June 2010

June 20102

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Letter from the Publisher

3

“There's nothing more blessed on a hot summer day than to sit in the shade of a tree. “

Whoever wrote that clever thought remains anonymous. I can see why. Anyone in Southern Illinois who has spent much time outside this June knows that the shade of a tree just isn't enough. I personally would change it to “There's nothing more blessed on a hot summer day than to lounge in your air conditioned living room and read a good maga-zine.” But now I'm starting to feel like another anonymous person who left us with the thought, “If it weren't for the weather, more than half of the population would have nothing to talk about.” Plenty to talk about this summer. Hot enough for you?

Hopefully, this issue of Good Living in Southern Illinois will give you some new thoughts and a few smiles as you're basking in these sun drenched summer days. Our glib regular columnist, Gary Marx has blessed us with two columns this issue, one about a bewildered husband taking us with him on the confusing trip to buy a gift for his wife, and a second about Gilman, Illinois. It's really not about Gilman. Rather it's a look back in to an earlier time of his life and a recognition that all small towns are pretty much alike. Passing through one as a stranger, the few residents that we encounter shape our lifetime opinion of the community and the people who live there. It teaches us all what an impor-tant role we play in that.

My column about Silly Bandz is a tongue in cheek look at something that's helping to keep kids occupied this sum-mer and keeping workers somewhere busy producing the latest lame but lucrative craze to hit retailers. Seeing what a simple idea it is makes us all think, “I really should have been able to think of this one.”

There's a lot of history in this issue of Good Living in Southern Illinois. The story of Margaret Smith and the little known efforts of the WWII WASPS was so interesting to my husband as he wrote it, that he found some fascinating related stories about barnstormers who came to Southern Illinois, including none other than Charles Lindbergh. It's all part of that little known history of the area that we love to uncover and share.

And our favorite story is made up of all the details we could find about the locally famous Egyptian Drive-In, which entertained Southern Illinoisans for the better part of four decades. There was so much to tell from the memories of individuals associated with it during the Fifties, Sixties and Seventies, that it was difficult to discriminate between what part of the story got told and what got left out. We loved writing it. We hope you love reading it.

If you love animals, or even if you don't we believe that you will find the story of the Cache Creek Animal Rescue interesting and worthy of your time. We're well aware that there are animal rescue centers all over southern Illinois do-ing good work for the voiceless and helpless beasts that need the help of human friends to be protected from abuse and neglect. Bless them and bless all who are a friend to them.

Here's another quote about summer. 18th Century writer Sydney Smith said, “Heat, Ma'am? It was so dreadful there that I had nothing left to do but take off my flesh and sit in my bones.” Don't do that, it frightens the children. But grab this issue of Good Living in Southern Illinois and a glass of your cold drink of choice. Find your self an air-condi-tioned living room, a library or a mall, and enjoy. This one's for you.

June 2010

PUBLISHERSMichael A. ThomasGail Rissi Thomas

EDITORGail Rissi Thomas

COPY EDITORGenelle Bedokis

Jan Catalina

LAYOUT / GRAPHIC DESIGNMichael A. Thomas

CONTRIBUTING WRITERS

Gary Marx Sherri Murphy

PHOTOGRAPHYMichael ThomasJordan MurphyDave O’Melia

E-MailGoodlifepublications@Gmail.com

PHONE NUMBER(618) 937-2019

Good Living in Southern Illinois is published quarterly. It is avail-able free of charge through our advertisers.

Good Life Publications309 East Oak Street

West Frankfort, IL 62896

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June 2010 5

Cover Shot: Master Chef Lasse Sorensen shows off a serving of Kahlua Ice Cream Pie, one of the signature desserts at Tom’s Place in DeSoto. (Photo by Michael Thomas)

Volume 3No. 2

June 2010

Departments 6 Gary Marx Breaking Down at the Crossroads

20 Gary Marx Adventures in Estrogen Land

32 Sherri Murphy Stepping Out of the Box

Features10 Forgotten No More

14 When Lindbergh came to Carterville

16 Beat the Heat with Summer Treats

24 Senior Prom for the Seniors

28 Rescuing the Rescue

38 Remembering the Egyptian

44 Silly Bandz

June 2010

Ships, Shoes and Sealing Wax by Gary Marx

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The sign on the interstate triggered an ancient memory, and my mind drifted back almost 40

years, to the day I moved from Chicago to Southern Illinois.

It was 1972, and the Volkswa-gen bug that my Dad had given to me was loaded down with all of my earthly belongings — ste-reo equipment, crates of albums, boxes of books, kitchen stuff and laundry, mostly clean because I’d just left Mom.

The VW was woefully overloaded, I knew that right away. And al-though my butt cheeks were riding about 8 inches off the pavement, I was riding high, exhilarated to be heading off on the great adventure

called Life. Another clue that I was over-loaded was that I had a hard time maintaining a speed above 50 mph. I steered off the interstate and latched onto U.S. 45, putt-putting through Frankfort, then Bradley and Kankakee and south into the flat landscape of central Il-linois. And all the while, I was los-ing horsepower. Soon I couldn’t top 40.

I finally rolled to a stop about three miles north of Gilman, a little burg at the crossroads of U.S. 45 and 24. Smoke rose from the rear of the bug. It was fried.

I got a tow into town where the only VW mechanic was off duty. So I holed up in a tavern/restau-

rant, the only one in town, and waited for rescue.

It was a gloomy experience, a re-minder that I still needed my par-ents, but the people in the tavern, all these strangers, tried to help. They wanted to know where I was coming from and where I was go-ing, and the owner of the tavern fed me for free, and everyone had an opinion about what was wrong with the car and they wished me well.

And I remembered all of that in a flash last month as I cruised out of Chicago and came upon that sign on the interstate. Next exit: Gil-man.

I got a room at the Super 8 and

June 2010 7

drove downtown. It was evening, and I was hungry, thirsty, too. And I knew the ballgame would start soon. If I got lucky, I’d locate that same tavern. I didn’t, but I found everything else. At a joint called Boondocks, I found a plate of chicken wings, $4 shots of Jame-son and my own remote to the TV.

Boondocks was a new place, but it had an old feel. Not busy but active. A table of people played cards while a family of four finished dinner and, across from me at the horseshoe-shaped bar, a couple of regulars nursed cans of Busch. You can always spot the regulars.

Carol, the friendly woman behind the bar, was trying to find the Sox game for me and having no luck. She hollered to the regulars.

“You know where to find the ball-game?”

One of them, a bristly guy named Dale, said, “The Cubs are on Channel 9, I think.”

I couldn’t let that pass.

“I was looking for the Sox game,” I said. “The White Sox.”

“White Sox?” He turned to me. “Where do they play?”

So this was how it was going to be, I thought. He sounded like a Cubs fan who wanted to mix it up a little and engage in a little verbal sparring. OK, I’m game. This could be fun.

“They play on the South Side,” I said, “where they play real base-

ball.”

“I know where that is,” Dale said. “That’s N----- Town.”

OK, let’s pause for a moment.

I had not heard that word in a long time, and certainly not in a public place. But maybe I didn’t hear him correctly.

“You heard me,” he said. His drinking buddy was grinning. “Ev-ery time you go to the South Side, you need a police escort just to get out of your car.”

If there’s anything worse than a drunken Cubs fan, it’s a drunken racist. There was no friendliness in his eyes. It was enough to tell me the game I thought we were play-ing was over. Time to disengage.

The exchange made me think that Gilman was like so many other towns in Middle America, where there might be a junction of high-ways and a nearby interstate but

no real interaction with the outside world. Consequently, no social growth, no chance for diversity to take hold. In such an insular envi-ronment, the Civil Rights Move-ment never happens.

I felt sad for Dale. Because what he was saying sounded a lot like hate, but it was really just fear. Fear of the unknown, of what’s different. Fear of change.

“Sorry,” I said. “I thought you were a Cubs fan.”

“Nope. Can’t stand them either.”

“Just don’t like Chicago, eh?”

“Nope. The best thing to come out of Chicago was an empty bus.” “Well,” I said, pausing for effect, “I came out of Chicago.”

Dale narrowed his eyes. He might have thought he’d succeeded in in-sulting me and that I was about to challenge him to a duel, and we’d

June 2010

end up outside flailing away at each other with crescent wrenches.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

“It was back in 1972,” I said, and I told him my story. And when I was finished, I said, “The people of this town, in that tavern that night, they made me feel wel-come. That’s why I came back tonight.”

Dale listened quietly to the whole story. Then he asked who the me-chanic was. I didn’t remember. He turned to his buddy and together they tried to figure out who it might have been. And they pretty much ignored me the rest of the evening.

Meanwhile, Carol, bless her heart, had found the Sox game. Dale’s buddy left, and after a few innings, I bought a beer for Dale. He lifted a glass in thanks. Then, after a stretch, he left too.

