It is the sort of, almost mythic fall day one dreams about. Some trees have been stripped bare and are beginning their winter slumber. Most still wear their autumn garland of color. A few leaves remain stubbornly green, refusing to succumb to the diminishing daylight. The sun at this late hour, at this time of year low in the sky, sends a shaft of bright warmth down the canyon formed by the highrises which line each side of our lakefront street. The warmth tempts the students, recently arrived at the nearby college, to run shirtless to and from their lakefront jogs.
In the playground children run about in their seemingly aimless fashion. Yelling, giggling, their sweet innocent faces express the joy of playing outside on this beautiful day. Soon this play will change. Shorts will give way to long pants, heavy coats, hats, gloves and scarfs. It will be a season of snow. Sledding, snowmen and throwing handfuls of powder into the air to watch it float down around them, or forming it into balls and throwing them at each other will be the order of the day.
But, for now, there is the warm sunlight, gentle breeze and peace and contentment that come from experiencing a glorious day.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Sunday, October 7, 2012
My New Commute - Mid Autumn
With a new job comes a new commute. This one is somewhat different than any I have had before. Each day I take a short, 10 to 15 minute train trip from Chicago's northern border to a suburb located northwest of the city.
It is mid autumn. The leaves are more colorful than I had dared hope after the drought and extraordinary heat we experienced over the summer. Initially the train runs through a tangle of these leaves. Yellow, colored by the fading sunlight of the season, mixes with the last, remaining green of summer. I am learning to overlook the rail maintenance yard and water treatment plant that follows. In an odd juxtaposition, the stately administration building which stands watch over the bubbling cauldrons of recycled water is a study of classic art deco beauty. Soon there is a grass easement on either side of the train sprinkled with yellow wild flowers and queen anne's lace. One evening a doe and her fawn stood in the grass as the train passed.
Neighborhoods of cozy late mid century bungalows sitting side by side along tree lined streets appear. The trees are an autumn rainbow of orange, green, yellow and red. Masses of other treetops can be seen in the distance. The soft transition from one autumn shade to another look almost as if they could have been painted by Monet, had he not been obsessed with his palette of soft pastels.
At my rides end stands the historic first train station for this suburb. Built in 1924 it is an excellent example of Prairie School architecture. It has been moved 130 feet east from it's original location. Today it houses a Starbucks and a company which assists people with declaring bankruptcy. As I think of the lack of respect for the building and it's history that this use shows I am heartened by the fact that there was enough respect to keep it from being bulldozed into a memory.
It is mid autumn. The leaves are more colorful than I had dared hope after the drought and extraordinary heat we experienced over the summer. Initially the train runs through a tangle of these leaves. Yellow, colored by the fading sunlight of the season, mixes with the last, remaining green of summer. I am learning to overlook the rail maintenance yard and water treatment plant that follows. In an odd juxtaposition, the stately administration building which stands watch over the bubbling cauldrons of recycled water is a study of classic art deco beauty. Soon there is a grass easement on either side of the train sprinkled with yellow wild flowers and queen anne's lace. One evening a doe and her fawn stood in the grass as the train passed.
Neighborhoods of cozy late mid century bungalows sitting side by side along tree lined streets appear. The trees are an autumn rainbow of orange, green, yellow and red. Masses of other treetops can be seen in the distance. The soft transition from one autumn shade to another look almost as if they could have been painted by Monet, had he not been obsessed with his palette of soft pastels.
At my rides end stands the historic first train station for this suburb. Built in 1924 it is an excellent example of Prairie School architecture. It has been moved 130 feet east from it's original location. Today it houses a Starbucks and a company which assists people with declaring bankruptcy. As I think of the lack of respect for the building and it's history that this use shows I am heartened by the fact that there was enough respect to keep it from being bulldozed into a memory.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Guilty Pleasures - Televised Eye Candy
In my youth television consisted of 3 channels, and even these stopped broadcasting at 11 p.m. or so. Under these spartan conditions my adolescent televised eye candy, although I did not acknowledge it as such at the time, consisted of the eldest of Fred McMurrays "Three Sons", James West, in his impossibly tight pants, and on occasion Greg Brady. Today television offers us a copious number of channels 24 hours a day and almost unlimited opportunities for satisfying our more lurid visual fetishes. Following are some of my personal favorites.
