Beisbol Pt. X: Saarinen's masterpiece

To me, the most beautiful of structures: Gateway Arch.
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Thursday, August 13: Though the theme of this vacation was baseball, we began and ended it, interestingly enough, celebrating two of America's greatest journeys of discovery. We started a week before at a museum dedicated to the exploration of space and now closed it out in St. Louis, where the Parks Service honored explorer Lewis & Clarks's two-year "Corps of Discovery" documenting the territory America acquired from France in 1803's Louisiana Purchase.

Since its completion in 1965, the centerpiece of the "Jefferson National Expansion Monument" has been the Gateway Arch, a graceful monument of stainless steel towering 630 feet above the Mississippi River and downtown St. Louis. The arch immediately became the symbol of St. Louis; the development of the monument along the waterfront led to revitalization of the near downtown as well.

I'd been intrigued about the arch since I was but a wee kid, when my dad returned from a business convention with a small plastic model of the arch for me. It was mind-boggling to me that it was taller than a 60-story building, let alone that it could stand without falling over. And just how did people ride elevators up its curving legs?

To me, the Arch is one of man's most beautiful structures. Exceedingly simple in concept, it was a bitch to construct. Finnish Architect Eero Saarinen, known for his flowing mid-century commissions such as the terminal at D.C.'s Dulles International Airport and TWA's flight center at Kennedy Airport in New York, won the competition for the centerpiece monument for the new park in 1957; it wasn't completed until 1963. Saarinen never lived to see the finished product, having died in 1961.

Several aircraft have flown through the arch; one person, supposedly, has climbed it using suction cups. One unfortunate bastard parachuted onto the top of it in 1980; his plan was to remove his first parachute and then BASE jump using a second chute, but a gust of wind knocked him over after landing up top, and he slid down the side of the arch, splatting on the ground below.
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The Arch, from the entry way to the Millenium hotel.
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The Arch was a short 10 minute walk from our hotel. It gleamed in the morning sunlight, casting a long shadow across the parkway. We'd been cautioned to make early reservations for the elevator ride to the top; we arrived well before our 9:30 time to a nearly-empty entry visitor's center, located underground between the arch's two legs. The center hosts two gift shops (still selling the same plastic model of the arch my father brought me 40 years earlier); a movie theater, and a museum offering interpretative and animatronic displays about the settling of the west. A separate exhibition on the history of baseball in St. Louis was also underway--imagine that! St. Louis was the western frontier of Major League baseball until the mid-1950s, and over the years had hosted a half-dozen professional teams. The baseball exhibit was quite informative; I couldn't say the same with the display of artifacts with little written elaboration about western expansion.
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Bug's eye view of the welded-edge of the arch. . .
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The Boys outside the arch. . .
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We needn't have worried about the "big lines." There wasn't one, not at 9:30. We headed into the queue for the elevator, and soon climbed into the cramped, tiny egg-shaped "pods." They had five seats, but would be hard-pressed to hold five adults. The white paint and indirect lighting gave a distinctly space-age-yet-retro feeling: it felt like something out of the transport pods from the movie 2001. The doors closed and we clanked and jerked our way to the top in the four-minute trip, the elevators using the same principle of a Ferris wheel with a gimbled car to keep us properly oriented.
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Inside the elevator pod. . .
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Amazingly similar: the transport pod from 2001. . .
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thankfully, the Hal 9000 didn't control our elevator. . .

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The observation are is narrow, as you'd expect, maybe 8 feet wide. You can look out through narrow "gunslot" windows on a spectacular view of St. Louis, down below and to the west, and the river and whatever remains of bombed-out East St. Louis to the east. After about 15 minutes, you've seen what you need to see and you're ready to leave. When we exited the elevator, around 10:15, the lines had grown all the way out the front door of the visitor's center.
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The boys check out the view from above. . .

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View of the old Courthouse from the Arch. . .