I ordered another Jameson, and while Carol was clearing away my plate of chicken bones, I asked her what the old guy’s name was. She told me and said, “He used to own that tavern, you know. That place you were in back in 1972 was his place.”

Gary Marx is a former columnist and news editor for The Southern Illinoisan. He’s now

a freelance writer and author, and he works for The Kansas City Star. But no matter where he is, he’ll always be an Illinois boy. Contact him through his Web site: www.marxjournal.com.

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June 2010 9

June 201010

Margaret (Chamberlain) Smith trained as a pilor with the Women’s Airforce Service Pilots during World War II (Photos provided)

June 2010 11

held more flying records than any individual—male or female—had proposed the idea of using women pilots to assist the impending war ef-fort to President Franklin Roosevelt as early as September, 1939. But the idea was met with skepticism among Roosevelt’s aides and the military establishment. It wasn’t until 1942 that Cochran was given the author-ity to organize the group. Cochran was given directorship of the civilian group but it was also placed under military control under the command of General of the Army Air Forces, H. H. “Hap” Arnold.

By the time the program ended in 1944, over 25,000 women had vol-unteered to serve as WASPs. Each applicant was required to have a pilot’s license and at least 35 hours of logged flying time. Cochran only accepted 1800 applicants, and of those nearly 700 withdrew or were dropped from the program.

In 1942 Margaret Smith had just graduated from college and was doing her part to win WWII for her country by teaching Morse code at Scott Air Force base near Belleville to Army Air Corps trainees. It was a civilian job, just one of many that American women took to help with the war effort. As Smith watched the planes at Scott taking off and land-ing she was filled with envy. “I had a passion to learn to fly,” she says. It was then that she also heard of Cochran’s call for female pilots. For Smith, the opportunity seemed too good to pass up.

But with no flying experience, Smith was faced with a monumental hurdle: gaining her required 35 hours of flying experience. Learning to fly would cost her upwards of $750, or over $9,000 in today’s economy. She turned to her father, who was very supportive of anything his

For years Margaret Smith rarely spoke of her life dur-ing World War II. Not even her children knew much of

their mother’s participation with a group of heroic and groundbreak-ing women, a group that was nearly forgotten by the country they served during WWII.

“I guess I didn’t want them to do something as adventuresome as I did back then,” Smith explains of her reluctance to say much about her past. “I probably caused my mother a lot of worry; I didn’t want them to do the same thing to me.”

But Smith did have a scrapbook filled with pictures, letters and tele-grams of her experience during the war years. One of the pictures shows a young, smiling woman dressed in aviator gear standing near the open cockpit of a Stearman biplane.

“My grandson, Brad, would look at Grandma’s scrapbook when he was four or five,” Smith says. Over the years, her grandson’s curiosity of his grandmother and the airplane grew.

In 1978, then a fifth grader, Brad in-terviewed his grandmother and wrote a school report that told the story of “Margie” and her service with the Women’s Airforce Service Pilots.

Just over 1,100 women served as WASP pilots during WWII. None of them, including Smith, ever saw combat. But they served their coun-try in many other ways by ferrying planes needed as replacements for those destroyed in combat or serving as test pilots for new aircraft that was developed during the war. WASPs also helped train gunners by towing muslin targets behind planes that were shot with real ammunition by anti-aircraft crews learning how to use their weapons on enemy planes. By the war’s end, WASP veterans could proudly claim that a WASP also flew every type of plane flown in combat by a male in WWII. But it was not an easy achievement.

When the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, fewer than 200 American women had pilots’ licenses. One of them, Jackie Cochran, a skilled pilot who

By Michael A. Thomas

June 2010

AT-6 Army trainer.”The women were housed in barracks and spent half the day in classroom instruction and the other half flying. The 12-hour days were rigorous but the women proved themselves as capable as the men. On May 3rd, 1944, Smith soloed, the first in her group to do so. “I remember you had to watch when you were landing that you didn’t clip the telephone lines around the field with your wheels. You didn’t want to come in too low,” Smith says.

As far as prejudice, Smith says that the women were treated with respect and courtesy by their

male teachers and counterparts but were perhaps not entirely accepted. “Nobody understood what it was. I think they liked us. Women flyers are certainly an oddity. We weren’t

allowed to date anybody.”

But certainly the one group that resented the WASPs was the wives of the pilots they were replacing. “The women of the men flyers wanted us out of there be-cause we were taking their places. The wives wanted us gone so their husbands could

have the ‘safe’ job,” Smith says.

Ironically, the last WASP class graduated on December 7, 1944, three years after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. In all, 38 WASPs

12

daughter was doing for the war effort. He gave her the money for flying lessons. Smith recalls that her mother said little.

Smith took flying lessons at a small airport near Mascoutah, and she loved every minute of it. “I used to be completely fear-less.” Smith says. “My instructor used to do loops, spins and turns. I never felt in any danger. My in-structor used to barnstorm where he would swoop down low and barely miss the tops of the build-ings. It was all very exciting.”

During one of her solo flights at Mascoutah, Smith had to make a forced landing.“I was flying a cross-country flight between Mascoutah and Salem. When I landed at Salem the me-chanic checked my oil. He had to add some but he accidentally put too much in,” Smith explains. As Smith took off from Salem, heading back to Mas-coutah, she soon no-ticed a problem. “The engine began sput-tering and missing,” Smith says. Soon, the engine failed com-pletely but Smith kept her calm. “So, I had to land. What you do is pick your spot. You keep your nose down because that keeps your speed. I circled around and landed in a cornfield that had been shucked and all. I made a perfect landing. I had to call my instructor who came out and got me.”

With her 35 hours of flight time recorded, Smith was able to qualify

for the WASPs. She was accepted and sent to Avenger Field in Sweet-water, Texas, for her training. “It was strictly military,” says Smith of her training. “Everything we was G.I. (military) except our status,

which was civilian. We used their clothes, their planes, everything. We wore zoot suits around the base. Everything we did was just like the guys got, military. We started out in the Stearman and then went to the

Fifinella, a female gremlin designed by Walt Disney studios, was adopted as the official logo for the WASPs.

WASPs were used to tow muslin targets behind their planes for anti-aircraft train-ees firing live ammunition. It was not unusual for their planes to return with bullet holes. One WASP pilot was actually killed before the military developed safer methods to train their gun crews. Photo US Military Archives

June 2010 13

were killed in the performance of their duties. Not one was given a military funeral. Their families did not receive a gold star in their window in recogni-tion of their sacrifice. Because of heated disputes to give the WASPs military benefits such as hospitalization or pay equal to that of male pilots, Congress officially disbanded the pro-gram on December 20, 1944.

The women, all who paid their own expenses to get into the program, turned in their equip-ment and paid their own way back home to return to civilian life. Few talked about their experiences. “When I went home, nobody knew about us,” Smith explains.

The records of the WASP were sealed in 1944 and labeled as ‘se-cret’ or ‘classified’. Because histori-

“Tain’t no place for man nor bird!” reads the caption of the cartoon drawn by M.L Har-rison on the occassion of Smith’s first solo flight in 1943. Smith was teaching Harrison Morse code at the time at Scott AFB.

After the war, Margaret Smith married and never flew again. She taught for 29

years before retiring from Anna Jonesboro High School in 1984. She presently resides in Marion.

Photo by Michael Thomas

ans had no access to those records, little was known of the WASP until recently. In 1977, with the help of Arizona Senator Barry Goldwater, the WASPs were recognized as hav-ing full military status.

For personal reasons, Smith had to leave the program before she actual-

ly did any of the ferrying of aircraft. But she says the story is more about the WASPs than about her. “This isn’t about me,” Smith says, “It’s about the WASPs. Nobody really knows about us and I think the story needs to be told before we are all gone.”

June 201014

WWI pilots found that their skills learned in aerial combat could be turned into cash. Barnstorm-ing, or aerial shows in which stunt pilots would perform tricks with airplanes, either individually or in groups, became a popular at-traction in the 1920’s. One such group, Vera May Dunlap’s Flying Circus, came to southern Illinois in 1925 as part of a baseball promo-tion. Among the performers was a young pilot who had just joined the group: Charles A. Lindbergh. Although practically unknown at the time, Lindbergh would become an international celebrity just two years later in 1927 when he became the first person to fly solo across the Atlantic Ocean.

The Day Lindbergh Came to Southern Illinois

Flyer from Williamson County Illinois Sesquicentennial History Courtesy of Richard Pisoni

June 2010 15

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By Gail Rissi Thomas

W hen the day seems to sizzle in the late afternoon summer sun, and the heat and humidity linger into the evening, there's

nothing like the Southern Illinois temperatures we’ve experienced this June to make the sweetness of a summer dessert sweeter and the coolness more refreshing. There are hundreds of summer dessert recipes out there that have been around the block and made the rounds of every church circle. They're usu-ally cold, creamy and simple. They include a box of this and a package of that; add the Cool Whip, and it tastes and looks like you're done something difficult and wonderful

When we first thought about sharing some sweet summer desserts with our readers, it was only natural that we thought first of paying a visit to Chef Lasse Sorensen at Tom's Place in DeSoto, Tom's place is famous, among many things for the decadent cre-ations that many customers still find the room to indulge in even after one of the incredible meals that Sorensen and company serve up at his historic five- star restaurant.

