1,001 Chicago Afternoons

From the June, 30, 1863 Chicago Tribune:

WANTED — A Correspondence with a young lady of intelligence, vivacity, and a cultivated mind by one of Uncle Sam’s gay young Nephews, who wears a fine coat and shoulders a rifle, and who having endured the hardships and encountered the dangers of several active campaigns, finds himself now lying in garrison, with very little prospect of having to take the field again very soon, and is growing tired of inactivity. He has therefore concluded to enter on his own account into a campaigne [sic] of love, with his pen and ink for his army of conquest, and Cupid for his Aid, and takes this mode of challenging the fair readers of the Tribune. Should any young lady of the above description feel belligerent enough to risk an engagement with a handsome son of Mars in the lists of love, she has only to write as sweet a note as she can afford to, to “Don Juan” Co. G, Western Sharpshooters Corinth Miss. and the challenge will be considered accepted and the contest begin. She must prepare herself to abide the consequences and he will do likewise. Real name will be given if desired, and photographs will be exchanged if agreeable to the lady.

It’s late at night. I’m on vacation. I can’t stop reading this dead man’s words. » Read the rest of this entry «

Young and black, dressed in the way that’s style to some and a night terror to others, he leaned over the escalator railing talking to everyone heading down to the subway platform.

“How ya doing? How ya doing? How ya doing?” he said to everyone as they scampered down the subway rabbit hole.

“How ya doing?” he said to me.

“Oh I’m doing fine,” I said, not looking back as I continued my scamper down.

A few seconds later, I heard a call after me. » Read the rest of this entry «

Setting the precedent of “Sure, Clinton’s ‘undeniably capable of leading the United States,’ but we’re going with this guy,” the Chicago Tribune Editorial Board endorsed Libertarian candidate Gary Johnson for president last week, flying in the face of arguments put forth by such media outlets as the New Republic, the Daily Beast and the Chicago Tribune.

The ed board’s argument, which you can read here, is that voters are crying out for principles, not competence, capability, ability to win the race or a junior high Social Studies understanding of world politics.

But we here at the 1,001 Chicago Afternoons Editorial Board demand more.

If we’re naming the president based on nice, why stop at candidates who have filed for the race? Or candidates who are politicians? Or non-fictional?

Based on the Chicago Tribune Editorial Board’s apparent list of qualifications for running the nation, here are a list of four candidates just as principled and just as qualified to be president as Gary Johnson. » Read the rest of this entry «

I was there when Walking Man walked by the State Street Preacher.

It’s an incredibly Chicago sentence, full of local shibboleths a step beyond the ones the tourism council promotes.

They might say Chicagoana is rooting for the Cubs or keeping ketchup off hot dogs. A step beyond that is knowing that the next number in the sequence 5-8-8-2-300 is “Empire” or favoring a lesser-known spot for fat Chicago pizza (Pequods is mine).

But when you’re down to recognizing downtown street characters, now you’re talking local. » Read the rest of this entry «

One year and 198 stories ago, I reviewed 1953’s “City That Never Sleeps,” a cinematic world of crooked cops, gangster magicians, the handyman from “Newhart” and a character named, I kid you not, Little Stubby.

It was the single silliest, most ridiculous and just plain most daffy Chicago-based movie I had ever seen.

Until Sunday. » Read the rest of this entry «

I was 23, driving back from a building that was at the time pushing 80. » Read the rest of this entry «

“First thing he said to me was, ‘Who’s your Chinaman?’”

“Jim Ryan was the laziest person to ever draw a state salary.”

“My family bribed Otto Kerner.” » Read the rest of this entry «

“I’ll fuck you up, don’t think I won’t. I will fuck. You. Up,” he said, inches from my face, his breath tasting of sweet liquor and decay. » Read the rest of this entry «

“The top floors are offices but the first two floors are just stores. Just office after office because there’s a lot of space. And some floors you go to and it’s just construction, like empty,” he said.

We’re walking down a hall. I’m 10 paces ahead. He’s telling his friend about a building he knows nothing about. » Read the rest of this entry «

Method 1: Stand on the southwest corner of Adams and Dearborn. » Read the rest of this entry «