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Old wool uniforms on display at the Jefferson Expansion visitor's center. Probably uncomfortable as hell in the summer!
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Boys checking out actual seats from old Sportsman's Park, home of the Cardinals until 1965. . .

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We hit the road for the six-hour trip to Tulsa, stopping only for fuel and Steak & Shake. The kids were kept occupied by DVD's and their Nintendo DS consoles--the perfect narcotic for a long car trip. I detoured off the freeway near Joplin, taking the back roads through the ghost town of Picher, Oklahoma. A few miles away was Commerce, hometown of Mickey Mantle. The high school's ballpark is named for the Mick, and a sign on the outskirts of town promises a future Mickey Mantle Museum. Mantle died in 1995; the sign looks at least that old, and with each passing year, I'd guess the chances of the building ever becoming a reality fades a bit more.

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I. in the backseat, absorbed in "The Magnificent Starfy". . .
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and E. playing baseball on the DS. . .

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Commerce, Oklahoma: hometown of Mickey Mantle. .

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We overnighted in Tulsa, and the next monring, as we approached the Red River, we started pulling in Dallas radio stations; the number of clueless drivers started increasing expotentially as well, so we knew it wouldn't be long until we were back in Texas. I know we call it "home," but it sure doesn't feel that way, even after 15 years.

Beisbol Pt. IX: THE Baseball City--St. Louis

Magical: St. Louis sunset from the upper deck at Busch. . .

Wednesday, August 12: By Texas standards, St. Louis is just a short skip down the interstate from Chicago, so we clicked off the 300-some miles after a morning departure with more than enough time to check into our hotel room at the Millennuim in downtown St. Louis. We stayed in the older wing of the place, and paid but $79 a night to stay just a block away from new (2005) Busch stadium. We had an hour or so before heading out to a game against the Cincinatti Reds.
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Here's where we stayed; there's Busch stadium. Gateway arch is a 10 minute walk away.

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I'd been a Cards fan since i was a little kid, some of my earliest baseball memories being the 1967 and '68 World Series where the Cards took on the Red Sox (and beat em) and Detroit Tigers (and lost). The Cards won 101 games in 1967, and had an all-star team with Orlando Cepeda, Lou Brock, Tim McCarver, and bad-ass pitcher Bob Gibson (who had an filthy ERA of 1.12 in 1968).
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That's all nostalgia, of course--something the new Busch delivers to you, beats you over the head with, and never lets you forget. Did you know that the Cards have won 10 world series titles--second only to the Yankees (who are a bit out in front with 26)? You will after visiting Busch, right after you walk amid the statuary at the main entrance of Cardinal great, done up in 3/4 scale (or, referencing the dimunitive St. Louis broadcaster, "Bob Costas size"). The greatest Cardinal, Stan "The Man" Musial gets his own larger-than-life statue. The sidewalk around the stadium is inlaid with paver stones etched with great moments in Cardinal history; broadcaster Jack Buck is honored with his own statue and a hidden speaker playing some of his trademark radio calls. Old Busch (1966-2004) is remembered with the old foul line and outfield wall locations marked on the sidewalk along the new park's north side. The majority of Old Busch's location is today a parking lot and sandlot baseball field.
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Approaching Busch from the east. That's the Tums factory on the right. . .

One of the greatest fans among the greatest fans in Baseball. Albert Puljos' mother autographed his hat. . .
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E. amid the statues of Cardinal greats. . .

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It'd be tough to top new Busch as an ideal place to watch a ballgame. It's distinctly nostalgic in its exterior design, but completely up-to-date inside. It's got plenty of places to wander before the game and hang out (a band was playing in the outfield plaza--I was amazed to hear them cover a Toadies song), and one of the largest Pro Shops you could imagine (yep, I plopped down the case for a $40 retro 1966 All-Star game t-shirt).

