Spring in Chicago represents an almost ritualistic awakening from hibernation as the lakeside city is finally freed from the often debilitating grip of Midwestern winter extremes… a drive along Lake Shore Drive on one of these sun bathed, warmer afternoons proves that the locals are more than ready to return to the manicured beaches of Oak Street and North Avenue as they stroll, cycle or Rollerblade down the endless sidewalks separating the concrete from the sand and Lake Michigan …while the beach attire is not full blown bikinis and swim trunks, the short sleeved shirts and windbreakers tied around waists leave little doubt that the new indigenous are more than ready to shed their winter coats  …

 The Congress Hotel still catches my eye no matter how many times I thread my way through the outlying urban grid and finally arrive in The Emerald City …Capone’s unyielding reign as Chicago’s undisputed crime boss was often dictated from that classic block of architecture and Michigan Avenue was awash with blood as a result … I could still feel the dark countenance of Big Al’s “Thousand Mile Stare” as I explored the old banquet rooms and lobbies a few years back …I still feel intimidated every time I stand his headstone in Mt Carmel …

John Dillinger was a different  breed  of “gangster”  than Capone, while the local and federal law enforcement agencies charged with terminating his career tried demonize him with the pejorative; “Public Enemy Number One”,  he seemed to have cultivated a sort of celebrity and popularity that many gangsters of the post Capone, Depression era enjoyed… much the way Bonnie and Clyde were acquiring legendary outlaw status down in Texas almost simultaneously …holding up banks at a time when so many were in foreclosure was not necessarily looked upon with disdain by those teetering on the precipice of destitution and homelessness (sound familiar?) … 

An illustrious career of crime comprised Dillinger’s resume … by the time he returned Chicago and was “laying low” he had managed to rob 15 or so banks, successfully executed an elaborate plan to break out of one county jail in Ohio and boldly escaped yet another lockup in Indiana …there was the famous shootout at the Little Bohemia Lodge that seems to have some been the subject of some historic revision to accommodate the Johnny Depp film “Public Enemies” but I suppose I can grant some artistic license to that version of events because it was an such good flick … 

John Dillinger had the sort of loquacious personality and effervescent demeanor that made him a media sensation and he did seem to bask in the camera flash when the reporters encircled him in Crown Point Indiana … While his assertive self-confidence was often misconstrued as the defiant braggadocio of a common thief in his early days, the later celebrated infamy of “Public Enemy Number One“ welcomed his colorful colloquialisms and good ‘ol Indiana boy antics … was it the perceived sense of public adoration that served as the impetus for John’s false sense of invincibility?… the Robin Hood-esque “steal from the rich” and brag about to the poor imagery that ingratiated him in the collective depression weary sensibility of the public? … Or was it simply because he really was THAT good at being bad? ... 

Alas, even with his success as a crook and escape artist, all of that gangster swag and brazen bank robbing  bravado, he could not conceal that much of a larger than life identity even with a trip to the plastic surgeon…his naive attempt at a low profile blurring into the Chicago landscape while things “cooled down” was in vain … Jim Purvis of the newly founded branch of federal law enforcement; “The Bureau Of Investigation” (which would later become the FBI) knew exactly who he was looking for as he staked out the Biograph Theater that humid June evening in 1934… 

Lincoln Park traffic has always been challenging and this unseasonably warm pre-spring weekend afternoon was no exception …getting off of Lake Shore Drive and onto Fullerton Ave brought back memories of circling these blocks looking for a parking space when I worked downtown a few years back and the Lincoln Park Zoo seemed to have spoken for every conceivable parking spot for miles on this particular day …It’s not hard to understand why the Twenty-Somethings want to flock the city as soon as they have the means to move out of their parent’s home in the suburbs …there are a billion things to see and do and an equal number of hedonistic delights to indulge but most usually end up relocating back to the burbs by age 30 or so …or once the novelty wears off, whichever comes first …. 

The buildings surrounding The Biograph Theater all have that look and feel about them like they are harboring a dark secret that is shrouded in antiquity and obfuscated by neon …the history of this small section of town alone could surely fill up four volumes of an almanac …The site of the St Valentine’s Day Massacre (2122 N. Clark St.,) is a little over a half mile away and if you listen very carefully you can still hear the ringing staccato of machine gun fire when you pass the buildings that now occupy the property where The Obanion Gang made their headquarters…when conditions are right …. 

