Two moons now, the song of Beaglesonia has not been heard in this troubled land. And the land has become more troubled than ever. Russkies are getting the upper hand, Netanyahu has unleashed his big guns and is shooting up the place. Those fierce Death to America Arab, Muslim types turn out to have been paper tigers and are now cowering under drone and missiled skies shooting popguns against heavy armaments, and we are awaiting the assault on Iran.
Oh, and at home we are at each other throats, both sides thinking that if the other side wins the election it is the end of the country as we know it. The miracle of Kamala has faded and now the dark scowl is seen across the land. I can hardly stand the squalling on CNN.
And Monday I took my annual trip to Gage Park. A warm fall day, pleasant to the feel and the smell. I got off the train at Kedzie.
There once was a huge Kmart at 51st and Kedzie abuzz with Mexicans coming in with money and coming out with colorful goods, household necessities and big colorful toys for their kiddies. It has been empty now for at least 5 years, a big concrete hulk crumbling into its huge parking lot. There are signs pasted up on it announcing stores that will be opening up there soon, but the signs are dusty and crusty and there are no new stores. The neighborhood around it is still bustling. Maybe it will come back.
The next stop is 55th and Kedzie, the four corners. The restaurant is now a Walgreens, the drug store is now a Mexican deli, Talmans, the huge savings and loan that was the anchor of the community has been torn down and a motley assortment of fitness centers and Starbucks and suchlike have taken its place. St Gall, the spiritual center still stands, 2,000 years and still going strong.
West on 55th Street, a few empty storefronts, but things are bustling. Four blocks down is what we used to call the tracks. There is only one track now and the wide and long prairie has given way to a spiffy well-groomed park. There is a fancy baseball diamond with some small bleachers. We used to play amid bumps and rocks and bases marked with the remnants of cardboard boxes. But it was fine. Still fine now I imagine for the little leaguers that play there now. Baseball. 150 years and still going strong.
The house on Homan Avenue still stands in its place among the rows of bungalows. All of them neat as a pin.
Enrico Tonti is now Monarcas Academy, Enrico having been found lacking in the eyes of the political correctness police. The big gravel playground of my youth is filled with out buildings. The place is busting at the seams. Some kids were out at recess, attended by some adults. We never had anybody watching us and we had a ball, the oldster in me complains, but still the kids were ignoring their overseers and having a ball just running around and screaming at the top of their little lungs. Human beings, 200,000 years and still going strong.
Past the crumbling hulk of the Colony where we kids watched technicolor movies in air conditioned comfort. An Italian beef, sausage combo at Nickys, packaged in styrofoam and those styrofoam like McDonalds fries, but still delicious.
And you know all the while I was walking through the neighborhood I had this feeling that I used to have on summer vacations when you would wake up way early in the morning and realize that it was summer vacation and you didn't have to do a thing all day, just walk around in the neighborhood and see what is going on. I guess the hood is still going strong.
Got on a Kedzie bus to the train and then I was back downtown, noisy, smelly, hurry up downtown, but the summer vacation mood stuck with me all day.
The Institute, whither will it drift?
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