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The place is a ticket marketer's dream: there are literally dozens of amenities and sections and price points for tickets, so much so that checking out their seating and ticketing diagram on the team website can induce a headache. I waited until two days before the game to get tickets. By then, the Cardinals had sold out--sold out a mid-week game against one of the worst teams in the National League!-- and I had to resort to the ticket-scalping bastards at Stub Hub for our seats, but I ended up paying around 60% of face value for our upper-deck seats right behind home plate.
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Flying Cardinals inside the warehouse-sized Pro Shop. . .
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Though high up, we had a great view of the field, and a spectacular view of downtown St. Louis, the old courthouse, and the Gateway arch glowing in the early evening light. It was magical. I just sat back while Mary took I. and E. to grab food and drink and just took it all in. It really is the nicest place I've ever seen a ballgame at, even with the belligerant asshole who sat in front of me. This guy was the spitting image of the John Goodman character Walter Schobak from The Big Lebowski. He didn't seem to be having much of a good time. He didn't cheer or clap. Just sat there with his date. Apparently E.'s inadvertant tapping of his seat proved to be too much, for at one point he turned to me and said "Look, Buddy, I'd really appreciate it if you'd stock kicking my seat with your foot. You've done it fifteen times!" That put a damper on the festivities for a bit, as I began to spend more time policing E.'s foot movement than I did watching the game. Eventually, Asshole Fan decided to leave around the 6th inning, much to my relief.

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St. Louis prides itself on having "the greatest fans in baseball," but I knocked them down a couple notches when "The Wave" reared its unwelcome head in the middle of the game. I've long been annoyed by The Wave popping up at Rangers games, but then again, Rangers fans are not always known for their deep appreciation of the game. The Wave should be confined to football games, in my way of thinking (my credentials: I'm from Seattle, where it originated. 'Nuff said).
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Panoramic montage: click photo for larger view. . .

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The Cardinals won the game before it really began. The first three batters--Schumaker, Ryan and the Amazing Puljos--reached base off Reds' starter Homer Bailey. Puljos' hit caromed off Bailey's foot, knocking him out of the game, but not before he made a wild throw to first, allowing two to score and Puljos to reach third. Puljos hit a solo homer in the third, and the Cardinals won, 5-2.

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Albert The Great sends another home run flying. . .
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We agreed that while this wasn't the best game of the four we saw (that would've been the 12-inning Cubs loss), it was the most impressive of the four ballparks we visited (ranked: St. Louis, Wrigley--strictly on nostalgia--Kansas City and The Cell). It was a short walk back to the hotel, past the giant Stan The Man statue, past saxophone-playing street huskers, and past the empty lot where old Busch Stadium once stood.
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Crowd streams out past Stan The Man, frozen in 12-foot repose. . .
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Saxman plays blusey "Take Me Out to the Ballgame". . .

Television Break

Quick, what color are her eyes? Christina Hendricks and some vintage undergarments play head secretary Joan Holloway on AMC's "Mad Men" every Sunday evening.

What's on TV?

I must say, I've not been watching as much tube as in years past. We're not paying for HBO or Showtime or Cinemax, so series like Hung and Weeds and Entourage aren't on the DVR. What have I been watching?

• MadMen, AMC: Back for the third season. The show's moved ahead to 1963, and the firm has been sold to the Brits, who don't know what to do with it. Dick is still scum. Peggy is asserting herself not only in the office, but in her personal life as well. And Joan. . .well, she's as Joan-o-licous as ever. Hoo-ya!
• Trailer Park Boys: From the Canadian Maritimes comes a "docudrama" about the dysfunctional members of a trailer park, with all the tatooed tramps, drunks, drug addicts and miscreants you'd expect. Exclusively on Channel 101 with DirecTV. I just stumbled onto the show with an episode where the boys attend a model railroad show, where Guns N'Roses guitarist Sebastian Bach was the featured guest. The boys ran off with the highly-prized "Patrick Swayze Express" model train which they later used to smuggle pot into the U.S. Okay--doesn't make much sense. But trust me, it was HI-larious.
• MLB network: All baseball, all the time. Classic games, documentaries, games of the week, clinics as well as prime-time updates and analysis of games in progress. It's turned me into a basebal junkie.

