banks of the Ohio, and home to the Shawneetown State Bank Historic Site. We spent the next two nights in Harrisburg, Illinois, which bills itself as the Gateway to the Shawnee National Forest.

On Sunday, we drove the roads of the southeast part of the forest, climbed a modest flagstone path to a grand vista — the Garden of the Gods — hiked along a small lake surrounded by trees approaching their peak coloration, climbed a bluff via a CCC staircase, and visited a large cave entrance facing the Ohio River at Cave-in-Rock State Park.

Small, winding roads pass through the national forest, rising and falling, flanked  alternately by walls of trees and expanses of flat farmland, post-harvest but before a winter freeze. Towns come in the sizes small, smaller and hamlet. In that part of Illinois, sometimes known as Little Egypt, small white churches are a common sight, more Baptist than any other denomination. Not quite as common, but enough in evidence were abandoned structures: farmhouses, gas stations, motels, restaurants and shops. If it were up to the people who put up political signs in that part of the country, the president would be re-elected by a wide margin. A smattering of Confederate battle flags were flying here and there.

Traffic is at a trickle on those roads most of the time. That made for easy, and sometimes picturesque, driving. Car commercial driving, I told Ann.

On Monday, Columbus Day Observed, that lightest, most gossamer of all national holidays, we headed home, with one major short detour into Indiana, to visit the town of New Harmony. The 19th-century utopian colonies there might have failed (two! count ’em, two utopian experiments), but the town has succeeded in being highly pleasant and intriguing everywhere you look in our time. Also, a famed theologian is buried there, in as much as theologians get fame.

As mentioned above, we didn’t spend much time in Mattoon. But early on Saturday I got up and looked around for a few minutes. The town looks frayed, buffeted by the contraction of U.S. manufacturing and the vagaries of the farming industry and the rural economy as a whole.

The town’s relatively greater prosperity in the early 20th century is reflected in its cemetery. A sizable place, the Dodge Grove Cemetery measures about 60 acres and has 20,000 permanent residents, including three Civil War generals and 260 soldiers from that war, one of whom is an unknown Confederate. There’s a story in that last detail, probably lost to time.Dodge Grove CemeteryDodge Grove Cemetery

Dodge Grove Cemetery

Blazes of fall color rise in places.
Dodge Grove Cemetery
According to Find a Grave, only one of those Civil War generals counts as a notable burial in Dodge Grove, James Milton True, commander of the 62nd Illinois Volunteer Infantry. I like the other major item on his CV: U.S. consul in Kingston, Ontario in the 1870s.

That hints at some pull with the postwar federal government, probably based on connections he made during the war, or because he became a local politico who could deliver votes. Or both. Seems like a plumb diplomatic assignment in the 19th century: no language skills necessary, close enough to home that you can visit periodically, and no danger of catching malaria or some other dreaded tropical disease.

I didn’t see his grave. I didn’t know he was there till later. I did see the Pythias obelisk.
Dodge Grove Cemetery

Erected by
Palestine Lodge No. 46
Knights of Pythias
In Memory of
Deceased Members
1929

I’ve encountered vestiges of the Knights before, such as in Atlanta, Illinois. I associated them with an earlier time, the sort of organization that George Babbitt might have mentioned in passing as having a chapter in Zenith. But no: the Knights of Pythias are still around, though at much diminished numbers.

Still around, and up with the times. “The Summer 2020 Edition of the Pythian International is now online,” the fraternal org’s web site says. “It includes information on the rescheduled Supreme Convention, Oct. 1-6.”

As I was about to leave, I spotted this stone.
Dodge Grove CemeteryA heartbreaker of a stone. Though I’m sure combat deaths didn’t quite stop exactly at 11 am on the 11th, since even modern armies with good internal communications can’t stop on a dime. Still, the day before the Armistice. Damn.

I don’t know why I’m surprised any more at anything online, but I was surprised to find a local newspaper account of Lawrence Riddle’s last days, though it doesn’t specify how he died (and this too: a niece that he never knew). In the article, the most attention is paid to Riddle’s participation in combat during the days before his death, charging a German machine gun position with four other men. They seized the position and brought back prisoners.

I wonder whether the Germans, eager to surrender at this point in the war, were making it easy for the raiders, or whether the Americans faced bitter-enders who were still playing for keeps. Either way, a clear act of bravery on the part of Riddle and the others.

Fall Break (Breaktober)

A return to gloriously warm days, at least for now, after a cold snap early in the month. Yesterday and today I took breakfast and lunch on the deck. Also, when I could get away from work, I just sat around out there and let my skin manufacture vitamin D.