My husband had the good fortune of making the perfect decision after an exquisite meal the last time we were there for dinner. He chose the lemon sor-bet, and to this day pronounces that homemade fruit freeze as possibly the best dessert he has ever had in his life, and that includes everything created by a wife who prides herself on a mean homemade coco-nut cream pie, his previous favorite. But lets face it, when we offer you Tips from the Top, we mean The Top.

Sorensen met with us late on a Friday afternoon before a busy night jammed with reservations, a full house expected. As usual, his demeanor and generosity with his time to visit gave the appear-ance that absolutely nothing was going on there that night. An experienced and cooperative staff of two or three assistant chefs calmly went about the eve-ning's preparations, only responding efficiently when Chef Sorensen asked them politely to “Please, bring me a piece of the Kahlua Ice Cream Pie?” No Hell's Kitchen here.

June 201018

Although the Kahlua Ice Cream pie is the restaurant's signature des-sert, (A secret recipe that is never shared with anyone,” Sorensen tells us) it is only one of many on a dessert menu that changes regularly and seasonally, usually offering anywhere from nine to twelve special desserts. The night we were there, customers would face a heavy decision that would probably become the topic of the after dinner discussion. Would it be the favorite, Crème Brulee' or the Bread Pudding, both traditions at Toms? There were also choices of Pear Tart or Pistachio Tart, Banana Ice Cream Pie, as well as several of those homemade sorbets. Oh and don't forget that Kahlua Ice Cream Pie. Decisions, decisions.

“What is the Chef's favorite,” we wondered. Sorensen's father Chef Gert Sorensen is an inter-nationally recognized pastry chef. A native of Denmark, he visited with Lasse and his wife, Mary Jane last Easter, and Southern Il-linoisans who attended the annual Easter Brunch were treated to his expertise, as he created all the des-serts offered at that event. A former pastry chef for the royal family of Denmark, he was called into service only a couple of years ago to create the wedding cake for the Crown Prince of Denmark.

“You have to remember that I grew up in a Pastry Shop,” Sorensen explains. “I could wake up in the morning and within 15 minutes I would have a hot favorite pastry in my hand to eat for breakfast. When my father is here, he makes me my favorite things from my childhood. That might be a Danish Pastry cov-ered with poppy seeds and topped with cheese and jam.”

All of Sorensen's favorites might not be in the pastry category.

“I might ask him for herring on rye bread with pork fat,” he laughs. “It's just something that was very special from my childhood.”

Well none of our Southern Illinois readers, at least that we are aware of, are pastry chefs. So we as-sumed that most of us are looking for something delightful to enjoy in the summer and share with guests that will only make us look like we had

the knowl-edge and time to put into it to create an extravagant ending to a magnificent meal.

“Something that you can always do when you don't have too much time to plan ahead, or even if you do, is to take store bought vanilla ice cream and stir in other ingredi-ents to create an unexpected flavor. People will think it is homemade because it is not an ice cream flavor that they are used to eating,” So-rensen explained.

“When I am on my houseboat in the summer and cooking for the family or friends, I don't really feel like spending all my time cooking,

although everyone still expects something good to eat. I often use peanut butter and sometimes add chopped salted peanuts. You just soften a good store bought vanilla ice cream until it is manageable and your mixer can handle it,” he explains.

“You don't want to mix it too hard because that will beat air into it. You don't want air, because it won't refreeze right. Sometimes I top it with pureed bananas, or you can

just take the vanilla ice cream and use

the ba-

nanas as the mix-in ingredient. Top it with whipped cream if you really want it to look cool.”

“I've also mixed in chopped pista-chios and almond paste,” Sorensen shares. “You have to be careful in adding alcohol, because you it will keep the ice cream from freezing back to its original consistency. But I have taken raisins and soaked them in rum. Then when you stir the raisins into the ice cream, the alcohol is already absorbed by the raisins but you have that wonder-ful flavor. I love that; it works very

Kahlua Ice Cream Pic, a specialty dessert at Tom’s Place in Desoto.

(Photo by Michael A. Thomas}

June 2010 19

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well.”

“Be creative,” he advises. “The sky is the limit. But if you don't have a lot of time to put into it, just make some extra coffee in the morning and put it in the fridge. Get it as icy cold as you possibly can. Then put a couple of scoops of vanilla ice cream in a glass and pour the coffee over that when you are ready to serve it. Pile whipped cream on top and you have the perfect summer dessert.”

For those customers who prefer to drink their des-serts, Tom's has a treat for every taste. “We have all the traditional bar specialties,” he says. “Bahama Mamas are a summer favorite. Brandy Alexanders, Grasshoppers are popular too. MaryJane makes a delicious Margarita. That's what I like to sit and relax with. After I'm done working on a long night, I'll ask her to make me a Margarita. I used to love an Old Fashioned: that was my favorite drink. One

night some friends and I were hanging out for a long time, and I was drinking Old Fashioneds.

I must have had 10 of them. None of us remember too much about it, but I can

give some good advice. I've never had one since. You don't ever want to ruin a good thing.”

“The signature drink of Tom's Place is Moose Milk, Sorensen tells us. “ That

goes back to the early days of the restaurant, but for a long time we didn't have the recipe. One

time we had some water damage around the bar and a part of the floor fell in. Down under the floor we found the old bartenders book that had all the reci-pes for the drinks that Burle, the original bartender used to make. Moose Milk was one of them, so since then we've been able to offer Burle's specialty, Moose Milk, again.”

As I write this it's the first day of summer. Tem-peratures all week are supposed to reach far into the high 90's. This weekend we'll, like many of you, probably cook out, and I have to admit that no meal sounds complete to me right now without an easy, icy cold and creamy sweet finish. Actually with the humidity and all, it may be too hot to try to cook any meal that is going to precede that decadent fi-nale. I have a great idea. Maybe we'll see you there.

June 201020

By Gary Marx

I rode the escalator down into the Valley of the Living Dolls, a land of young and beauti-ful women in silky blouses and bouncy hair, mostly blond, where the air is a puff cloud, a billowy poof of powdery scents.

It felt like I’d fallen face first into a Parisian boudoir. But this was the Cosmetics Depart-ment at Nordstroms. Clearly, I did not belong here.

Every fiber in my body told me to run back up the down escalator and find a hunting and fishing store as quickly as I could. But I fought the urge. I was on a mission. I was duty-bound. I was here to purchase a gift for my wife. So I took a deep breath and, after a sneeze, plunged forward, deeper into the world of lotions and potions, oils and creams.

Let me just say this now: I am not an entire buffoon when it comes to gift-giving for my wife. I actually enjoy it. More than once, for instance, I have baked her half a batch of chocolate chip cookies. I have taken her to din-ner at my favorite restaurant given her bottles of my favorite wine. And I’ve even surprised her with a ticket to the ball game. She’s not a huge fan, but I always explain things to her.

I believe that you always receive as much as you give.

Sometimes, however, she has her own ideas about what she wants. So she drops a hint, which goes something like this:

“It would be nice if someone would buy me a little Such and So for my birthday/Mother’s Day/Christmas/Whatever Day,” she’d say.

Because of the subtlety of her remark, I don’t always recognize it as a hint and I’d find my-self agreeing with her out of habit.

“Yes, that would be nice,” I’d say, even though I had absolutely no interest in a little Such and

June 2010 21

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and So myself, and I’d return my attention to the Sports section.

Then, as it normally goes, she’d say, “It would be nice if someone like YOU would go down to Dil-lard’s/Barnes & Noble/Arnold’s Market/What-Have-You Store and buy me a little Such and So for my Whatever Day.”

You know, she didn’t have to spell it out like that. I would have fig-ured it out eventually because after a couple of days, I usually find a map to the store lying out next to my toothbrush.

And sure enough, just the other day, I found the Google map to Nordstrom’s with the name of the Such and So — it was a bottle of a fragrance called Pure Grace.

OK, confession time. The last time I bought cologne it was called Hai Karate and Jade East. And that cologne was for men. I think. Any-way, that was more than 40 years ago, and I knew things would have changed a little since then. That thought only added to my trepida-tion.

You see, I hate to shop. I’d rather watch a dentist pull your teeth than go to a mall. I get overwhelmed in such places. If the store doesn’t have bottles of alcohol, cigars, doughnuts or live bait, I’d just as soon stay outside and wait, thank you.

But this was for a worthy cause: to please my wife on Whatever Day. Which is either a noble, loving thing to do or a survival technique. And I had a map and detailed instructions, so how hard could this be, right?