As luck would have it; I was able to secure a parking spot a reasonable distance from the old theater … As I exited my vehicle I was able to seamlessly blend into the throngs of young metro-hipsters making their way along the promenade (being the paragon of trendy hipness that I am)… some of them stopped to chat with small groups congregating in front of a pub or dinner ...some simply nodded in acknowledgement of their fellow cosmopolitans before proceeding to their obscure destinations like a coffee house, eclectic boutique or perhaps a music store specializing in reselling vinyl records, black light posters, lava lamps and assorted incense…Ah nostalgia for a past never experienced, such a strange phenomenon that seems so prevalent amongst today’s youth…I reminded myself that I used to wear black pants, a Concho belt and boots as an homage to Jim Morrison in my late teens/early 20’s even though I was barely out of kindergarten when “The Lizard King” turned in his crown … I almost missed the famous Marquis of the Biograph as in my mental absentia … 

Posters advertising plays like “The Wale” lined the lobby windows but I could see that there were people milling about inside, likely there to attend a matinee …as I opened the front doors and assertively strolled inside like I owned the place, I was struck by the telltale momentary disorientation that has come to be an indication that something was amiss … 

The sparse audience for the afternoon performance hob-knobbing over cocktails in the lounge area took little notice of me meticulously photographing the building’s forefront interior …nobody challenged me when I made my way down the aisle leading to the main theater although a  woman standing on the stage studying the set (comprised solely of a couch surrounded by litter) glared at me indignantly as I casually snapped multiple shots of the old theater-turned auditorium …turning to make my way make down the runway leading out and ultimately back to the lobby I turned the corner and was mildly shocked to see (what I assumed to be) and actress smoking a cigarette indoors ...Illinois smoking laws are pretty tough and the fact that she was wearing her stage wardrobe while committing this almost unheard-of violation piqued my interest enough to simply stop and ask :  

“You can smoke in here?... 

Looking up at me with troubled yet piercing brown eyes she responded with a terse, Slavic sounding accent; “Of course, why not?” …

 She immediately averted her eyes away from me and wiped away a tear …the old fashioned orange gown she wore as her costume complimented her buxom features but she seemed extremely uncomfortable in it nonetheless…

 ”Something wrong?” I inquired sympathetically … 

“What would you care?” she shot back, sharply returning her attention in my direction … "Wouldn’t you like to see a conniving Gypsy like me deported?” …

 Striving to avoid a tendentious topic like immigration, I decided to extricate myself from the potentially volatile conversation and exit the building… I wasn’t keen on being seen cavorting with the indoor smoker either… 

”If you’re one of Purvis’s men, tell him he doesn’t need to check up on me! “She called after me in a tone that seemed to be intentionally muffled but clearly rife with enmity...

 I turned to ask for a clarification but she evidently had already left the corner and returned to the backstage area … the retrofitted ventilation system must be pretty good in that old structure because I didn’t see any trace of the billowing cloud she was producing by her emotionally charged smoke break …Back outside, I turned left and proceeded to the alley where Dillinger met his demise … 

I didn’t see any bullet holes as legend contends are still visible upon close inspection…but I did see the blood …some pushed past me in a jovial frenzy to dip handkerchiefs in the dark ichor liquid that looked so black against the streetlight illuminated darkness …the pop of flashbulbs were like lightning flashes against the night shrouded background features of the city block… as I struggled to regain my equilibrium; it was then that I realized that not only did my reality shift from day to night but from living color to black and white...

 Squinting at the sudden flashback to midday brightness as I exited the alley, I began the block or so jaunt back to the car … I was suddenly thrust back into my subjective state of redolence by the squawking sound of a 1930’s era car horn (struggles to phonetically express the sound; “aaaaahhhh-ooooooh-gaaah&rdquo… The Ford DeLuxe Roadster that rumbled up from behind was piloted by a man wearing clothing of and indeterminable era at first assessment but as he rolled past me my hopes were dashed by the Blue Tooth clearly visible in his right ear… 

Here are the photos from my visit to the Biograph Theater, some may have been color enhanced or edited for aesthetic optimization ….b

http://s1098.photobucket.com/user/FoundersHill/library/The%20Biograph%20Theater-Chicago?sort=3&page=1

As I stated I just was able to ignore them, until my GrandChildren moved in with us. My Grandson Kenny age 4 at the time asked who Frank was , I went on to tell him that Frank was married to my sister Robin. He replyed not that Frank this one has long hair and red on his face and he is dead. When I asked him how Frank died he told me that he had a car wreck on the road behind our house. Our house is next to Interstate 64 and we have seen many wrecks there during the time we have lived here. Kenny first thought that Frank had fallen off a roof , but now says that he was in a wreck. We had always heard footsteps above us on the second floor , but was willing to think it was the house settling . Kenny has become so scared to go anywhere in our house by himself.

We don't watch any shows that would have made him come to these conclusion's just out of the blue. So I went out and purchased some equipment a couple of night vision cams, an RT EVP real time recorder, the OVILUS X box with the digital readout and a few digital recorders. Above is just one of many video's we have taken . On the couch in the right side of  the video it seems as though something is sitting there. An orb comes from that area as you watch the video. Also there are many faces that appear and shadows that come and go.We are really at our wit's end and need advice.

We have had a Paranormal Group come into your house, and they used a flashlight test . The Flashlight turned on and off on command 2 different times in 2 different rooms and 2 different flashlights were used with different ways of turning them on. I have been using our OVILUS and get direct ? answered such as what is your name , how many spirits are here , after asking those ? we get a direct answer. Although Frank has never been given. It also indicated that we have some type of portal here in our house.

