AIM message from Nathan to Patty
From the lobby of the Palmer House, Chicago, at the National Collegiate Honors Conference.
 leaving soon |
 I can almost hear the waves...ballyvaughan... |
| didn't take a lot of pictures |
| everything is too lavish |
| I don't really feel like it |
| don't want to remember this place with awe |
| or wonder |
| want to forget it. |
| at least the decor |
| what I will remember is the train with Vicki and Kathleen |
| talking to the worn teamster on the train |
| looking out at the city, imagining the people |
| the lives, the emptiness, and all of the hidden joy that passes unnoticed behind the brick, the stone, the plaster. |
| here, |
| where gold and ivory and candelabra illumine century-old paintings |
| and high arched ceilings decked in intricate designs |
| of classical art and ornate scrollwork |
| here, where the railings are painted gold and leaflet designs encircle the ceiling where hang the golden chandeliers |
| or crystal lights with glass rubies angled, sparkling as they hang above deep red carpets and cushioned walls |
| heh. |
| these are the city too, |
| but while it has its appeal |
| I know it is not real |
| this is not Chicago |
| it is an insult to the people who labor in it day after day |
| in denim or leather coats |
| snuggled into faded hats |
| their faces craggy from the days outside in the weather |
| cleaning the windows of office buildings |
| or dressed up in a clever green jacket with gold buttons, making us feel like kings and queens and consorts. |
| Do I deserve the desperate lives of so many striving souls? |
| This is by far the most luxurious building I have seen in my life |
| marble and stone and tapestry and carvings inlaid into the walls along the hallways |
| and above me, arching along the ceiling |
| while there may be fancy things, shining things carefully illumined by clever lighting |
| it is not the most beautiful place I have visited here. |
| While I saw the traditional department stores |
| the famous places |
| in one of the oldest, where ancestors wondered to visit the grand escalator |
| they had a Willy Wonka theme |
| and huge depictions in paper mache towered over us |
| it was a department store, but a mall, but everything |
| the marketing was brilliant |
| and many delightful things sped by our faces as we slid up and down the moving stairs |
| but it was not the most beautiful place. |
| I went to the science and industry museum |
| where men in coat tails and tuxedos |
| and women, with sharp, calculated schmoothness wound their way among exhibits with trays, standing behind tables |
| serving soda, and deep dish pizza, and pasta with mushroom alfredo, and potato chips, tomato chips, and cucumber chips, still warm and soft and crisp |
| and we walked into a replica of a 1920s town |
| that other time of lavish beauty |
| extravaganze |
| and we sat down in a historical replica of an ice cream parlor |
| and we ate ice cream |
| we lolled about on the dimlit, bricked pathway |
| sipping tea or coffee or hot chocolate |
| strolling into a silent movie theatre to watch old humorous plays |
| a second childhood evening |
| I can almost hear the waves...ballyvaughan... |
| ecstasy for me, as I enjoyed a beautiful museum |
| and saw and lived many things from a book-fed mind that I would never have dreamed |
| my imaginations became true |
| I saw and went into the ships of old, machines of killing made by German engineers |
| captured successfully by a brilliant American captain |
| with no (little?) loss of life |
| the first vessel captured by the US since 1815 |
| peered into the cracks |
| looked at the linkages, the diesel engine |
| wondered if the fleks of rust were from the time it flooded and nearly sank |
| crawled over the ship, wondered at the wheels and guages and valves that men risked their lives, without knowing how to work the ship, to keep the boat afloat and bring it to America |
| then got more food |
| the museum brought some of my most vivid dreams, images from books I especially loved |
| and turned them into reality. I was a kid again. I have never felt so childishly excited. |
| but it was not the most beautiful place I saw |
| I saw the tribune building, an edifice of news made to look like a church |
| perhaps news is a religion. I don't know. |
| it was ornate, a cathedral to human information |
| ""tall and noble |
| with shops on the first floor |
| but it was not the most beautiful |