Nordstrom’s is a huge store, full of women’s clothing and stuff I’d never seen before, in pinks and yellows and Pantones. It was a little like Oz. And after my eyes adjusted, and my nerves returned — which didn’t take more than 10 minutes — I advanced through the double doors and ventured into the store itself.

I fol- lowed the path to the esca-lators,

look-ing left

and right for a sign, some direc- tion where to look. I didn’t re- ally expect a flash-ing sign “Pure Grace! Here it is, you idiot!” but that would have helped. As would a flash-ing arrow and perhaps a P.A. announcement – “Mr. Marx, the Holy Grail awaits you at the customer service desk.”

None of that happened, of course. I was on my own. And as I grumbled to myself about the state of cus-tomer service these days, a miracle happened. A minor miracle, per-haps, but right there at the escala-tors was a directory. Amazing.

I scanned it for “Pure Grace.” Nothing. You’d think they’d make these directories more user-friend-ly, I thought. Then I looked for “Fragrance.” Again nothing.

I was about to give up — planning to just tell my wife she was sadly misled into thinking something like Pure Grace ever existed — when I saw “Cosmetics” on the direc-tory. OK, worth a try. So I boarded the down escalator and de- scended into the

boudoir.

My first thought down there was,

“Yikes!” My second thought was not forth-

coming.

There was, however, someone behind me on the escalator, and I found myself propelled into the land of Smell’ems and Stick’ems, walking haltingly onward, zombie-like, trying to read as much as pos-sible and get my bearings.

There were rows of counters, each an island and manned (a poor, yet ironic, choice of words) by a young person with an airbrushed complexion and a name like Vikki or Tori or Wisteria-Lani. It was a veritable archipelago of feminine products and estrogen.

The women, these Vikki-Toris, were so coifed and made up they looked unreal. Life-size Barbies. I wanted to reach out and poke their faces to make sure they were real, but that would have prompted a call to security and forced the poor woman into an emergency two-hour cosmetic rehab session.

Each of the counters had the name

June 2010 23

— Estee’ and Lauder and Chanel and Whatever — but none of it made any sense to me. I couldn’t tell if it was the name of the prod-uct or the name of saleswoman. I was still scanning for Pure Grace when I arrived at the “Something or Other” counter

“May I help you?” she asked.

“I’m looking for Pure Grace,” I said, and she looked at me as if I were some sort of missionary, a Christian zealot.

I don’t know what she was selling at her counter, but it wasn’t what I was looking for, and she obviously wasn’t buying what she thought I was selling. After a few frozen moments, in which our eyes were locked in a surrealistic exchange of disinformation, she said, “Wha?”

So I explained that it was a co-logne, and “… oh, you need fra-grances. It’s through here …” she pointed “ … and down that row to the end.”

Then she smiled, and I backed

away slowly.

I followed her directions and dove into the Cosmo gauntlet, passing various stations of women fuss-ing with lips and lashes, eyebrows and chin hairs, trying this blush and that shadow, and I eventually found myself facing another wom-an named Vikki-Tori and another miracle happened. She knew what I was talking about.

“Pure Grace? Yes, that’s part of the Philosophy line,” she said. “Right this way.”

And she led me back through the Cosmo gauntlet, around a corner to a different island counter where she explained to yet another sales-woman, a brunette this time, that I needed assistance. To say the least.

“Hi,” the brunette said. “I’m Vikki-Tori, how may I help you?”

I told her what I was after, and she went right to it, pulling out two bottles of the stuff, one twice as large as the other. The better deal was with the larger one, but I didn’t really know.

“Does it go bad?” I asked. She looked perplexed.

“Well,” she said. “Not unless you set it out in the sun for a long time.”

I immediately pondered the likeli-hood of my wife bringing the bottle on a fishing trip and leaving it on the gunnel of a john boat. Not that likely, I reasoned. You have to put some thought into these things.

“I’ll take the big one,” I said, con-

fidently.

Then Vikki-Tori informed me that the purchase came with a free gift, a plastic pink bag with all sorts of little bottles of things that women put on various body parts.

“Nice,” I said, not knowing what any of it was for but trying to sound appreciative.

I handed her my credit card, and she asked if my purchase were a gift. It was one of those questions that confused me. Did she think I was buying this stuff for myself? Did she want to know if I had a girlfriend or wife? Was she hitting on me? Was I delusional?“Yes,” I said.

“Would you like it wrapped?”

Again, confusion flooded my brain. Wrapped, as in a bag? Rapped, as with a hammer?

“Gift-wrapped?”

“Oh, no, thank you.” God, I had to get out of here.

The transaction was completed. Vikki Tori handed me a bag with my purchases in it, and I withdrew, slowly but steadily, shaken not stirred, a controlled retreat.

All in all, it was a successful excur-sion. My wife was delighted when I surprised her on the morning of Whatever Day. And as I basked in the glow of her appreciation, I took a moment to reflect on the perils of that shopping experience.

It was worth it, I concluded. But just the same, next time I think I’ll get her a nice shiny fishing lure.

June 201024

June 2010 25

By Gail Rissi ThomasPhotos by Jordan Murphy

Excitement filled the air this Spring at Prairie Liv-ing at Chautauqua Retire-ment Home as residents

prepared for and celebrated their fourth annual senior prom.

According to administrator, Kim Kemp, planning was started early in May for the prom, which is the most well attended event of any held at the facility throughout the year.

“A lot of planning goes into this,” explained Kemp. “A couple of SIU sororities and fraternities help out, and they are on hand that night to visit with the residents and share some dances with them. The resi-dents love it. Everyone dresses up and many of the women start plan-ning their outfit for prom weeks in advance.”

According to Kemp, the residence has a variety of dressy dresses to choose from. Of course many of the women have their own dancing dresses.

“One of the ladies has a fur stole that was a gift from her husband years ago,” Kemp said. “She al-ways wears it to the prom.”

Kemp added that the staff helps with jewelry and makeup if re-quested, and shares in the fes-tivities. “We all dress up that night too, and it's funny, but I think the residents enjoy seeing us dressed up and not in our usual workday attire.”

A prom requires music, and every year, music is provided by Kateena

June 201026

Queen Rosa Cox dances with King Larry Bittle. The couple were chosen king and queen by a vote of all the other residents.

June 2010 27

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LeForge, a Carbondale vocal-ist. “Our residents love her,” Kemp said. “She has a beautiful voice.” Every effort was taken to make the evening festive, and Kemp said the staff pulled out all the stops to carry out this year's theme, “Moonlight Ser-enade.”

”The prom décor was really over the top this year,” Kemp added. “the staff just outdid themselves, paying attention to every detail.” We had an excel-lent meal, and we had a pro-fessional photographer to take photographs of residents with their family members who were their guests for the evening and some residents who had photos taken with groups of friends. At the peak of the evening, a prom king and queen were crowned, chosen by the vote of the resi-dents.”

“It was a lovely evening,” Kemp said. “It was all about dancing, enjoying friends and feeling young again. You could just tell by listening to the conversations. The music stirred such memories. 'I remember when we first heard that song' 'Oh that was our song when...' It was a night for reminiscing.'”

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President: Terry Rawson • Vice President: Tracy DavisSecretary-Treasurer: Rosi Miller • Recordiing Secretary: Jerry Cunningham

Trustees: Terry Gossett Stan Patterson Charles Mazur

Residents enjoyed the vocal stylings of Kateena LeForge who laced her repertoire with several songs appropriate to the 1940’s and 50’s.

June 201028

By Gail Rissi Thomas

“Bless the beasts and the childrenFor in this world,

they have no choiceThey have no voice.”

The lyrics of the song made famous by Karen and Richard Carpentar are all

too true, As for specifics, however, statistics are sketchy and numbers of abused and abandoned animals rarely show any correlation from

one year to the next. Humane Society's best estimates tell us that between eight and nine million cats and dogs enter shelters each year. When a careful attempt was made to survey shelters across the coun-try in 1997, 1,000 shelters returned information that claimed 4.3 mil-lion animals were handled and of those, 64% were euthanized. Bless the beasts, for in this world, they have no choice.

But fortunately for a very small

percentage of neglected and un-wanted animals there are advocates who make heroic attempts to save their lives and settle them in com-fortable and safe homes with kind and caring owners. Cache Creek Rescue is one of those shelters with loving and dedicated advocates who make every effort to save even the smallest creature from suffer-ing. But recently, the advocates at the shelter have needed advocates themselves to try to help them out of an uncomfortable, unhealthy and

June 2010 29

overcrowded situation so that they can continue doing the good work they try to do.

Located in the rolling hills and val-leys of Union County, Cache Creek Rescue was given permission to settle on the property of Susan Kern, a local resident. Donna Hawk, former Union County Ani-mal Control officer, is manager of the shelter which basically sits out in the middle of a field. Three con-crete pads and several small por-table building make up the animals' temporary homes. Linda Cook along with her stepdaughter, Tedra Miller, have time and again pro-vided for the shelter's needs, helped to promote the cause of neglected animals and help to direct the vari-ous fund raising events that allow the shelter to continue to exist.