Back to posting on October 18 or so. No lengthy trips for this fall break; such is the circumstance of the times. I have some sweet memories of October trips of the past, such as last year in Virginia or Philadelphia in 2016 or, going back a lot further, Hida-Takayama in 1991 or New England in 1989.

Watch one thing on YouTube out of idle curiosity, such as a “10” list — the 10 Greatest European Elevators of All Time, for example — and the bots will offer you heaps of other eccentric, vaguely related videos. Such as 10 Shocking Secrets from Leave It To Beaver, which appeared as a suggestion not long ago. (I won’t link to it, but it is real, unlike my first example.)

How many shocking secrets from Leave It To Beaver do I need to know? One would be more than enough, I think. What’s shocking is that anyone would care to know more.

RIP, Eddie Van Halen. Not that I ever bought any of his records or was even much of a fan. Still, occasionally Van Halen was just the thing. A nostalgic portal back to 1978 in this case, and I’m surprised the drummer didn’t explode in that video. Certainly Van Halen the man had hair in his heyday. Also, he named his son Wolfgang. Makes me smile.

The obit cited above is at a site called u discovermusic. It’s run by a record company, so I suspect ulterior commercial motives, but even so it’s pretty interesting. Like this list: quite a compilation.

My Donation for This Campaign Season

An urgent appeal came in the mail today. The fate of the Republic, it asserts, depends on the outcome of the upcoming election, and I could do my part by supporting one of the contenders for high office and not the other. Not moral support, mind you, but cash money.

I was touched. I decided to dip into a certain cash reserve that I keep around the house and respond to the appeal right away. I sent a high denomination, I have to add.

I doubt that the campaign will get the message, however, since such letters are probably opened by fatigued volunteers who have seen every kind of nonsense in the mail.

The Graduation-Industrial Complex

A cap and gown catalog for Ann, a senior this year, came today. Except it’s pretty hard to find an actual cap and gown to order in it, assuming there’s even going to be a need for them this year, considering how cluttered the catalog is with other junk — I mean precious mementos to remind you of your high school years.

Was there this much graduation-related stuff on offer when I was a senior back in the benighted late ’70s? I don’t think so. I did get a class ring. It couldn’t have been that expensive, or my mother wouldn’t have paid for it. But now the prices seem a tad excessive for all but the most basic model made out of some cheap alloy you’ve never heard of.

“These are so ugly,” Ann said, flipping through the catalog. “How can something so ugly cost so much?”

How indeed? The two-tone items especially. The ring variety is staggering: standard high school rings (at least what I think of as standard), bands and signets with an array of stones and many possible engravings — you want a religious symbol or an astrological sign or an animal or a sports/hobby/club emblem or a state outline or maybe even your school mascot on it? No worries.

GEMSTONES says one page, offering various options. In smaller letters above that word, “simulated.” Cut glass, in other words. But real gemstones are also available for considerably more.

Rings are only the beginning. You can also get class of ’21 “senior gear” (clothes), necklaces, key rings, lockets, bracelets and nipple rings. No, I added that last one. Maybe that would be special order.

Plum Grove Reservoir

Frost this morning. I know that because I needed to be somewhere at about 8 am, so went out to my car to leave, and a thin frost coating covered all of the glass. Easy to scrape off, but a reminder of tougher ice to come. Oh, boy. Or is that oh, joy?

Warmish days are ahead, though, at least for a short spell. Such is October. Yesterday afternoon was cool, but still good for a short walk near Plum Grove Reservoir.
Plum Grove Reservoir
The reservoir is near Harper College in northwest suburban Palatine. A 44-acre park surrounds it, making for a pleasant place to walk, as long as the temps are high enough. Plum Grove Reservoir
Plum Grove Reservoir
Plum Grove Reservoir
Visitor parking near the park is allowed in part of Harper College’s vast lot. Here’s the view of the reservoir from the outer edge of the lot.
Plum Grove Reservoir
Turn the other way, and you see an expanse of asphalt.
Harper College
Harper College, in full William Rainey Harper College, is a community college here in the northwest suburbs, opened in 1967. Sure enough, its layout owes more than a little to that of a mid-century mall: an island of buildings surrounded by a sea of parking.

Charles Deering Memorial Library ’16

One of the places we visited during Open House Chicago in October 2016 was the Charles Deering Memorial Library on the Northwestern University campus in Evanston.Charles Deering Memorial Library Charles Deering Memorial Library A design by James Gamble Rogers, who did a lot of academic buildings at Northwestern and other schools. Apparently his taste for Gothic revival wasn’t entirely appreciated by the time the library opened in 1933, especially by budding modernists, but we don’t want every campus to look like the University of Illinois at Chicago, do we? (As interesting as that place is.) The library’s a handsome collegiate structure.