| I went to see the Ba'hai temple |
| with nine sides, a white tower, elegant, curving, one with nature |
| while people inside accept all religions but don't let you pray to your own god on the premises. Where they promote the peace of all mankind throughout the world, so long as everyone believes their god. |
| where they work toward the uniting of all races |
| for those who follow their prophet. |
| in a massive chapel, full of nine sided stars and quotes, a high ceiling with ornate designs |
| it was as I must imagine the elves would have built |
| but actually here on earth, with fountains and pools and beautiful animals running in-between green hedgerows, overlooking the massive lake |
| a paneled concret structure, but looking like the tusk of a poached elephant |
| carved well, which makes one marvel and stare |
| and never want to look away |
| but which pokes one's conscience until one cannot look any more. |
| this was beautiful, but it was not the most beautiful |
| I visited Joes Bebop Jazz Emporium |
| where men jumped with joy as they blew liquid ecstasy from their shining saxophones and teased a mood from their guitars |
| I heard a frenzy of delight |
| and clapped |
| and watched the crowd at Navy Pier look up from their Jambolaya and Gumbo and catfish burgers and smile |
| and I knew we were tourists, and they were just performers, escaping the street where another saxophone played |
| in the rough winter snow |
| for a few dollars, for hours on end |
| inside, the performers stopped and had a beer |
| we walked to the end of the pier |
| and to get out of the cold, we walked inside the building one last time |
| passing through a museum on our way |
| full of stained glass marvels |
| of kings and popes and saints and knights and landscapes |
| illuminated, translucent, shining, glowing with vibrant color |
| an aged brilliance |
| and I saw encased in iron and lead the imaginations of many beautiful days |
| and was lifted some, perhaps, and encouraged by their simplicity and intricacy and glow |
| I marvelled and remembered that I want to make stained glass windows someday |
| I can almost hear the waves...ballyvaughan... |
| but these were not the most beautiful things I saw |
| I saw other places, hawaiian restaurants where smiling girls in flower print dresses handed profs tall beers underneath dimly lit bamboo umbrellas |
| and served sweet and sour, and wonton, and butterfly sauce |
| but it was a dim place |
| I saw silver and servers, and fancy men and women |
| I saw the grime, heart the clanking train and the blank stare it beats into Chicago's soul |
| but nestled in the loop |
| between the department stores |
| the malls, |
| and a huge music store with discs and instruments and expensive music |
| trod over by overcoat shells with fancy shoes |
| perched the greatest building in Chicago |
| all red, a deep brick hue |
| with a roof of copper green |
| and four owls guarding the corners |
| it has wings, it has scrollwork |
| but there it is, alongside the thoroughfare |
| with open doors on all sides |
| lining the street with openings |
| anyone can enter |
| and they do |
| women in suits and oversized laptop bags |
| and men in wool hats, grizzled by time, with faded denim jackets and grubby sneakers |
| can enter this building |
| it has eight floors |
| and they can travel with impunity |
| and even take things from it for free |
| and the things that sit in that great vault |
| are for the healing and for the growing, and for the freeing of so many lost people |
| of so many people |
| the ones on the street that struggle for the warmth of a free starbucks |
| and the ones that chain their lives into a box that looks like a huge computer, and perhaps it is |
| for they run in circles, like electrons rushing around at the speed of light to do the bidding of others |
| to build these ornate places for people to stroll around in wonder |
| but this place |
| it frees them |
| if they will only take what is inside |
| there are guards |
| but they are there to ensure that everyone can take from the great and blessed vaults that they keep; |
| There is something for everyone |
| and everything is free |
| that's right, Patty |
| it's the marvel of kings and queens and stable boys turned millionaires |
| the second greatest marvel of life |
| the Chicago Public Library |
| sorry for talking so long, but it needed to be said to someone, anyone, and you seemed the fitting person. |
| have a great day, Patty. |