Unfortunately, the continuous work of providing shelter for the constant influx of neglected and abused animals, providing for low cost spaying and neutering clinics and continuously pursuing animal adoptions, is not even the main need of the shelter. “We are in such a low lying area that we have flooded out two times in one year,” Miller explains. “In 2008, the last time we were flooded, the water was waist high. We have simply got to find some property some-where that is out away from every-thing and everyone, but where we are on higher ground.”

“We know we are overcrowded, and we are continuously trying to move the animals out into good homes, but there are just so many who need help,” Miller added. “The neighbors around have been so patient. We just want them to know that we are working very hard to try to find another place for the shelter. We need a safe place with a caretaker who lives on site. Rain, shine, weekends, holidays, the animals need care daily.”

Finding homes for strays, drop offs and animals that are rescued from pounds shortly before they are killed, is the work of Hawk, who has truly made animal welfare her life's purpose as well as her job. Hawk estimates that she is able to place from 50-60 animals in good homes every month. Every other weekend, she travels to Shore-wood, Illinois, a suburb of Joliet, where she is usually able to adopt out 25 or more animals in one trip.

That sounds optimistic, but con-sider that she travels to 11 counties in Southern Illinois every week, where she visits county animal control centers and truly rescues animals from being euthanized, the population is continuously grow-ing.

“One thing that we do that some shelters don't is rescue geriatric pets,” Hawk says. “I have a special spot in my heart for older animals who's owners have died or have to move and just can't take care of their pet anymore. Right now, at the shelter we have several older poodles, a pom and a couple of other older dogs, a couple who are blind, that would be considered un-adoptable. Some shelters only deal with puppies, because that is what most people want, but these dogs have been loved and cared for and make wonderful pets.”

Animal lovers have come together to support Cache Creek Rescue in a series of fundraisers to help the cause. “In May, a Five K Run/Walk, “Run for their Lives” was held at the beautiful Walker's Bluff Winery near Carbondale. In spite of inclement weather, a good crowd of supporters turned out, many with their own well-loved pets, to raise money for the less fortunate ani-mals in Southern Illinois.

“The people at Walkers Bluff were so kind to us,” Miller said. “We

A dog anxiosuly eyes the rising water while waiting for rescue during the flood of 2008 at Cache Creek Animal Rescue. (Photo provided)

June 201030

had a lot of people who didn’t show up because of the rain, and we had a lot of Tee shirts that didn’t get picked up. They actually mailed out all of those shirts for us. They did many other things for us and treated us so kindly. They were wonderful hosts.”

Another large fundraiser is being planned on July 17th, when the first ever annual Fur Ball will be held at the Blue Martin in Carbondale. Tickets are being sold for $30 an individual or $50 a couple.

“We'll have a DJ there, a silent auc-tion, a raffle, food and fun,” says Miller. “Anyone wanting tickets or more information can call Linda Cook at 618-529-3344.”

Cook is another friend to the shel-ter who shares Miller's deep con-cern for helpless animals. “Linda has provided portable buildings from Cook's Portable Warehouse, equipment that we need and tireless

efforts in helping us maintain this safe, no-kill shelter,”says Hawk

Miller, has four dogs of her own, including one bowlegged dachs-hund and a multitude of squirrels and three bullfrogs who make themselves at home on the property around her house.

“I hate seeing an animal in a cage,” Miller says. “I've even gone to strangers and tried to buy a dog that is kept tied up out in the open or kept outside in a cage. I can't stand to go to the shelter. I want to

buy every dog a soft pad to lay on and a toy.”

Miller showed how sincere her sympathy for animals really is recently when Cache Creek Rescue held a Pet Adoption on a Friday evening at Petco in Carbondale. She watched as a young engaged couple Lindsey Drayer and Digger Anderson of Carbondale began to bond with Fonzi, one of the dogs up for adoption. The couple had only recently adopted a dog and weren't too sure about taking on another one, in spite of the fact that the dog had already won both their hearts. “But I want him,” Lindsey said, as she cuddled the animal and her fiance looked on with indeci-sion.

The cost of adopting a dog from Cache Creek Rescue is $200. Not a bad deal when you consider that it includes having already been spayed or neutered, all the neces-sary shots, tested heart worm nega-tive and on the preventive medi-

Lindsey Drayer and Digger Anderson decide to keep William.

(Photo by Michael Thomas)

Kelley Peterman poses with her adopted dog, Renegade, before the start of the “Run/Walk for their Lives” fundraiser at Walker’s Bluff. (left) Two collies observe the proceedings (insert).

(Photos by Davd O’Melia)

June 2010 31

cine, wormed and accompanied by a free $750 insurance policy.Although it was clearly more than the $200 that was making it a difficult decision to take on the responsibility of caring for another pet, Miller stepped up to the couple, whom she had never met, and begin to persuade them that they and Fonzi clearly belonged together.

“It's really easier to take care of two dogs than one,” she wheedled. “They take care of one another. Every pet should have a compan-ion. Look how sweet he is. He already loves you so much. I'll pay the $200 if you'll just take him and love him and give him a good home.”

As the couple signed the adoption papers, Miller hurried off to purchase a baby gate and doggie toy to sweeten the deal.

“My wish is that there would be no need for ani-mal shelters ever,” Miller said.

“Bless the beasts and the childrenGive them shelter from the storm

Keep them safeKeep them warm

Light their way when the darkness surrounds them

Give them love. Let it shine all around them.”

Oh, by the way, Lindsey and Digger send pic-tures of their new Fonzi dog to Miller's cell phone periodically, and have informed her that they recently changed his name from Fonzi to William. He's probably ok with that.

Donna Hawk (right), director of Cache Creek Animal Rescue, goes over pet adoption papers with Lindsey Drayer of Carbondale at a recent Pet Adoption at Petco in Carbondale.

(Photo by Michael A. Thomas)

June 201032

By Sherri Murphy

OK, so I've been called "Prissy.” Even "Girly Girl"

has been used to describe me. My friends know that I'm pretty much at home in my high-heeled shoes. I never leave home without my makeup, and basically, I try to keep

myself looking as good as an aging forty-something year old can get away with. I enjoy all the pamper-ing sort of lotions, bath oils, pedi-cures and manicures. You get the picture.

This self-proclaimed "prissy per-son" has a list of things that I de-test, which also include some pho-

bias that date back to my childhood days. Nothing much has changed since I first shrieked and yelled out to my mother when I was only 3 years old, "Help! There's a sly on the sloor!" Although I talk better now, I easily communicated the first phobia I remember, which was my fear of crawling or flying insects. The list continued to grow

June 2010 33

as I did, and now as I approach middle age, it could fill several blank pages in a notebook!

To save space and time, I'll share with you my top ten fears/phobias/things I detest:

1. Bugs/Insects. ANYTHING that crawls silently, lurking in the darkness and that will make the dread-ed squishing noise when stepped on and has the abil-ity to multiply faster than a rabbit!

2. Rodents. ALL rodents. Especially the fast mov-ing, doo-doo -leaving sort that loves cheese! I freeze when I see one- then, when my composure is gained, I leave my home (Just picture me running down the street in my high heels!)...sometimes for days on end until my big brave husband finally shows me the dead carcass. Yeah. It's that bad.

3. Stinky things. Okay, I'm not afraid of things that ‘smell bad’; they just turn my stomach. And then I feel a strong urge to hurl- which will produce an-other stinky thing, so a vicious cycle is created in the realm of things that freak me out.

4. Bodily fluids and excretions of any sort, espe-cially if they smell bad. (Reread number 3 for more detail)

5. Heat and Humidity. Yeah, I barely even venture outside when the humidity kicks in. It physically DRAINS me and it frizzes up my naturally curly hair.

6. Flying. I have flown only once. I went to the Doctor, who prescribed me ONE nerve pill to be cut in half. I took one half of a nerve pill just to get on the plane, and the other half for the flight home, just to keep people from slapping me in case I became hysterical or something. (Don't judge me please. Yes, I'm ashamed.-but honestly...) And just a side note: I rarely even take an aspirin, so one half of a pill works pretty well on me.

7. Small enclosed spaces. Yes, I suffer from claus-trophobia. Being locked up in a cabin on a plane, only adds to the stress. CAN'T BREATHE! I need air!

8. Heights. Including mountains. Love to view them from the valley, but 10 feet up is about as high as I

June 201034

I couldn't believe that one child dies every hour from starvation...on a GOOD day! I was not aware that on a NORMAL day there were nearly ONE MILLION orphans in Haiti. I had no idea that there was no infrastructure in place, or heavy equipment, trash services,etc. And then the earthquake...