As you enter the library, you receive some advice. They say most things aren’t carved in stone, but this is. Also: Go Cubs Go!
Charles Deering Memorial Library Where to find such wisdom? Another entrance provides the answer. I’ll go along with that. Also, Go Wildcats!
Charles Deering Memorial Library Inside are artful windows. “The Deering Library’s 68 painted window medallions were created by G. Owen Bonawit (1891-1971), a master of secular stained glass from New York City,” the library says.

“The medallions represent scenes and figures from literature, mythology, religion and history. Library staff helped to select subjects and sent illustrations to Bonawit for translation into the designs.”
Charles Deering Memorial Library Charles Deering Memorial Library Charles Deering Memorial Library Such as early North America.

Dolce Far Niente and All That

Here’s an interesting list of words, if accurate, or even if not, and I suspect that’s the case for some of them (but I can’t know). Dolce far niente is a worthwhile concept: pleasant idleness, or the joy of doing nothing.

Such lists now appear periodically on line, and I believe they hark back to a pre-Internet book called They Have a Word For It: A Lighthearted Lexicon of Untranslatable Words & Phrases by Howard Rheingold (1988).

I have a copy of it around somewhere, bought fairly new. I don’t remember any of the words in it, except the concept of a ponte day. “Bridge” day in Italian, meaning a day off between the weekend and a holiday, an especially useful concept in that country since Italy doesn’t have a version of the Uniform Monday Holiday Act, and holidays can fall mid-week.

I also remember the author appearing on the radio show Whad’ya Know? Maybe in 1989. I didn’t listen to it every week in those days, but fairly often. I understand that it ran as a radio show until 2016, and now exists as a podcast.

Just before Christmas 1989, I went to a broadcast of the show when it was in Chicago, at the Blackstone Theatre (these days, the Merle Reskin Theatre). Remarkably, I can listen to it again if I want. So far, I haven’t.

Today I was near the Robert O. Atcher Municipal Center, not far from where we were yesterday. Atcher, besides being mayor of Schaumburg from 1959 to 1975, was a successful country musician.

The trees are just beginning to turn.

Schaumburg in the fall

Schaumburg in the fallClose to the Atcher Center are flowers. We’re in the narrow window when the trees are coloring up, yet some flowers are still blooming.
Schaumburg in the fall While on the grounds, I noticed a memorial I’d never noticed before. According to various news reports, it’s been there some years — how did I miss it? A plaque for a Schaumburg resident, René LeBeau, who died awfully young.
René LeBeau memorialI must have heard about the crash of United 232 when it happened, but I had to read about it to remember. Quite a harrowing story. It’s a wonder anyone survived.

A Short History of Gazebo Standards*

This afternoon we took a walk near the Al Larson Prairie Center for the Arts, which as far as I know is still dark. We thus passed through a bit of open land here in the northwest suburbs on the last day of September 2020. Another gazebo belonging to the Village of Schaumburg. Not too far from this one.
Its circumference is about one-quarter open, but got me to thinking: does it really count as a gazebo? Shouldn’t gazebos be almost all enclosed, with only space for an entrance?

A little research reveals two separate standards for gazebo enclosure. According to the International Gazebo Society (IGS), a gazebo has to be three-quarters enclosed. Académie international du belvédère (AIB), on the other hand, specifies seven-eights.

The divergence has a long history. The IGS, founded in London in 1787 but now headquartered in Scottsdale, Arizona, first specified gazebo standards the year after its founding. That definition traveled to other parts of the British Empire over the next decades, though it wasn’t formally adopted in the United States until the Fifth International Gazebo Conference in 1884, which was held in Washington D.C. at about the same time as the International Meridian Conference.

Meanwhile, in a fit of revolutionary zeal, the French took a different tack. In 1796, the Directorate promulgated gazebo standards for the First Republic that were the antecedents of the AIB’s standards. Bonaparte annulled those standards, but they were restored by Louis Philippe, who had a personal interest in modern gazebo theory. The AIB, headquartered in Paris, came into being later in the 19th century, and has governed gazebo standards in France and the Francophone world since then.

So most of the world follows either IGS or AIB. For a time in Maoist China, both standards were rejected as relics of European imperialism, a stance echoed today by the more woke members of the gazebo community. “Let a hundred gazebos bloom” was the Chinese slogan, beginning in about 1956, and structures built from then to 1976 are colloquially known as Maozebos.

They tended to be flimsy, and most have since fallen down or have been razed, though a good example is still standing in Shaoshan village, Hunan. The Gang of Four were thought to have even more radical ideas about gazebos, but with their defeat, China gradually returned to the IGS standard (interestingly, Taiwan adheres to the AIB standard, reportedly because Madame Chiang believed them more elegant). Indeed, China is now exporting gazebos more than any country, especially to Africa.

* Completely made up.