The Trailer Park Boys. That's Bubbles in the middle, the model railroader of the group. Gee, could ya guess?

Now Playing on DirecTV

Meanwhile, i've taken up the pursuit of reading the Porno Movie listings on the DirecTV program guide each day. It's. . .well, er, I'll just call it interesting. It takes real talent to distill the essence of a movie to just a dozen words or so, but I'm guessing these descriptions are pretty accurate. I'm not making these up. Today on DirecTV, for instance:

• Strap on Adventures :The tight bond between girlfriends is explored.
• 34DD: Big & Natural : Sexy tarts reveal giant, juicy and silicone-free boobs.
• Bouncing Wet Boobies 3: These mammoth mammaries give men a solid case of a boob-o-vision.
• Latinas Like It Hard! : Succulent Latinas want you to stuff their spicy tacos with meat.
• Black Booty Pounding 2: Women with great rears shake them for a guys enjoyment.
• 6 Tight Latinas Banged Hard : Chicks with plump, round butts and pole-smoking lips want hard-core sex.
• Dirty First Timers 3: These first-timers are nervous and a big stud can be intimidating.
• Make Her Scream 4: Woman who are louder than the headboard hitting the wall.
• All Massive Asses 4: Six horny sluts bounce their huge butts on some lucky meat.
• Big Breasted Teens 12: Teen queens have huge racks that men dream of.
• 40 n Over MILFs: Loose and wild cougars reach their sexual peak.
• Big Game Profiles--Utah Elk :The results from a great bow tag in a hot unit known for big bulls.
• Western Kentucky Whitetails: Senior editor Karen Mehall is in a ground blind, hunting whitetail.
• The Wild Outdoors--Gun Season: Tammi Gregory has several encounters with some really great bucks.
• Wild and Raw: Marcus Luttrell brings his buddies to New Orleans for some Mardi Gras and Nutria hunting, Cajun style.

Okay, so I lied. Those last four are descriptions from outdoors sports show. . .but somehow, they blend in pretty well with the more salacious films. There must be some truth to those that call such shows "hunter porn."


We're fatter at night. . .

No wonder I've gained weight working graveyard shift over the past 8 years--food eaten in the middle of the night will make you fatter, compared to if you'd eaten the same food during daylight hours. According to a new study, anyway. No wonder we're all packing on the pounds at work. This adds to findings in other studies that finds that night shift workers are more prone to diabetes and heart disease.

Beisbol Pt. VIII: Cubs Lose!

The Friendly Confines: Right at home with a straw hat and a cigar.
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August 11: Sorry to spoil how this evening would end, but a familar ending by now to the Cubby fan: on this evening at Waveland and Addison, the Cubs lost in predictable, nail-biting fashion to the World Champions, getting an early lead, giving the faithful so much hope before giving it up through poor pitching, only to come back to tie it late, and then losing in the twelveth inning when their beleagured closer gave up a solo home run.


We'd last been to Wrigley in 2003, before I. was born. It was a great afternoon. The Cubs beat the hated rival Cardinals late in the game, Sammy Sosa flexed his massive arms, sang "take Me Out" with Mike Ditka and saw a rip-roaring fight involving about a dozen men, women, and large Samoans right below us. The Cubbies hadn't won a World Series in 95 years, and our upper-level tickets were only $15.

Tickets aren't so cheap any more, and the Cubs have extended their World Series drought to 100 years now, but that same "Wait til Next Year" refrain is still heard each spring. Hey, you never know? But Wrigley is always a good experience, so I endured six hours of refreshing the computer screen every few minutes back in March to snag tickets to this Tuesday night game against the World Champion Phillies.