I watched as helpless family mem-bers frantically searched for their loved ones while trying to remove large pieces of concrete with their bare hands and tried to dig their family and friends out of the live tombs they were so unfortunate to have been buried in, no heavy equipment to help. Just heavy hearts with a strong will to find their family and give them proper burials. I watched as dead, uniden-tified bodies were buried in mass graves, and borrowed tombs so as to cut down on disease which would only add to the growing problems now facing the people of Port-Au-Prince. I tried toput my-self in their shoes. However, they were not wearing shoes.

The closest I had ever come to a di-saster in my home, was a basement flood that was not covered on our insurance plan several years ago. We had a mess and lost things we didn't have the money to replace.

It was a lot of clean-up, but my husband and I both slept soundly

that evening in our warm bed. Our bellies were full. At our fin-gertips, were numbers to call for help—plumbers, and electricians, trash haulers, even a place that could remove the water from the basement—a long list of people to help us. They were all a phone call away. Haiti, on the other hand, had not yet recovered from a devastating hurricane, only a couple of years earlier. The population has an 80% poverty level; 6% of the population is HIV positive. How much help could they provide for themselves? The answer is almost none.

My mind immediately went to a

want to be. I was the original "val-ley girl".

9. Being seen without my makeup on. I know it's silly, but if you ever caught a glimpse of plain-faced me, you would fully understand.

10. Being in a place I've never been with people I hardly know. I'm not one to venture out on my own. I like familiar faces, and scenery. I'm a homebody of sorts. I love meeting new people, but I want to hang with my own peeps in my own comfort zone.

So,while enjoying a nice snack on the first floor of my bug-free home in my stilettos and a full face of makeup, I happened to be watching the news and my heart broke as the coverage of the Haitian earthquake flooded the airwaves. I sat hor-rified, yet mesmerized by what I witnessed.

Like most people with a bit of com-passion, I asked God to help them, then prayed that soon this would all just "go away" and their lives could go back to normal. I had no idea what "normal" was for them. NORMAL was horrible- their pres-ent situation is unfathomable! The more I watched, the more I learned about this country and the people who reside there.

I had no idea that Haiti was THE POOREST country in theWestern Hemisphere.(and just a two hour flight from a thriving, Miami, Flor-ida) I had no idea that on a GOOD "normal" day they had no clean water to drink, or access to medical help. I had never heard that the av-erage day's wage for a laborer was no more than $1.50 each day.

Just inside the Haitian border, a mother sleeps on a bench with her children, all under a sheet.

(Photo by Alecia Settle, author of Visualize Haiti)

June 2010 35

story I had heard a couple of years before, of a lady who was raised here in Southern Illinois. Alecia Vaughn Settle, a scientist, turned Humanitarian after a trip to Haiti back in 2004. She ultimately adopted one of the Haitian children herself, and has made over a dozen trips to the country trying to draw at-tention to the plight ofthe those dying of treatable diseases, and hunger. She authored a haunting book, “Visualize Haiti”, which was filled with photos of her many travels to this country to which her heart was drawn. I contacted Alecia, and through a chain of events, and several correspondences, she asked me to come with her to Haiti to help with the situation there. She was asking me to come (by plane) to a very mountain-ous region in the tropics (hot and humid) that was full of bugs and rodents and things that smell, and travel there with a group of people from all across the nation that I have never met. (See again above list of things I detest.)

Her invitation caused my heart to turn over. Liter-ally, my heavy heart started beating so hard it felt like it turned over! I shared with Alecia, how—for some reason—I felt a strong connection to these people and would love to physically help them, but I wasn't sure that I needed to BE there. (You know, next to the bugs, and rats and all that stinky stuff).

I told her of my many phobias, and that the cost of the trip was also not feasible at the time, but she only asked me to pray about the decision, and let her know if I felt I should go. Before we ended our conversa-tion, passports, shots and other incidentals were discussed. My head was full of details; my heart was full of an overwhelming compassion that I cannot even explain!

I prayed for an answer—hoping to hear a voice from on high that was LOUD, crisp and clear. Instead, the more I prayed, the more my heart was broken and then an interesting thing happened. The list of fears and phobias that I mentioned earlier—well, my desire to go and help, became stronger than those fears.

Alecia suggested I go to a family member's home here in West Frankfort, to get her book on Haiti, so I that I could see the photos she captured--her raw photos from her visits prior to the earthquake. She

June 201036

wanted me to know what I was get-ting into. My eyes were transfixed as I gazed upon bright white smiles and eyes of malnourished orphans, with bleeding feet from walking barefoot through the nasty trash filled streets, rummaging for food. I saw shantytowns, where thou-sands of poverty-stricken weary souls were trying to make their homes. I saw an animal trying to get into a hut; women walking up a steep mountain carrying water on their heads to bring to their families. I viewed a woman making "mud- pies" to feed the poor, pies made from dirt and water, so they "wouldn't die hungry" as she stated when asked why anyone would eat something like that.

So here I am. At the time of this writing, I am all but packed and waiting to receive the rest of my preventative shots as I have an-swered the call of my heart. I have received generous donations from many in the area who cannot go but want to help in some way, so they decided to help send me.I'm not go-ing with any anticipation of mak-ing a measurable difference in a n overwhelming situation...I'm going to touch a life. Or maybe two, to do what I can to make a difference in the lives of people who CANNOT help themselves.

Our accommodations are pretty simple. We will have concrete

floors in the rooms in which we are sleeping and we will enjoy elec-tricity for a maximum of two hours each day. We were asked to bring our own sheets for the floor. This will be nothing close to the Bed and Breakfasts my husband and I enjoy. We will be helping to pour concrete floors, and put roofs on homes, and do repair work as well as visiting an orhanage and a hospital. We may be rocking babies, or holding the hands of those getting ready to take their last breath, so they won't have to leave this world alone. We will also hold a Bible School for over 150 village children.

For some odd reason, vomit, dirt, disease, rats, bugs, flies, mountains, close spaces, and many other things she mentioned that I would defi-nitely confront, seemed to pale in comparison to the horrific images I saw on TV. A rat doesn't seem as scary to me if my eyes are fixed upon a dying child.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not stupid. This will be a sensory over-load for a normal person who is not riddled with fears and phobias. So I know I have some training time before I leave. While waiting on the big day to arrive , I've decided to go to a Boot Camp, of sorts. I'm going to find me some bugs to squash and try to get over the fear

of stepping on one and hearing the CRUNCH!

I will try not to run from the room screaming if a mouse should enter my home. Maybe sniff some spoiled milk and try not to hurl....you know, the necessary training required to "toughen me up". And then, I'm going to put away the stilettos and practice my flat-footed walk in my sneakers!

I'm also studying a bit about the culture, the language, and intentlylooking at the photos of the people who are worth my time and effort and a little sacrifice. I know I will never be the same. And I'm look-ing forward to that fact. I need to be drawn away from the shallow waters, and the safe shore...and go deep!

I know I don't have to go. I could easily stay and push the images to the back of mind, once again. But then I am reminded of something Martin Luther King, Jr. once said.

"The first question which the priest and the Levite asked was: 'If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?' But... the good Samaritan reversed the question: 'If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?'

Sometimes, you just have to stop, you know?

June 2010 37

June 201038

By Gail Rissi Thomas

“Shane! Come back Shane. Come back!”

That refrain, shouted and then whispered by child star Brian DeWilde as Alan Ladd rides off into the sunset at the conclusion of the classic Western, “Shane” have echoed in my head for years. Per-haps because it was the only part of the movie that I heard, having just awakened from a long evening nap in the front seat of our car. More

than likely, it was because, my mother a huge Alan Ladd fan often referred to the movie's heart rend-ing ending. My memory tells me that I was very young at the time. The Internet tells me that it was 1953, which confirms that I was a mere four years old when I sat up sweaty and groggy and watched while my father maneuvered our family Pontiac into the long line of cars edging their way toward the exit. Statistics aside, for some rea-son, it is the only movie that I ever remember seeing at the Egyptian

Drive-In.

Drive-Ins were plentiful when I was a child. Growing up in the Fif-ties meant taking in a movie at one of the area drive-ins was a simple and affordable option for hot sum-mer nights, with a variety of area outdoor theaters to choose from. Closest to home was the Midway, appropriately named, as it was midway between Benton and West Frankfort. Renamed the Rend Lake Theater in later years, it was never a first choice, but was convenient

The Egyptian Drive-In opened in 1948 and closed in 2002. It boasted one of the largest screens of any drive-in theater in the country.

June 2010 39

and if memory serves me correctly, it may have been a little cheaper, although I didn't worry about such details at that time.

There was the Marion Drive-In located on the West Side of Route 37, north of Marion, and appar-ently one located between Carbon-dale and Murphysboro. There was the Starlite in Harrisburg and the Holiday in DuQuoin, but I have no memory of any of them because on drive in theater night, our fam-ily usually headed to Herrin. On the north side of Herrin was the Marlow Drive-In. Later named, the Riviera, it was opened by the Marlow Family who had brought so many entertainment venues to the city in the Thirties and Forties. And on the south end of Herrin, also located on Route 148, sat the Cadillac of drive-in theaters, the one that made an indelible mark

on southern Illinois history, The Egyptian.