The Tudors
Although I can claim some small level of dignity with this choice citing it's quasi historical basis, it essentially amounts to a bunch of very comely people running about engaging in political backstabbing and blackmail and extramarital coitus. One of the actors, after bulking up, is the latest choice to play Superman, since the 80's a character they keep trying unsuccessfully to make sexy. Maybe this time they will get it right and get past the underlying goody two shoes nature of the previous attempts which made the "Man of Steel" about as sexually appealing as an unfrosted donut. In some episodes clothing seems to be more off than on and costumes, when worn, appear to be designed by someone fond of tight leather boots and leggings. Nothing even slightly erotic about that. The sets, costumes, leather aside, jewels and locales are lush and spectacular and the scripts and storylines complex. Which keeps me from feeling particularly dirty as I watch it. Then again, maybe I am a master at justification.
The Mentalist
O.k., this one is completely indefensible. While I enjoy the manner in which the crimes on the show are solved, it is also the cast which captures my attention and keeps me whiling away portions of my life watching it. There is the tall, hot detective. Lean and handsome, he also looks somewhat stupid, which is not always an undesirable trait. The stoic Asian detective I also find appealing. Which is odd in that I never even remotely considered myself a "rice queen". Perhaps it is his solid, thick physique, showcased in tight fitting short sleeved dress shirts and ties. This is a fashion choice which usually makes me cringe, however in this case I am willing to give it a pass. In one episode, I was finally able to catch a glimpse of him clad only in boxer shorts. It seemed to make some of the time I have spent watching this worthwhile.
Merlin
I only recently discovered this one. I can, again, maintain my dignity while viewing by remarking on it's period set and costumes, although I suspect they are a conglomeration of several different periods, and the inclusion of the noted thespian John Hurt as the voice of the dragon...alright, maybe that's a stretch.
I must also admit I enjoy the two male leads. Merlin is adorable in a jug earred twinkie sort of way. He possesses a delightful impish smile. He is complimented nicely by the blond underwear model who plays the young King Arthur. Great care appears to have been taken to ensure that Arthur is often seen in various stages of undress. In the series 4th season, and extraordinarily tall, handsome supporting actor has been added to the cast. The actor, playing the role of the knight with the decidedly unbutch name of Percival, always seems to have his rippling, powerful arms bared, whereas the arms of the other knights in those same scenes are covered by not only tunic sleeves, but also gauntlets and chain mail armour.
The plots and subplots of this BBC production while often witty and engaging, are not it's only attractions.
I will admit to sometimes reverting to my youth and watching a rerun of "Wild Wild West", paying particular attention to the episodes where Robert Conrad dons the leather chaps his character is so fond of. Although often neglecting to wear a shirt, a favorite episode of mine is one in which he forgets his shirt while wearing the aforementioned chaps. When viewing this episode I can't help noting that there are several bars I am aware of where he would not only fit in but be very popular.
One question has always vexed me though. How was he able to sit down, let alone fight bad guys and swing his leg over to ride a horse, while wearing those tight pants?
The Tudors
Although I can claim some small level of dignity with this choice citing it's quasi historical basis, it essentially amounts to a bunch of very comely people running about engaging in political backstabbing and blackmail and extramarital coitus. One of the actors, after bulking up, is the latest choice to play Superman, since the 80's a character they keep trying unsuccessfully to make sexy. Maybe this time they will get it right and get past the underlying goody two shoes nature of the previous attempts which made the "Man of Steel" about as sexually appealing as an unfrosted donut. In some episodes clothing seems to be more off than on and costumes, when worn, appear to be designed by someone fond of tight leather boots and leggings. Nothing even slightly erotic about that. The sets, costumes, leather aside, jewels and locales are lush and spectacular and the scripts and storylines complex. Which keeps me from feeling particularly dirty as I watch it. Then again, maybe I am a master at justification.
The Mentalist
O.k., this one is completely indefensible. While I enjoy the manner in which the crimes on the show are solved, it is also the cast which captures my attention and keeps me whiling away portions of my life watching it. There is the tall, hot detective. Lean and handsome, he also looks somewhat stupid, which is not always an undesirable trait. The stoic Asian detective I also find appealing. Which is odd in that I never even remotely considered myself a "rice queen". Perhaps it is his solid, thick physique, showcased in tight fitting short sleeved dress shirts and ties. This is a fashion choice which usually makes me cringe, however in this case I am willing to give it a pass. In one episode, I was finally able to catch a glimpse of him clad only in boxer shorts. It seemed to make some of the time I have spent watching this worthwhile.
Merlin
I only recently discovered this one. I can, again, maintain my dignity while viewing by remarking on it's period set and costumes, although I suspect they are a conglomeration of several different periods, and the inclusion of the noted thespian John Hurt as the voice of the dragon...alright, maybe that's a stretch.