If you are able to watch this video please send us your thoughts. We have heard all the bull about we are faking this video's and it is the light of the camera, and all the other things that if it were true we would not be seeking help. As I said we own and operate an Assisted Living Facility and do not want publicity given to us . We just want to make sure our Grandchildren are safe and that we are safe. SO if interested in helping us please get back to us would love to converse with anyone that can give us some constructive advice. God Bless Mark G. mag7898@aol.com

We went to the Crescent Hotel in Eureka Springs. It was crazy I could smell things that others couldn't smell. I felt all crawly. I actually saw my first ghost before I knew she existed within the hotel. Things started out normalish then as the days passed everything escalated. The smells the feelings the sounds and the crawling feeling.

I have always been able to sense how a person feels or an entire room of people. I could feel some things there that I still can't explain.

Does anyone else have these strange feelings in certain "haunted' places?

I am so curious about this phenomena. However, I am afraid to research the topic too thoroughly because I don't want anything to influence me. I need a guide.

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By now, unless you have been living in a cave you all know the story … national headlines, international intrigue, talk shows, tabloids and even a Lifetime Channel movie featuring Rob Lowe delivering a chilling performance and an uncanny Drew…

All media hype and pop culture sensationalism aside; there are children missing their mothers, parents missing their daughters, sibling missing their sisters …We know the 3rd wife of former Bolingbrook Ill. Police Sgt. Peterson was found dead in her bathtub back in 2004 and he was finally convicted of the murder which was originally considered accidental …in 2007 Drew’s 4th and much younger wife; Stacy went missing without a trace leaving her own children and the children of Drew’s previous marriage she often cared for …

Drew has received a 38 year sentence in the death of his 3rd wife and will likely never leave prison…thus far he has seen the inside of the Will County lockup, Stateville Correctional Center; where John Wayne Gacy and Richard Speck lived out their last days,  the 140 plus year old Pontiac Correction Center and most recently to downstate Chester Ill where a long stretch at the 130 plus year old Menard Correctional Center awaits him … In addition to the decommissioned Joliet Correctional Center; I have also done some work at Pontiac and I can assure you it is not a pleasant place by any stretch of the imagination …

I was spending an extensive amount of time photo documenting the Queen of Heaven Cemetery/Mausoleum (Marian Apparition site) in Hillside Illinois back in late 2007 when they exhumed the body of Kathleen Savio … I didn’t witness the actual task but distinctly remember how unsettling it was to see the TV vans set up across from the cemetery gates with cameras and lights focused on the darkness beyond and the reporters and crew nowhere in sight... the images of that sodden white coffin getting hoisted out of the ground on the news over the next few days evoked a visceral reaction from the public collective that reminded us all that a cool, calculating, cerebral killer can live amongst us largely detected …

Stacy has yet to be found but the once smiling, vibrant Kathleen has somberly returned to her dirt smeared box in the cold earth …”I told you the bastard was going to kill me!” ….

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Thinking that I was alone, I didn’t bother to open the lights in our 2nd floor of the house. I rested my back and put up my ear phones for some music to make me calm down. All the music that I have in my ipod was installed and picked by me so I knew all the music that was on my list. I closed my eyes and sung the lyrics of my music inside my head. After a couple of minutes, I felt odd about my surroundings so I opened my eyes and paused my ipod and look around only to see that the lights from our 2nd floor were already opened.

I assumed that probably it was my sister so I ignored it and closed my eyes. I played my ipod again and wait for the next music to play. When I heard that the music started to play, I automatically think of the lyrics but then I told myself that it was strange. I am not familiar with the music that was already playing! While listening to it I tried to recall if I added some music but I’m absolutely sure that I have not yet updated my ipod. As I listened again, suddenly I hear sounds as if it was whispering, then a humming sound of a lullaby.

Goosebumps were all over me, I immediately took off the ipod and looked at the screen to check the title but to my surprise it was turned off due to low battery. I hurriedly called my sister upstairs to tell her what happened but found no one. It seems that im still alone in our house. Then it struck me that probably our clever housemate took a silly game on me again.

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The Carter Harrison (Sr.) administration saw it’s share of turmoil during his stint as Chicago mayor...The nation’s first prolific serial killer; H.H. Holmes prowled the periphery of the 1893 Columbian Exposition (White City) to prey upon tourists, urban transplants and transients...ironically Mayor Harrison would be murdered by a political anarchist in the foyer of his Ashland Avenue mansion mere days before he was to address the festival crowd during the closing ceremony of the fair and a few months after the three remaining Haymarket anarchists/activists were officially granted a gubernatorial pardon...

The Columbian Exposition Fair that was a gargantuan undertaking of a project, fraught with engineering flaws, architectural adversity, political stalemates, labor deputes and uncompromising deadlines that many doubted could be met concurrent with the scheduled grand opening ...Sadly while the unmatched success of the fair was collectively viewed by many as a symbolic epoch in the industrial evolution and a cultural renaissance unilaterally, the social unrest, political upheaval and labor relations tumult that so divided the city and ended his first term a mere 7 years earlier revisited the mayor one last time by way of a lone gunman on Oct 28th 1893 abruptly ending his second term and life at the age of 68... His son; Harrison Carter Jr., would be later elected 1911 for a single four year run...