When I began talking to people

about their memories of drive-in theaters, mainly the Egyptian, I found that the impressions seemed to be saved in categories, and many of them were very similar. Most people like myself remember the food, not the food that was sold at the concession stand, but more than likely the food brought from home: big brown paper bags of home-made popcorn, some kind of cooler filled with Coke or Kool-Aid, not necessarily an ice chest with indi-vidual bottles, but more than likely a large family-sized thermos with an icy drink poured into everyone's cup. There was probably no end of the variety of food taken to the drive- in and eaten in the car, often before the projector even started to

roll. My mother even fried chicken or made homemade pizza to take along. Looking back now, it must have been a mess.

Everyone remembers the speak-ers on the pole that clipped to your window. Some were better than others, and often we would switch parking places several times until we found one that worked well enough to suit my father. A mes-sage on the screen at the end of the film warned patrons to please remember to replace the speaker on the pole before driving away. Another reason for swapping park-ing spots several times was getting away from a car full of whining kids or a crying baby. Later of course, the movies soundtrack was broadcast by tuning into an FM sta-tion on the car radio. Technology was on the rise.

The Egyptian had a playground up near the screen, and it was vitally important to me that we arrived before dusk with plenty of time to play on the swings and merry-go- round. My memories of the play-ground are sketchy, but in talking to people about the drive-ins, I was thrilled to find several men still in the area who had worked at the Egyptian Drive In as teenagers, and remembered more about it than most of us ever knew.

So many people told me that they stopped about a quarter mile away from the entrance to allow a couple of the kids to get into the trunk on nights when everyone needed a ticket, as opposed to special deal “Buck Nights,” when the price was a buck a carload. On any night, but those nights especially, you would see people bring lawn chairs or spread a blanket on top of the car

The Marlow Drive-In, also called the Riveria, was located north of Herrin on Rte. 148. Built in a low lying area, it had problems with mosquitoes. (photo courtesy of French’s Studio in Herrin)

June 201040

to allow the moviegoers a little more breathing room. I can't help but wonder that if everyone had paid that actually got into the gate, perhaps drive-ins would still be thriving today.

Probably not. There's another common recollection in everyone's memory of the drive-in theaters: the mosquitoes. “I think that John Marlow built a drive-in in Her-rin for one reason,” says Herrin businessman, Richard Pisoni. “He couldn't stand the fact that there was a drive-in in Herrin and it wasn't his. But he had one prob-lem that he couldn't overcome,” he added. “He had built the Marlow in a swamp, a low lying area where the mosquito problem was terrible. There was just nothing he could do to overcome it.”

Marlow's probably sold the same mosquito abatement gimmick that was available at most other drive-ins, including The Egyptian. Herrin resident, Monte Franklin, remi-nisced about the mosquitoes and the Pic mosquito repellent that was sold at both the ticket booth as you entered and the concession stand.

“The Pic was a coil that you set up on your dash. You would light it (Of course that's when all cars had cigarette lighters, he laughed), and supposedly it would repel the mosquitoes. It would stink up your car and burn your eyes, but I don't know that it ever kept a mosquito away. I know we would wonder, 'Is this really worth it?'”

Franklin had a lot of memories to share about the Egyptian Drive-In. “When I was a youngster, my parents went to the drive-in a lot. It was all about entertainment,”

Franklin said. “And I don't mean just the movies. There was always a double feature and that meant a pretty long night of entertainment. The Egyptian had the top of the line movies. I remember even at in-termission there were always things going on. For example, your ticket had a number on it, and at intermis-sion, they would draw numbers for prizes.”

“Here's something else they did at intermission. Back then, it was still legal to have a spotlight on your car. I remember they used to play a game at intermission. I think it was called Spot or something like that. They would shine a spotlight on the screen and everyone would use their spotlights to try to fol-low it, you know, see who was the fastest and most agile to get to it first when it would move quickly. No winner, no prizes or anything, it was just simple entertainment. The concession stand had a flat

roof. They used to have live enter-tainment up there during intermis-sion too. Hank Wright, a radio DJ from WJPF was there a lot playing country music. We never went to the concession stand much to buy stuff to eat, but I do remember my favorite thing was that sometimes I would get an ice cream Dixie Cup there and they'd give you a little wooden paddle to eat it with. I loved that.”

“You know, the road that ran along the front side of the drive-in was old Route 148,” Franklin added. “Cars used to line up along that road coming in from both direc-tions, then turn into the drive-in toward the ticket booth. Eventually they built new Route 148 along side of it. You could pull up on either the north or the south side of the ticket booth and buy your tick-ets either side. They sure lined up. I think that Marlow got a lot of their business when people waited too

This aerial view of Marlow’s Drive-In was taken in October, 1949, soon after it opened. The demise of many drive-ins in America can be attributed, in part, to the fact the land became more valuable for more profitable ventures. Much of the Egyptian Drive-In property was purchased by the Williamson County Airport for expansion.

June 2010 41

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long in line at the Egyptian and gave up and said, 'Let's go somewhere else.'”

I was surprised as I talked to people about the Egyp-tian Drive-In, to find that one contact led to another. The area is a treasure trove of memories with many of those memories coming from men who worked at the drive it and know the history and the facts about the operation. Names that were suggested in that category were almost too many to follow up with interviews. Don Falknor, Glenn Reed, Larry Walker, Don Brandon and brothers Ivan and Gary Cravens were all employees of the Egyptian and all are still in Southern Illinois.

The Egyptian Drive-In first opened in 1948, and although everyone thinks of it as a Herrin establish-ment, it was actually in the city limits of Energy. It was built by Wayne and Alene Smith, although Gary Cravens, of Marion, who worked for the Smiths for many years, recalls that it began as a partnership between Smith, Harold Greer and Hazen Coleman. “I'm not sure exactly how that came to be,” Cravens said. “I think it was probably Wayne Smith who had the idea and then maybe Coleman with the money for the project. I really don't know, but it was defi-nitely a partnership in the beginning. I think at some later date, Smith must have bought the others out.”That may be the reason that there is some confusion about a little train that many people remember that ran around the back part of the property. Some say that it was an attraction owned by Greer and was adjacent to the drive in, where he could cash in on the traffic generated there. “The train was originally a part of the drive-in,” said Cravens. “I don't know what happened later; it may have changed hands in the partnership somewhere, but it was owned by the drive-in.”

There were other unusual attractions at the Egyptian that exceeded the usual add-ons that a family might get for their original price of admission. The Egyp-tian had a playground for children that was above and beyond expectations. In addition to swings and a merry-go-round up near the front of the screen, there were several motorized rides more like the type of amusement found at a carnival.

“There was a carousel that I know was still in op-eration in 1960,” reports Gary Cravens. “There were

June 201042

a couple of other motorized rides as well. There was also a Willy's Fire Truck. It was a little fire truck that pulled a cart with a row of seats on both sides for kids to ride on.”

Although both Ivan and Gary Cravens worked at the drive-in, it was Gary, the older of the two, who worked there the longest.

“They had ponies that lived in a barn there on the grounds,” Gary said. “My first job with Wayne Smith was getting out the ponies, cleaning them up and saddling them. Then we'd put the kids on them and lead them around on a ring. I think I was about eight years old at the time. Over the years, I did just about everything you could do working at a drive-in, except run the projector. I worked the box of-fice, maintenance, and concession stand. We had a pretty good con-cession stand. We sold hamburgers, hot dogs and barbeques in addition to the popcorn, soda and candy. During the day, I helped Wayne make the homemade ice cream that we sold.”

“I remember seeing some of those things like the carousel,” Ivan said. “But when I worked there, they were no longer in use. They were just parts, stored in a huge com-partment under the screen. That screen was so big. The bottom of it was useful for storage. The actual movie screen started about 35 feet up from the ground. It had to so that the people in the very back row could see the movie, although the people in the back row weren't watching the movie anyway,” he laughed.

Don Falknor of Herrin worked at the Egyptian for 10 years. As film projectionist, Falknor was in charge in setting up the movies. Each film would have between three to five reels, which would have to be set up in order.

“I would arrive on Friday morning and set platters for the weekend. Then on Monday I would come in and tear it down and ship it out to the air port next door.”

Like other employees who worked for the Smiths, Falknor did a little

bit of everything including patrol-ling the grounds and working in the concession stand during intermis-sion.

“We sold Charlie Burgers, funnel cakes, popcorn fried in peanut oil, giant pickles, hot dogs, corn dogs and home made potato chips.” Falknor says.

Another one of his duties was to work the drive-in’s radio. “Every-body who came in was given a garbage bag and a ticket that had a number on it. People would fill out their tickets with their name and where they were from. We would put the tickets in a hopper and then during intermission we would draw for prizes. We gave away prizes every night: ball-caps, tee-shirts, 2-liter bottle of Pepsi, free tickets for food and cash.”

