Sojourn
The car was acting weird. Specifically, the floor on the passenger side turned wet and soggy on humid days when the air conditioning was running. So, we decided to bring it in to the mechanic to let them have a look at it and, subsequently, charge us an obscene amount of money. Turns out it was no big deal. The drains were plugged and the drainage hose had somehow pulled away from where it was supposed to be, flooding the rug with condensational(?) water on nasty humid days. All told it was $70. We got off light.
As a happy side effect, the mechanic runs his business in Old Town, a neighborhood found mid-city, closer to the lake, and bound by Halsted, Division, and Wells. I say happy side effect because I haven't been in Old Town in years. In the late eighties it was one of the places my friends and I would visit, mostly for cheeseburgers at Mr. G's (no longer there, sadly), and to buy stuff at Bizarre Bazaar-a head shop with all sorts of, well, bizarre shit. It was and still is a weird neighborhood, though now it's so gentrified I barely recognized it. I have memories of visiting the Ripley's Believe It or Not Museum on Wells back in the 70s, and I still remember how utterly sleazy the area was (Whiskey a Go Go bars and such... The nearest comparison I could make would be that part of Bourbon Street in New Orleans with all the naked people bars). In the 80s and early 90s it was a little more tame, still occupied by the hippies that moved there in the 60s. Today, it's all boites and boutiques... and mechanics for some reason.
While waiting for my car, I realized that I was near the Second City Theater, and that I'd never taken a picture of its facade. Said facade was once part of Adler and Sullivan's Garrick Theater. The Garrick stood on Randolph for a hundred years or so before some idiot decided to tear it down and build a parking garage. As it turned out they tore down the garage a few years ago to build a new section of the Goodman Theater. Theaters: 2, Parking Garages 1. Here's the facade. The busts are of German composers (I'll take a stab and say they're Wagner, Brahams, Bach, and Mozart... but I could be wrong).
Driving home, I had another revelation: I was very near Henry Darger's house (or rather the townhouse where he had a studio apartment). I wasn't surprised that I'd walked or driven past Henry's home (851 N. Webster) dozens of times over the years without realizing it back when semibold and several friends lived nearby. Henry's place is the one on the right. Again, not bad, though I'm betting the Lerners (Henry's landlords) cleaned up the place over the years.
So, here's the fun part. I decided to park and walk around back, to see if I could get a gander at Henry's windows. No such luck. A sprawling porch blocked my view. I think. It was hard to get my bearings back there.
The fun comes when I discovered this table, covered with books, in the alley.
That's a stack of, of all things, hardcover coffeetable books addressing interior decorating, design, and architecture from the 60s, 70s, and 80s. My mind whirled with thoughts of the artistic possibilities. When Nate grows a little more independent, I look forward to building shadow boxes again. The above will make for excellent raw material. Was Henry watching over me, acting as a supernatural Medici? Maybe so, even though I consider the idea of ghosts complete hooey. Anyway, I filled the back seat with books and moved on.
Driving further, I visited two other Henry sites. St. Vincent de Paul Church (of nearby DePaul University. Go Blue Demons.) was Henry's house of worship. He attended mass there every day. Sadly, they weren't open when I arrived. No worries. I've been in there plenty of times. It's a lovely church, inside and out.
Across the street is Roma's restaurant. Rather, it's where Roma's used to be. I read somewhere that Henry ate here quite often. So did I, though again this was before I learned about Henry from my friend Steven. I remember it as a homely place-a diner with, to use a term my friend Seth hates, simple food. too bad it's closed. At least the building is still there.
And then I went home. A pleasant little interlude all around.
As a happy side effect, the mechanic runs his business in Old Town, a neighborhood found mid-city, closer to the lake, and bound by Halsted, Division, and Wells. I say happy side effect because I haven't been in Old Town in years. In the late eighties it was one of the places my friends and I would visit, mostly for cheeseburgers at Mr. G's (no longer there, sadly), and to buy stuff at Bizarre Bazaar-a head shop with all sorts of, well, bizarre shit. It was and still is a weird neighborhood, though now it's so gentrified I barely recognized it. I have memories of visiting the Ripley's Believe It or Not Museum on Wells back in the 70s, and I still remember how utterly sleazy the area was (Whiskey a Go Go bars and such... The nearest comparison I could make would be that part of Bourbon Street in New Orleans with all the naked people bars). In the 80s and early 90s it was a little more tame, still occupied by the hippies that moved there in the 60s. Today, it's all boites and boutiques... and mechanics for some reason.
While waiting for my car, I realized that I was near the Second City Theater, and that I'd never taken a picture of its facade. Said facade was once part of Adler and Sullivan's Garrick Theater. The Garrick stood on Randolph for a hundred years or so before some idiot decided to tear it down and build a parking garage. As it turned out they tore down the garage a few years ago to build a new section of the Goodman Theater. Theaters: 2, Parking Garages 1. Here's the facade. The busts are of German composers (I'll take a stab and say they're Wagner, Brahams, Bach, and Mozart... but I could be wrong).
Driving home, I had another revelation: I was very near Henry Darger's house (or rather the townhouse where he had a studio apartment). I wasn't surprised that I'd walked or driven past Henry's home (851 N. Webster) dozens of times over the years without realizing it back when semibold and several friends lived nearby. Henry's place is the one on the right. Again, not bad, though I'm betting the Lerners (Henry's landlords) cleaned up the place over the years.
So, here's the fun part. I decided to park and walk around back, to see if I could get a gander at Henry's windows. No such luck. A sprawling porch blocked my view. I think. It was hard to get my bearings back there.
The fun comes when I discovered this table, covered with books, in the alley.
That's a stack of, of all things, hardcover coffeetable books addressing interior decorating, design, and architecture from the 60s, 70s, and 80s. My mind whirled with thoughts of the artistic possibilities. When Nate grows a little more independent, I look forward to building shadow boxes again. The above will make for excellent raw material. Was Henry watching over me, acting as a supernatural Medici? Maybe so, even though I consider the idea of ghosts complete hooey. Anyway, I filled the back seat with books and moved on.
Driving further, I visited two other Henry sites. St. Vincent de Paul Church (of nearby DePaul University. Go Blue Demons.) was Henry's house of worship. He attended mass there every day. Sadly, they weren't open when I arrived. No worries. I've been in there plenty of times. It's a lovely church, inside and out.
Across the street is Roma's restaurant. Rather, it's where Roma's used to be. I read somewhere that Henry ate here quite often. So did I, though again this was before I learned about Henry from my friend Steven. I remember it as a homely place-a diner with, to use a term my friend Seth hates, simple food. too bad it's closed. At least the building is still there.
And then I went home. A pleasant little interlude all around.