The old adage about “history repeating itself” while cliche to some, is often a poignant reminder of how current events can so closely parallel those of over a century ago... 2011 saw the “Occupy America” movement and with it the rhetoric that often included references to anarchy, socialist ideology, civil disobedience, economic reform, political unrest and allegations of police brutality. While the Haymarket Riot/Affair/Massacre incident ultimately changed the popular perception of protest organizers to many, a case of simple mis-communication and poor editorial judgement by organizers became the focal point of prosecutorial evidence intended to vilify the labor organizers following the Haymarket disaster  ....a single word (revenge!) that was later cited as incendiary was inadvertently printed in bold at the top of number of flyers circulated to announce the organized protest/meeting at Haymarket Square ...it was later alleged that this may have inspired the premeditated assembly of pipe bombs and generally served as the catalyst to the violence that transpired on that infamous day in Chicago history and union solidarity...

Mayor Carter Harrison attended the planned “Haymarket Meeting” on Tuesday May 4, 1886 with the implied intention of quelling any resurgent violence in the wake of the McCormick's Reaper Works factory incident...a volatile clash between striking workers and replacement “scabs”at the company that would later be renamed “International Harvester” erupted in violence with police intervening leaving one worker dead and several injured...Mayor Harrison hoped his presence would help to mitigate the growing animosity between organized labor and the police in the wake of the previous day’s debacle and perhaps even help to usage the growing polarization between organized labor and what they collectively viewed as tyrannical, autocratic local business leaders insensitive to the plight of the common working man and blinded by thier own elitism ans overt  avarice...Outspoken  Businessmen and entrepreneurs such as Cyrus McCormick and Marshall Field, both staunchly sacrosanct industrialists, were diametrically opposed to what they perceived as these labor activists being little more than mob mentality trouble makers and subversives. The pragmatic and at times hubristic Mayor Harrison steadfastly believed his innate predilection for mediation and arbitration may be able to minimize tensions on both sides of the table and in the instance of Haymarket, he overestimated the calming effect his mere presence would have at this potentially volatile meeting  ...A standardized 8 hour workday would not finally be adopted nationally until 1939 but the 10-12 hour mandatory workdays in hot factories and absence of healthcare benefits was primarily at the root of the worker objections and the basis for the strike at the Reaper Works plant ...

If a single imprudently printed word “REVENGE!” boldly effacing the 25,000 flyers that were distributed  heralding the Haymarket Meeting was to blame for the chaos that ensued that fateful May evening is still the subject of speculation and protracted debate...The labor activist/anarchist; August Spies who drafted the flyer, 2 publishers of the IWPA newsprint (International Working People's Association) and five others would find themselves co defendants in one of the most celebrated civil disobedience court cases of the late 19th century ...The May 5th assembly on Des Plaines Ave. drew a crowd of close to 1500-2000 attendees despite the inclement cold and rainy weather ...original estimates projected possible crowd in excess of 20,000 strong and few seem to be able to agree on how the meeting may have played out had the weather been more hospitable...

The crowd was relatively sedate during the scheduled speeches but tempers flared when the a phalanx of police began to mobilize and disperse the crowd and in defiance of Mayor Harrison’s directives issued to the police chief in the interest of defusing another potentially volatile situation, the police were reportedly more aggressive and surly than necessary ...witnesses describe a wide arching trajectory object with a telltale smoke trail flying in the direction of the police where the improvisational pipe-bomb explosive detonated with a “crack” sending a diameter of shredding shrapnel into in to the advancing police unit...while it is unclear if any of the 7 police casualties were the direct result of the bomb, the stunned police unit immediately opened fire in the general direction of the crowd which in the end resulted in the death of seven police officers, four attendees/civilians and the injury of 60 or more others...most if not all of the 7 police fatalities are theorized to be resultant of confused, misdirected shooting from other police officers firing indiscriminately into the crowd...

A period of over-reactionary panic ensued and hundreds were said to be arrested, detained, beaten, interrogated and coerced into confessions...at first there was an element of public outrage against the “anarchists” in the weeks following the Haymarket incident as the police officials and newspapers labeled the labor activists as seditious union agitators, subversives and even revolutionary terrorists intent on destabilizing the entire capitalist infrastructure ... In all, 8 were eventually charged with conspiring to commit murder and inciting a riot based on what is today unilaterally agreed to be completely fabricated evidence...7 were convicted, 4 were hanged, one committed suicide in Cook County Jail’s Death-Row and 3 were eventually pardoned by Governor Altgeld in an act of clemency that irreparably damaged his political career and questionably labeled him as “anarchist friendly”... 