I must also admit I enjoy the two male leads. Merlin is adorable in a jug earred twinkie sort of way. He possesses a delightful impish smile. He is complimented nicely by the blond underwear model who plays the young King Arthur. Great care appears to have been taken to ensure that Arthur is often seen in various stages of undress. In the series 4th season, and extraordinarily tall, handsome supporting actor has been added to the cast. The actor, playing the role of the knight with the decidedly unbutch name of Percival, always seems to have his rippling, powerful arms bared, whereas the arms of the other knights in those same scenes are covered by not only tunic sleeves, but also gauntlets and chain mail armour.
The plots and subplots of this BBC production while often witty and engaging, are not it's only attractions.
I will admit to sometimes reverting to my youth and watching a rerun of "Wild Wild West", paying particular attention to the episodes where Robert Conrad dons the leather chaps his character is so fond of. Although often neglecting to wear a shirt, a favorite episode of mine is one in which he forgets his shirt while wearing the aforementioned chaps. When viewing this episode I can't help noting that there are several bars I am aware of where he would not only fit in but be very popular.
One question has always vexed me though. How was he able to sit down, let alone fight bad guys and swing his leg over to ride a horse, while wearing those tight pants?
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Excuse Me Mr. Kubrick, I'm 10 Years Old and Real Confused
For a number of years, as a child and teenager, I made my pocket money as a newspaper boy. While my mother was working her way through college one of her part time jobs was as a "den mother" to a group of us. My fellow newsboys would gather at our house each day to collect and fold their papers before setting out to deliver them. She would study at our kitchen table in the breakfast nook, which overlooked the back yard, thereby being accessible to us should the need arise. One of her responsibilities was to take us out one evening each week to canvas neighborhoods for new subscriptions. In this area of the business I was particularly successful. I was tiny, with red hair, freckles and large blue eyes. I was difficult to say no to. There were prizes awarded for the number of subscriptions we were able to collect. Over time I won, among other things, several trips to Disneyland, we lived an hour away, and a small black and white t.v. This I used for over ten years, keeping it with me when I moved out of my parents home. At one point we were awarded tickets to a movie at a fancy Hollywood theatre. The movie was Stanley Kubrick's "2001, A Space Odyssey".
Although the movies remarkable visual effects impressed me, the film's non linear storytelling style left a bunch of pre teen paperboys standing in the lobby afterward scratching their heads in puzzlement. What's with those apes in the beginning? What about the old man and the baby at the end? And, WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT BIG BLACK THING THAT KEPT SHOWING UP??????????? Another of the "den mothers", who had driven us to the theatre, on the way home was left with the unenviable task of attempting to explain this confounding movie to a bunch of 10 year olds.
I am several decades older now and recognize Stanley Kubrick as a true master of his craft. He did not play by the rules. If he had his work would not be near as interesting or carry the extraordinary level of gravity which it does. There is "Spartacus", with it's homoerotic undertones, so controversial in their day that they were edited out of the movie upon it's initial theatrical release. He demanded that Dalton Trumbo be given screenwriting credit for this film, even though Trumbo was blacklisted at the time. "Barry Lydon" is a visual marvel due to his creation of a film making technique which allowed him to shoot scenes in candlelight. "Clockwork Orange", again controversial due to it depictions of sex and violence is a remarkable piece of storytelling, a wonderfully imaginative vision of a future gone haywire. "Paths of Glory" contains some of the most affecting battle scenes I have ever viewed. It manages to show the horrors of the battlefield without resorting to scenes of graphic gore. "Dr. Strangelove" is a satirical classic which masterfully skewers the foolishness and utter nonsense of the decades long cold war.
But back to "2001". In order to lend the film realism he paid AT&T and the Hilton Corp. to use their names and logos in it. This is particularly ironic in that today companies pay film's producers to have their products and logos depicted in them. Perhaps the film is best described as "open to interpretation". In my case at least, this interpretation seems to change with each viewing. This being said, I am always enthralled by it's spectacular visuals, lush classical score and Keir Dullea's thick thighs in his tiny tight shorts as he jogs around the spaceship shadowboxing.
The only time the movie has ever made complete sense to me was one night watching it on t.v. with my stepfather as we smoked a substantial quantity of hash. As the movie progressed our conversation regarding it resulted in great insight and clarity. The following morning however, the hash had worn off and I remained as frustrated and confounded by it as ever.
Mr. Kubrick, may you rest in peace, but I am now 55 and real confused!