The 2009 season had started with so much promise, but by early August it was clear the prognosticators who'd sipped a bit of the Cub Kool-aide and prediced that this would be "the year" for the Cubs had once more bought into the hype. By early August, the Cubs were firmly in second place in the NL Central, dropping like a rock as the red-hot St. Louis Cardinals left them in the dust. Another year, just like the last 100.
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Best way to the game: The CTA Red Line breezes into Roosevelt Road. . .
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E. anxiously awaits a glimpse of Wrigley as we approach Addison Ave. . .
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Cubs-themed artwork inside the Addison station. . .
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We caught the CTA into the city, parking our car at Midway airport to catch the Orange Line--rather than taking Metra in from Naperville, I thought should the game go long the park-and-ride option would ensure us the best chance of getting back home before dawn. At Roosevelt Road, where we hopped onto an increasingly crowded Red Line train up to Addison Avenue. Our car was packed with blue jersery-wearing Cubs fans. When our train stopped, we spewed onto the platform, a sea of faithful jamming the stairways and the sidewalks heading to the ballpark like salmon returning to spawn. Cubs fandom is a genetic thing, I am convinced. The streets were packed with fans, with ticket scalpers selling seats infront of indifferent Chicago cops, with homeless men hoping to beg a little change from the pockets of the well-heeled crowd.
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No shortage of guys scalping tickets--they way it used to be before StubHub took over the racket. . .
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Photo montage of Wrigley at Dusk. Click on photo to enlarge. . .
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We arrived too late to snag our free Ryne Sandberg bobblehead dolls, but early enough to use the famed Wrigley restrooms before they became a stinking, soaking, fetid swamp. Our seats weren't great--lower level, but we were way up under the upper balcony, which cut off our view of flyballs and nearly obscured the landmark manual scoreboard in center field. My view of homeplate was partially blocked by a support column. It was like watching side-by-side 60-inch flat screen TVs. The game had been a sellout, and there wasn't much room to maneuver.

Sellouts are a ritual at Wrigley, the second-oldest ballpark in the majors, built in 1913 for the Chicago Whales of the Federal League and originally named Wheegman Park. It became home for the Cubs in 1916; chewing-gum magnate and team owner Bill Wrigley renamed the stadium in 1926, adding a second deck to the seating the next year. Baseball promoter Bill Veek (yes, the same one who later owned the Browns and White Sox) planted ivy along the outfield walls in 1937. Baseball traditionalists love the place: It retains its huge hand-operated centerfield scoreboard, was the last field in the major leagues to recieve lights for evening play in 1988, and until recently resisted the onslaught of sponsorship and advertising on every concievable flat surface. There is no mascot, no exploding scoreboard, no jumbotron. There's no kids play area, no squadron of young cuties in hotpants launching t-shirts into the crowd, and no prerecorded "walk-up music" to herald the arrival of the next hitter when the home team is at bat--only organ music. It's cramped, it's crowded, it's inconvienent to get to and but a single concourse is provided for restrooms and food. But it's Wrigley, and this is how they like it--how baseball used to be.

Sitting at Wrigley, you almost feel like you should be wearing a straw hat and smoking a cigar. Here's a wonderful piece from 1980 by Sports Illustrated writer E. M. Swift.

Walking down the concourse, E. said to me, "I know there's no playground here for kids, but this is what a ballpark is supposed to be." I couldn't argue his point. Wrigley wouldn't be so bad, I decided, if it wasn't for all those insufferable Cubs fans! Are they this bad at Fenway? Probably so. Finally winning a World Series only made things worse.
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The crowded concourse. . .
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Heritage bricks outside the main entrance. Full of hope--This is the Year!--and hesitant optimism--Hopefully in your lifetime!
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Drunken womanizer Harry Carey is immortalized out front. No beer in his hand, however.
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Our view--one that hasn't changed since the late 1920s.
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The Cubs jumped off to a 2-0 lead in the bottom of the third on a double, a couple of walks, a single and a sacrifice fly. Cubs starter Rich Hardin was perfect into the top of the sixth inning. E. and I went to get drinks, and while standing in line for concessions, the fan in front of us exclaimed, "Hey, Hardin has been PERFECT so far!" That was the jinx. Next batter walked. Goodbye perfect game. Then Jimmy Rollins jacked one to tie the game. Goodbye shutout, and as it turned out, goodbye decision for Hardin, who lasted through the seventh.