The trial itself was a celebrated media circus and public attitudes started to swing in the favor of the defendants even elevating them to rock-star popularity and some, ultimately martyrdom in the eyes of the working class  ...One of the four that was hung; August Spies (the evening’s first speaker at Haymarket) even cultivated a romantic courtship with an admirer with whom he corresponded and married in prison before his execution in 1887...Another of the Haymarket Meetings’ scheduled speakers; Albert Parsons a member of the labor/socialist party and one of the two publishers on trial responsible for the infamous incendiary “revenge!” flyer turned himself in by walking into the courtroom after returning from Wisconsin where pre-extradition laws insulated him from a prosecution many felt was unjust...Parsons waived petitioning and appealing to the rubric of then Governor Oglesby to request commuting his sentence despite the pleas of many for him to do so and instead insisted on sharing the fate of his colleagues...He is still commemorated today by many for his noble act of self sacrifice in what he viewed as in the best interest of the common working man for which he fought so tirelessly...Albeit a Socialist ideologue Parsons earned his name on “The Haymarket Martyrs' Monument” in near west suburban Forest Park in the historic and scenic Forest Home Cemetery...His name is etched in the rear of the edifice along with August Spies,  Adolf Fischer (Haymarket organizer), George Engel (labor leader who also refused to plea for a commuted sentence) and Louis Lingg (radical activist connected to the bomb making, but did not attend the Haymarket meeting)  ...

The Haymarket Martyrs’ Monument was the first stop on this dual location excursion ...So many times in the past I would be sitting on the traffic choked Eisenhower Expressway, (the “Ike&rdquo one of the main arteries into the city, gazing absent-mindedly into the gothic old cemetery grounds that is literally bordered by the shoulder of the highway and a chainlink fence...The front gate is unremarkable but actually has a monument showroom attached to the front office left of the entrance of in the manicured expanse of the cemetery ground beyond there looked to be an even seeming balance of both modest markers and elaborately confected memorials...the unmistakable trumpeting of horns immediately caught my attention and rolling down my window to pinpoint the source, I noticed a crowd congregating in the southwest corner and giving care not to disrupt the proceedings it didn’t take long to determine this was a Mexican funeral in progress ...the 4-5 uniformed Mariachi band members stood off to the rear of the assembled semicircle of mourners and the festive, upbeat tempo of the music seemed to be anything but mournful... in retrospection I was intrigued by the celebratory atmosphere of the interment proceedings, most cultures and popular religions seem to view death as transitory, or spiritually gradient in some capacity (depending on the individual) so why not treat death as a graduation ceremony as opposed to a ritual of termination and life cessation? ...

The Haymarket Martyrs’ Monument itself almost has a menacing aesthetic from a distance with it’s shrouded entity with an incapacitated man at her feet...The reaper-esque looking figure was crafted to represent the female incarnation of “Justice” and the fallen figure a worker ...the front base of the monument displays the final words shouted by August Spies before they dropped the trapdoor   The day will come when our silence will be more powerful than the voices you are throttling today”...an impromptu syllogism that in many ways came to fruition ...Assorted union and “on strike” buttons are placed at the base on both sides...the monument was assigned the distinction of a national historic marker in 1997...

The Forest Home cemetery property was purchased from the Pottawatomie Native Americans near the end of the Black Hawk War and is rich with history and legend ...accounts of Native Americans returning to the site to visit burial mounds uncovered by archeologists at the site around the turn of century are unconfirmed but nonetheless intriguing...A jail even stood on property prior to expansion endeavors and a narrow wooden bridge over the Des Plaines River connects the original cemetery from the later acquired annex ...the statues and markers close to the expressway on the north side all seem to have a tarnished discoloration likely the result of years of soot and pollution rolling off the “Ike”...the row of crypts embedded in a grass topped mound towards the center of the main grounds are all either boarded up or devoid of windows at this point and but the 19th century designs and encircling red-brick road segregating them from the rest of the cemetery are surprisingly well preserved ...Forest Home Cemetery is beguiling in its’ stunning beauty and historic significance but it also rife with ominous energies and fleeting phantasms...geographically this area is kind of a threshold between the sedate, predominately safe, bedroom community suburbs and the often mercurial demographic of the near west border towns...census data confirms that there are in fact, more dead people residing in Forest Park Illinois than living ...

As planned, I have been plotting more articles featuring sites from downtown Chicago (stay tuned for another couple of haunted hotels and other locations in “The Loop&rdquo...years of working downtown in the past has created a subconscious aversion to making the relatively short trip especially with the implementation of new parking meter rates and surreptitiously placed “red light cameras”...the early afternoon, light weekend traffic made for a pleasant ride save for the sports radio commentary chronicling yet another Bears loss...the Haymarket area is right off the I-90 so I deprived myself of the scenic Lake Shore Drive skyline in favor of convenient accessibility...the low hanging, overcast cloud cover obscured the taller of skyscrapers leaving a little under half of Sears Tower visible nearby...