The tickets also served another purpose. “After the movie started we would go through the tickets and see where people were from,” explains Falknor. “We would get people from all over. Sometimes there would be visitors from Eng-

land or South America and during intermission we would invite them into the radio booth Alene would interview them and ask them why they came to the Egyptian.”

Falknor estimated that the aver-age crowd was between 100 -150 cars a night. “Our biggest crowd was 730 cars. We showed ‘The Blair Witch Project’ and Alene billed it as a Halloween Special. We had to set up a special drink trailer for that one to handle the overflow from the concession stand,” Falknor says.

June 2010 43

“The second biggest night was 640 cars, and that was when we showed “Mission Impossible” with Tom Cruise.”

Being an outdoor theater, weather could make things interesting for the patrons. “We would show the movies rain or shine,” Falknor says. “But sometimes lightning would shut us down when the power would go out briefly. Late in the season, fog could be a problem. I remember one night when we had to wait until 1 AM to finish. I even had snow once. It was mid-November during the last weekend of the season and we had an early snow. The temperature was about 25 degrees but we had about 30 faithful cars out there.”

The Egyptian Drive-In was once billed as having the largest movie screen in the world. That may or may not have been accurate. It was pretty easy to make state-ments about things like that before the Internet was around to refute your claims. Nevertheless, it was certainly the largest that anyone around here seemed to be aware of. “The original screen wasn't that large, but they later built onto each side of it and it was about 125 feet wide and about 70 to 80 feet tall,” Gary Cravens said. “I remember that because we used to have to climb up along the top to change the bulbs on the lights that shined out on the lawn.”

The first drive in movie was opened in Camden, NJ in 1933. In Illinois the number of outdoor the-aters reached their peak in the late Fifties and held their own until the early Seventies. During the peak there were 120 drive-ins through-out the state. Today there are only

12 drive-ins operating in Illinois.

One of those drive-ins that is not only still standing, but still show-ing movies is the Salem Drive-In just three miles south of Salem. A friend told me just the other day that she planned to take her three boys to see a movie there. “Why?” I asked, but she being the kind of mother she is, I already knew the answer. “I just want them to get the experience of seeing a drive-in movie and seeing a movie at one to know what it was like.” Out of curiosity, I called the Sa-lem Drive-In to see if it was really open. A recording told me just about everything I wanted to know and a few things that I didn't. The drive-in is only open on weekends. This Friday, Saturday and Sun-day, they were showing a Disney double feature, “Toy Story 3” and Miley Cyrus in “The Last Song.” The prices were $5 for adults and children over 12, $3 for children 11 and under. The information included advise that the sound was broadcast on FM station 89.3, so if your car radio doesn't work, it is necessary to bring a portable radio with you.

And sadly, although sadly is my word, not theirs, no outside food or drink may be brought into the the-ater. To their credit, they do have three volleyball courts on the play-ground and a website. I thought for a minute about the recent near 100-degree heat and humidity lev-els, and I agree, they will kind of get the idea of what it was like to see a movie at a drive in theater.As for the Egyptian, the advent of more television stations in the Sixties gave all theaters a run for their money, and by the Seventies the when air conditioning became

a necessity instead of a luxury, even high box office prices and outrageous concession stand prices thinned the long lines at the drive- ins.

The Egyptian was no exception. Kerasotes Movie Chain bought the Egyptian in 1974, and in the early Eighties returned it to Wayne Smith's widow, Alene. She returned to the area and made an attempt off and on to run movies there. She turned the concession stand into an elaborate full service restaurant with a tropical theme serving such exotic entrees as alligator tail and lobster. In 2002, after a valiant ef-fort, The Egyptian Drive-In went dark for the last time.

I was questioning my husband about his drive-in experiences when he was young. It was no surprise that many of his memories of the movies, the food and the hot summer nights were the same at the Starlite Drive-In in Kankakee as they were at the Egyptian in Her-rin. Only with seven boys in their family, they may have been the car that my dad would park next to for a few moments and then decide to move on to find a quieter spot.But for us baby boomers, drive-in theaters are one of those magical icons of Americana that is etched in our common experiences.

Whether it's Jimmy Stewart say-ing, “Well thank you Harvey, I prefer you too,” or Brian De Wilde screaming, “Come back Shane, Come back,” the impression was more than one left in our fantasies by the stars of the golden screen. It was more about the memories of those golden days and the simplic-ity of those golden years.

June 201044

By Gail Risssi Thomas

Do you remember hula hoops? Of course you do, especially if you

are close to my age, (born 20 years either side of 1949) I was the hula hoop queen, At least I thought I was, just like 13,785, 848 other kids just like me who picked up the knack of twirling the cheap plastic loop around their body up and down from their neck to their ankles and back up again.

But hula hoops were about more than a slick trick to keep kids occu-pied. They were big business. The Wham-O Manufacturing Company introduced the hula hoop in 1958 and within the next 6 months of that year sold over 120 million of them. Hula hoops were one of the less nonsensical fads that made someone a lot of money.

In 1975, advertising rep, Gary Dahl was having drinks with a bunch of friends when talk turned to pets. Dahl informed his friends that the only pet he would have

was a pet rock. You didn't have to feed it, walk it, or get it shots. . It never bothered the neighbors or woke you up at night; it was cheap to take care of and they all had the perfect temperament. After a few laughs, Dahl went home and wrote a Training Manual for the Pet Rock. Within a few months, he was shipping out 10,000 pets a day complete with manual. If you'd like to have one, there are rumors that there are quite a variety of them on eBay.

If ridiculous million dollar ideas seemed to become more stupid with every decade, an idea that was right on time was the Deely-Bop-per Antennae. If you don't know or can't remember what those were, just picture what deely-bopper an-tennae might look like. You got it. It's a memory that makes me want to rush out and find a pair to wear this afternoon. Not.

Well, the whole point of this nos-talgic lead in is to bring up some ideas that make us do the character-istic V-8 smack on the forehead and say, “Why didn't I think of that.” In case you're thinking, “I could write

a book about stupid million dollar ideas,“ don't crank up your word processor just yet. Robert L.Shook, author of “Why didn't I think of That,” already thought of that.

Well here's one you'll wish you had thought of. Introducing the marketing of the Silly Bandz. Haven't heard of Silly Bandz? Don't feel too badly about that. I asked the mother of an 8 year old girl

the other day what she knew about Silly Bands, and her response was, “I know everything about Silly Bandz. I know more than I ever wanted to know about Silly Bandz,” she added sadly.

Well Silly Bandz are the latest craze that make us shake our heads and mutter, “I wish I'd thought of that.” A Silly Band is a very slim strip of silicone shaped into some-thing. It might be a tiger, a giraffe, a little girl, a house, a letter of the alphabet....I could go on and on, and probably not name them all, but that is their shape when they lay on a flat surface. When stretched enough to slip it over your hand and wear it on your arm, it looks like a very thin rub-ber band. Take it off and lay it back down, it goes back to it's original shape. Oh, yes, and it comes in lots of colors.

According to the New York Times, Silly Bandz are traded, collected and generally obsessed over by children, mainly girls, but not ex-clusively, from elementary school through college. As they became

June 2010 45

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hard to find, The Times reports that toy stores carrying the Bandz were forming waiting lists for when the next shipment arrived. Some reported parents offering them more money for first choice at new arrivals.

We were first introduced to Silly Bandz by Sam Cox, owner of My Favorite Toys at the University Mall. He and his wife showed them off to me and my husband, while the four of us lamented the fact that if only we'd thought of this first.

“These things originated in China,” Cox told us. They started in this country with a company in Bir-mingham, Alabama. Last Christmas before anyone around here knew anything about them, we had some college students from out of state come into the store looking for

them. They were wearing them all up and down their arms and were amazed that we had never heard of them.”

“We got our first ones in February and by April they had just explod-ed. We have sold out three or four times, and as the craze continues, kids are on the hunt for the new shapes and colors, the ones that glow in the dark. We're challenged to keep up not just by the demand, but we need to be on top of what the newest ones are and what everyone is looking for. They now have dinosaurs, baseball and other sport shapes, so guys are collecting them too. About five minutes ago, I opened a box of 150 packages. We're expecting a much bigger shipment next week.”

“You know,” Cox added, “Silly

Bandz have all the earmarks of a good fad. They're collectible and inexpensive. There is a huge vari-ety, which creates the excitement of the hunt. On top of that they've been banned by some schools, which has made them more excit-ing than ever. It's certainly the big-gest craze we've ever seen since we opened our store five years ago.”

Sean McGowan, an analyst who tracks the toy industry for Need-ham & Company says, “In a high-tech era, when children want Ipods, Ipads and Wii games, it's refreshing to see something as simple as this get their attention.”

Of course this won't be the last fad. I just hope we know the next one before anyone else does.

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