Eight inning: always-shaky set-up man Carlos Marmol comes in. Word is, if he can get an out under his belt, he'll be fine. He starts walking batters, and he'll fall apart. Guess which one we saw? Walk. Fly out. Fly out. Hit batter. Walk. Walk, and the go-ahead run comes in. After eight, 3-2, Phillies.

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Fourth inning: Ryan Therioit reaches first base safely on a high throw to Phillies infielder Chase Utley. . .

The Philly equivalent for shakiness in relief is one-time lights-out closer Brad Lidge. Brad's been a bit unreliable lately, so when he came in to finish off the Cubbies, a bit of hope existed for the 41,000 at the Friendly Confines. Here we go: Fukidome, walked. Theroit sacrificed Fukidome to second. Bradley singles Fukidome home to tie the game. E. was beside himself with excitement: the Cubbies rally back to tie it.

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E. goes wild as Bradley hits in the tying run in the 9th inning. . .

Closer Randy Gregg took the mound in the 11th, retiring three on line shots. Cubs unable to get anything going offensively. Top of the 12th: Little used Ben Francisco comes off the bench and homers on a 1-1 count. And that's where it ended. Cubs lost 4-3, despite their 10 hits to the Phillies' 3. The Cubs had dropped five of the last six and that big white "W" flag wasn't flying over the field much lately. The fans jammed their way back onto the El without singing that annoying "Go Cubs, Go!" song.

Things didn't get better the next two nights, the Phillies sweeping the series and putting the Cubs in the five-game losing streak.
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I. was oblivious to much of the game, content reading comic books. . .
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I'd never seen a smile on E.'s face as big as the one he had all night at Wrigley. . .
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Before we got chased out of the park by security guards, we posed for a family photo (taken by, strangely enough, a family from Texas. . . )
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Lots of love, sometimes dysfunctionally so. . .

Beisbol Pt. VII: A Day on the Town

Our Kind of Town: The Wrigley building and Chicago River. . .

This was our third family vacation to Chicago since 2003; I'd been back on my own in 2006 for a Prototype Modeler's meet. It's safe to say that, given my own relative lack of worldliness regarding the great cities of the planet, I'd have to rate Chicago as my favorite city to visit.

What a place! Everything about it is alive. What's not to love (apart from the traffic)? The parks of the Burnham plan. . .the stunning setting on Lake Michigan. . .the imposing canyon of buildings lining the Chicago River. . .the dazzling array of architecture styles. . the dense network of railroads. . the El and its iron ring around the downtown core. . .its museums. . .two great major league baseball teams. . .the relative ease of getting around on public transportation. . .and its two great food staples: deep-dish pizza and fully-loaded hotdogs.


Easy public transportation: The Red Line CTA near Roosevelt Road. . .


I. gets a first glimpse of downtown at Cicero on the BNSF/Metra dinky. . .

Three dudes on a trip to the city. . .

Amtrak and Metra in the bowels of Chicago Union Station. .

The Great Hall of the Burnham-designed CUT of 1925. . .

We had a day just to knock around town, and this time, decided to drive. E. wanted to spend his life's savings on Chicago Cubs souvenirs, so we inched our way into Wrigleyville around 11am and visited a couple of the many stores preyin--er, catering to tourists who just can't get enough Cubs stuff, where he got a Soriano t-shirt, a light jacket, a couple of caps, a pennant, and a couple of wall plaques for his future Cubs-themed bedroom.