I felt a sense of nostalgia for these cold Chicago morning/afternoons when as a season ticket holder, many a fall and early winter Sundays were spent at Soldier Field...I quickly shook myself from the reminiscent fugue when I saw my exit rapidly rolling up on the right...city driving is can be tricky but it’s an art once mastered seldom goes extinct by way of disuse and I quickly found myself joyfully tearing around the city blocks with reckless abandon like a seasoned cabbie once again ...the site of the riot is almost unrecognizable today but turning the corner under the elevated railway tracks of Lake Street, you can still see some of the original buildings amid those newer and renovated ...the Haymarket memorial came into focus and I stopped for a few photos then promptly retreating to my ride before a notorious “parking enforcement official” left an early Christmas card under my windshield wiper...the 2-3 lone pedestrians/joggers/dog-walkers and the limited intermittent pack of cars that rolled by while I was standing near the memorial made it hard to imagine such a large assembly on this spot and the chaos that ensued ...Local artist Mary Brogger crafted the bronze impressionistic artwork which depicts a number of featureless effigies supporting a platform on which 3-4 other figures are performing various activities related to labor, activism, enterprise, civil service and the periodic turmoil in between ..the memorial was commissioned by the City of Chicago, The Illinois Federation of Labor History, Chicago FOP and the Chicago Dept. of Transportation in 2004...it sits on the precise spot where the wagon was parked that served as a platform for the Haymarket speakers to address the crowd...

I considered stopping by the Jane Addams Hull House which was close by but elected to save that for another time when I could devote my entire focus on the location it so rightfully deserves..I heard the distinct click-clack of horse shoes on pavement as I settled into my vehicle but it abruptly stopped when I stepped back out to look for a novelty carriage or mounted police officer that would be generally be  unusual to see this far west and spotting neither...I also dismissed loud “bang” I heard as a car backfiring ....

 Here's the related YouTube video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cQ-gejsrH1g

Here are the (compressed to 1MB) photos...some have been slightly sharpened or color enhanced (12-2011) 94 total....b 

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A few months after we moved in my mom took me down the street to a lady who lived a few down from us. We were all talking and she said something about her garden. I said "Oh your the lady with the yellow roses those are Bee's favorite. She said you don't bring her them any more." The women was more than shocked. My mom was confused. The women asked how I knew Bee's name. I explaned to her how she was my friend and how she loved the roses she use to get. The women asked me something I didn't even know I knew.

"Patty... How did she die?"

"From a blood cloght in her head." My mom and the womens face went white. I'm 8. I don't know what a blood clought is....

I can't tell you how I knew.

A few days latter my brother saw Bee. In the form of a white light going from the kitchen to the bed room in the back. I'd never seen my brother so scared. But I took his hand and lead him in side and told him that Bee would never scare him to be mean. My whole family to this day still take about my best friend Bee....

The I&M canal system and companion waterway; The Des Plaines River have a rich history that dates back to the days of it serving as a Native American transportation route and the early French explorers of the late 1700's... the canal project that pitted the neighboring communities of Lemont and Lockport  against other in labor deputes over work entitlement that escalated to violent civil unrest and subsequent deaths in an attempt to quell the vocal protesters expressing their dissatisfaction with the management with work assignments and occupational safety concerns that resulted in several deaths...The bodies of several of serial killer John Wayne Gacy’s victims were also found floating in this river ... 

The interwoven network of junkyards that flank the canal are a checker board of chainlink borders that seem to be more symbolic territorial markers than an instrument of private property enforcement...a growl of acknowledgment from the imposing Doberman sentinel at the gate I entered would more than likely provide adequate night security services and be satiated by a salary that consisted of dry dog food and a pat of approval from the owners...

The legend of the little girl that roams the rusted relics of the auto cemeteries here is not as well known as some of the others from my zone but by looks of  the vehicular husks I observed; the moment of impact is preserved indelibly in the wreckage that has yet to be claimed by the compacter that looks to have broken in mid crunch (pictured below)... the trauma of an auto collisions is tangible not only by the resultant metallic carnage, but is also insinuated by the probable life altering pain suffered by the original owner thus serving as psychical imprint for many such lifetime epochs...a glimpse inside some of the vehicles that still were littered with the personal affects and tell tale driver seat stains confirmed this notion...

The abandoned trailers that I discovered along the train tracks exhibited evidence of recent drug use and the Railroad bridge nearby that was the site of a suicide attempt decades earlier seemed surprisingly mercurial by way of transforming my morose mind set to one of serenity when I scrabbled over the brush and up the shaky gravel embankment to view the canal and solitary barge being nudged along by a tenacious tug boat ...A long time neighboring competitor to this junkyard has been closed for a while now and the area has been completely eradicated of it’s years of cumulative automotive and equipment retirement...all that remains is the office and attached residence that was unlocked, dark ,dangerous and absolutely irresistible to me....a couple of surreptitious holes cut in the chainlink maze provided me with a tempting view of these oppressive looking buildings that was the only indication that this was formerly an auto graveyard and residence for a family from the looks of the discarded toys and mixed adult/children’s clothing that was oddly what looked to be the sole remaining debris from what must have been a massive clean up undertaking from what I remember of this location... one may surmise that there are EPA regulations associated with a cleanup of this magnitude and one that is adjacent to a waterway that may have been exempt from such regulatory enforcement by way of grand fathered clemency but whatever future use for this prime canal side real estate that sits along a main Illinois Highway most likely had to meet current standards before whatever facility this property will ultimately harbor is constructed  ...

The mood inside the office was one of defeat and resignation as opposed to hubris and optimism...the choice I made to ascend the rickety and broken stairs to explore the ominous second story spaces I observed from the outside seemed even less astute considering I had to set off the camera flash several times on the way up just to ensure I wasn’t about to step on a hole in the stairs and crash to the ground where I would likely never be discovered until my advanced  state of decomposition would make positive identification only possible by way of my driver’s licence ...the rooms that awaited me beyond the darkened staircase contained a less than ambivalent presence prompting me to abbreviate this segment of my bad decision voyage and carry on to the rotted floor and debris strewn residential portion of the building next to the office ...the hatched door in the floor along with the gaping holes in the rotted floor boards revealed a dank and stagnant water filled basement or crawlspace below that made a spine spraining fall through the broken stairs next door much more preferable than falling through the floor to the indoor pool below where assuredly there would be countless corpses that would undoubtably surface and sneer at me with their rictus grins before dragging me below the water line with me flailing helplessly within their skeletal grip ...

Exaggerated you say?...perhaps, but when you  feel obligated to write an interesting and entertaining narrative every time, the cliched assertion that your sensitivities to spiritual energies hinted at a presence, mundane by comparison ...

There are as depicted in the photos a main electrical grid that provides and distributes power from the Will County station and perhaps even the Chicago Pulaski Street fossil fuel plant and both facilities utilize the canal as it’s coal delivery system ...There is a duality associated with EMF influence that is confounded by the belief held by many that exposure to high EMF fields can creates a false experience in some by way of distorting perceptions and altering neurological functioning to such a degree that delusional thinking, hallucinations or even psychotic episodes are often conjectured as an plausible explanation for some of these reports ...perhaps this delusional state of thinking is also what attracts certain aspects of supernatural activity; either way some non linear, out of the box thinking is required and one can only wonder how a hand held meter would behave within the immediate proximity of the power lines ...Of course one also has to wonder how EMF influence would imprecate uniform “delusional” experiences from a multitude of diversified  witnesses, but that is for another thread ... 

Here are the unedited (compressed) photos from my recent visit to the canal street junkyards 11-09
(144  total).....b
http://s843.photobucket.com/albums/zz355/BarekRawks/Canal%20Junk%20Yard/?start=0
  


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By Barek Halfhand

The summer of 2012 has thus far been the hottest in the Midwest in recorded history and lowest levels rainfall precipitation measured since the mid 30’s, the likes of which were so bad that it prolonged and exacerbated and already deeply depressed economy…the relentless heat and lack of moisture has decimated crops and vegetation in such a large geographic region that the lack of food production is expected to drastically raise prices in the later months of 2012 and well into 2013. Traveling north to Minnesota, the stifling heat transformed what would normally have been a lush and florid ride this time of year, into a bleak and blighted landscape …the yellowing and stunted cornstalks along the brown grass lined highway stood in silent testament to the Sun’s latest scorched earth policy and this frightening sight extended far into northwest Wisconsin and into further into Minnesota… a little more than a week later;  a westward journey through western Illinois, mid-Iowa, Nebraska and ultimately KC MO would prove by personal witness that this agricultural emergency was not limited to the upper Midwest/Great Lakes region ….

The St Paul Hotel and The Orpheus Theater have both weathered the drought and Great Depression of the 30’s and both appear to stand stoically indifferent to the most recent of extreme temperatures and economic tribulations…the first stop; St Paul provided little in the way of relief from hot, arid heat but somehow just being so far north seemed to lessen the severity by suggestion alone …The hotel is located just a short stroll from an elevated boulevard overlooking the Mississippi River and nestled in the center of downtown St Paul where newer, taller buildings now overshadow it but fail to diminish it’s intrigue…

The property where the St. Paul hotel now stands is rife with history itself … from 1871– 1878 stood “The German House” until it was claimed by a fire, from 1871 an new luxury hotel named “The Winsor” occupied the property until time, community growth, ownership changes and inevitable obsolescence paved the way for one of The Winsor’s new proprietors: Lucius P. Ordway to embark upon the most daring, opulent and luxurious hotels to sit on that plot of land and in the City Of St. Paul yet …

Inspired by his own ambitious visions, construction began in 1908 and opened with much fanfare in 1910 …with the intention of mimicking the finer hotels of New York and Chicago, The St. Paul certainly lived up to the challenge … with the décor and European interior designs and the cut stone trim, terra-cotta ornamentation and massive cornice of the exterior it certainly lived up to that expectation …the hotel hosted a variety of notable guests in its illustrious past including:

-1927: A dinner in Charles Lindberg’s honor after he completed his historic trans-Atlantic flight and returning home to St Paul.