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E. at Ground Zero of his Cubs-centric universe. . .

Soon it was lunchtime and we headed towards the City in search of a hotdog, stumbling across Clark St. Dog at the corner of Clark and Halsted. It's not to say the hot dogs weren't good--they were--but the real highlight of the place was the horrible service, recalling the "Cheeseboiger, Cheeseboiger" skit from the early days of Saturday Night Live. Employees attempted to multi-task several orders without the language skills or mental ability to do so. Most memorable was the guy next to me who'd been waiting several minutes for his order to be filled, only to be given the wrong food. "Is it too much," he fairly screamed, " to get a Goddamned Cheeseburger!" afterwhich he stormed out of the place. When I finally secured our lunch--two hotdogs, a corndog, and a grilled cheese sandwich, the fella sitting next to us congratulated us for getting our foot.

Then it was through downtown to Field Museum, on the waterfront, where half the population was attempting to park at Soldier Field for the free day at the museum. Admission was free, but parking was still $16. The Field is a big, big place, with 21 million items in the collection, including the most complete Tyrannosarus Rex, Sue, and an extensive collection of dinosaurs and preserved North American bugs, plants, birds and animals.

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A beautiful summer afternoon, and the boys head to the Field Museum. . .

The museum is housed in the Classical Revival building designed by Daniel Burnham for the 1883 World's Columbian Exposition, and the collection moved to its current location in 1921. The museum is a mix of up-to-date and interactive exhibits and some displays of stuffed and mounted animals (some now extinct) over 100 years old which remind one of what museums were like a century ago. Dealing with the crowds left me in a pissy mood, which thankfully didn't inhibit the boys from really digging what they saw. We were all booted out at 5pm after a mere three hours, having only really checked out only around 20% of the displays. We'd definately some back again next time.

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The boys and "Sue" the big Tyrannosaurs. . .

The next hour was "Blair time," and I hauled the family to the backside of an old factory at Racine St. west of the loop to photograph Metra trains on the former Milwaukee Road/Pennsylvania line passing under one of the few Pennsy Railroad "position light" signal bridges left in the area. It had clouded up and the light was flat, but I photographed a half-dozen trains in that hour. No spectacular shots, despite the great urban background.

Metra train into the city shoves into Union Station at Racine Street, milepost 1.5.

Thence, off to Chinatown where the urge to eat something other than pizza and hot dogs led us south past the notorious Cook County Hospital, the inspiration for the television series ER and a place known for its, er, active emergency room filled with stabbing and gunshot victims. It's the indigent hospital of choice in the city. We took Cermak Road (named for Chicago major Anton Cermak, the first of the "Chicago Machine" mayors, assassinated in Miami in 1931 standing beside President Franklin Roosevelt; as he lay dying, he supposedly said to him ""I'm glad it was me instead of you.") back intos China Town, wandering among the restaurants looking for one with an English-language menu on the front window. I violated my own rule for Chinese restaurants (i.e., Never eat at a Chinese place called "Great Wall") by going to. . .the Great Wall. We ordered a family dinner that could've fed a half-dozen, easily. We were amazed the boys ate a little of everything, including soup, whose ingredients remained a mystery to them until after they'd finished. We were quite proud by their willingness to try something different. The boys charmed the folks running the place as well who were impressed a family from Texas would wind up in their joint. I. however, wasn't happy to discover that he was born in the year of the Rat!

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Big family-style dinner at the Great Wall in Chinatown. . .

We'd hoped to watch fireworks on the lake from the jetty near Shedd aquarium, but weren't disappointed when none materialized, as we still had a beautiful view of the city on the lake. We drove back out to Naperville, and arrived after midnight. It'd been a full day in our favorite city on earth.

CTA stops in the loop. . .

A visual dessert after dinner: the Chicago skyline. . .