-1920’s through the 1930’s: St Paul’s top gangster; Leon Gleckman sets up his headquarters in a suite much the way Al Capone did at The Congress in Chicago.

-1937: A young Lawrence Welk begins leading the house band on Saturday nights.

1947: Gene Autry (and horse) stays for eight days while featured at the “World Championship Rodeo” in town that year.

1960: John F. Kennedy visits the hotel preparing for the elections.

The merciless midday temperatures created a heat-wave distortion radiating off of the pavement as I fought my way to downtown St. Paul amid endless construction barricades and the resultant traffic jams … I picked a side street that looked to provide a reprieve from the gridlocked expressway and grant me access to the inner city and the ultimately the old hotel …My gamble paid off and I found a parking spot along the river where the elevated street created a parallax view of the opposite river banks…a short walk down a city street brought the unmistakable stone blocks and planter box bottomed windows into view …the pictures linked to the Photobucket album ( below) will provide a good impression of the inside as I feel that in this particular instance words wouldn’t do it justice despite my at times excessive verbosity but needless to say I was awe struck by its grandiose yet  subtle and tasteful décor ..

The rumor is that the specter of young girl likes to loiter in the lobby and is known to be spotted peeking out from behind the furnishings from time to time… while I didn’t spot this elusive phantasm (or even get the notion of one) something interesting did show up in one of the photos (see photo enhancements below) but I make no claims …The midland plains of Iowa were also in dire straits with little hope of crop revival as of late July/early August… crossing the border into Nebraska I witnessed more of the same.

 Omaha is an old city steeped in history and legend …being a lifelong Chicagoan I sometimes have to chuckle at the comparative sizes of these cities but they each have their own distinct energy signature and feel…the predominately red bricked cobblestone streets are oddly un-annoying thumping beneath the tires but I doubt the inhabitants of this town ever become completely desensitized to them once the nostalgia wears off …The Orpheum Theater has undergone a few transformations over the years and despite the internecine squabbling in the past within the theater/music community concerning its viability and it’s need for renovation, the old landmark stands proudly downtown with placards posted in its storefront windows advertising upcoming engagements ranging from opera, symphony, Shrek the Musical, Jackson Browne and Jane’s Addiction …getting inside for photos was simply a matter of walking up and asking ...Once inside I was flabbergasted by the beauty I beheld, I was especially appreciative of the huge auditorium; “Slossburg Hall with its massive stage, opulent arched ceiling and inset box seats; the likes of which would have been a favorite of John Wilkes Boothe … from its humble beginning in 1892 as a vaudevillian house, this building has seen much in the way of change both socially and structurally…

The alleged sightings here seem to revolve around the appearance of a 40s era musician that sort of sulks around the side of the stage…the theater management is supposedly tight-lipped about this so I didn’t inquire after I was granted extemporal access for the expressed purpose of photos but the hapless minstrel flashed into corporeal existence as soon as I entered the hall… As I made way down the center isle (pausing intermittently for photos) I noticed the man was clasping a violin to his chest and staring at the empty stage with an unmistakably sour expression…moving his direction in a side stepping fashion while taking my snapshots along the length of the parquet, he neither changed expression or seemed to notice my cautious approach …as I sort of sidled up next to him, with all the magnanimity I could muster, I inquired: “Why so gloomy Maestro?”…after a few eternal seconds he responded without turning my direction and with very little in the way of inflection: “I was demoted to second seat violinist, I don’t deserve to be a second seater” …Not being much of a classical music aficionado I simply assumed this was sort of a less coveted or an understudy designation in the orchestra pit …the dour duffer continued: “relegated to the ranks of a back row fiddler “…

“Did your replacement deserve his promotion and can you honestly assert that the choice to reassign you was unwarranted?” I chided in an effort to evoke a more interrogative dialog ….unfortunately his laconically brief response proved the efficacy of my tactic to be lacking…“I don’t deserve this” …and as I gestured towards the stage to remind him that as a (novice) musician myself; I would feel privileged to perform on such an immaculate stage in ANY capacity, I noticed him vanish from my periphery and he could not be located anywhere on the main floor now…Shrugging in my disappointment that he wasn’t amenable to a conversation and heading back up the center isle (hoping nobody observed me talking to myself down by the stage) I heard a loud crack and muffled grunt overhead …knowing what had occurred, I elected not to look upward as I ducked under his dangling, twitching legs below the balcony railing …

Here are the (compressed to 1MB) photos...some have been slightly sharpened or color enhanced (08-2012)....b 

Orpheum Theater, & downtown Omaha NE:

http://s790.photobucket.com/albums/yy188/TheNotoriousMrhalfhand/Omaha%20NE/

The Paul Hotel/downtown St Paul MN/St Katherine College/ and an old Lutheran cemetery:

http://s790.photobucket.com/albums/yy188/TheNotoriousMrhalfhand/Omaha%20NE/St%20Paul%20MN/

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