Although the movies remarkable visual effects impressed me, the film's non linear storytelling style left a bunch of pre teen paperboys standing in the lobby afterward scratching their heads in puzzlement. What's with those apes in the beginning? What about the old man and the baby at the end? And, WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT BIG BLACK THING THAT KEPT SHOWING UP??????????? Another of the "den mothers", who had driven us to the theatre, on the way home was left with the unenviable task of attempting to explain this confounding movie to a bunch of 10 year olds.
I am several decades older now and recognize Stanley Kubrick as a true master of his craft. He did not play by the rules. If he had his work would not be near as interesting or carry the extraordinary level of gravity which it does. There is "Spartacus", with it's homoerotic undertones, so controversial in their day that they were edited out of the movie upon it's initial theatrical release. He demanded that Dalton Trumbo be given screenwriting credit for this film, even though Trumbo was blacklisted at the time. "Barry Lydon" is a visual marvel due to his creation of a film making technique which allowed him to shoot scenes in candlelight. "Clockwork Orange", again controversial due to it depictions of sex and violence is a remarkable piece of storytelling, a wonderfully imaginative vision of a future gone haywire. "Paths of Glory" contains some of the most affecting battle scenes I have ever viewed. It manages to show the horrors of the battlefield without resorting to scenes of graphic gore. "Dr. Strangelove" is a satirical classic which masterfully skewers the foolishness and utter nonsense of the decades long cold war.
But back to "2001". In order to lend the film realism he paid AT&T and the Hilton Corp. to use their names and logos in it. This is particularly ironic in that today companies pay film's producers to have their products and logos depicted in them. Perhaps the film is best described as "open to interpretation". In my case at least, this interpretation seems to change with each viewing. This being said, I am always enthralled by it's spectacular visuals, lush classical score and Keir Dullea's thick thighs in his tiny tight shorts as he jogs around the spaceship shadowboxing.
The only time the movie has ever made complete sense to me was one night watching it on t.v. with my stepfather as we smoked a substantial quantity of hash. As the movie progressed our conversation regarding it resulted in great insight and clarity. The following morning however, the hash had worn off and I remained as frustrated and confounded by it as ever.
Mr. Kubrick, may you rest in peace, but I am now 55 and real confused!
Saturday, September 15, 2012
St. Louis - The Trip Home
I remarked during my trip, to an extremely helpful bus driver, how gracious and friendly people had been to me in St. Louis. I enjoyed my visits to the two museums, particularly enthusiastic about their excellent art museum. I was quite taken by the park in which the museums were housed and wish I had had better weather and more time to explore it. From the brief glimpse I received, it appears the neighborhood around the park is also deserving of more exploration. I was underwhelmed by the segment of gay life I witnessed, but nowhere, even in my beloved hometown of Chicago, is that what it once was.
Early Monday morning arrived and I boarded the Amtrak train for my return trip. Having ridden on the left hand side of the train going south I realized I would also have to sit on the left hand side of the train going north to see the sights I had not seen as opposed to seeing what I had seen only backwards! I was allowed a better view of the Capitol building and the well preserved historic center of Joliet, including the beautifully renovated train station. Having to pull off to a siding to allow another train to pass we were treated to a bucolic vista of late summer wildflowers and due to the recent rains, somewhat replenished wetlands. A friend of mine, when I returned, mentioned how boring the drive is from Chicago to St. Louis. Upon learning that I had traveled by train he agreed that it would be a much more enjoyable and interesting trip. It is a mode of travel I highly recommend Perhaps, choosing to ride the train, if parents are lucky, "are we there yet" would turn into "are we there already".
Early Monday morning arrived and I boarded the Amtrak train for my return trip. Having ridden on the left hand side of the train going south I realized I would also have to sit on the left hand side of the train going north to see the sights I had not seen as opposed to seeing what I had seen only backwards! I was allowed a better view of the Capitol building and the well preserved historic center of Joliet, including the beautifully renovated train station. Having to pull off to a siding to allow another train to pass we were treated to a bucolic vista of late summer wildflowers and due to the recent rains, somewhat replenished wetlands. A friend of mine, when I returned, mentioned how boring the drive is from Chicago to St. Louis. Upon learning that I had traveled by train he agreed that it would be a much more enjoyable and interesting trip. It is a mode of travel I highly recommend Perhaps, choosing to ride the train, if parents are lucky, "are we there yet" would turn into "are we there already".
St. Louis - The Courthouse and Dred Scott
While admiring the Arch I struck up a short conversation with a man wearing a faded Cubs tee shirt. He also was visiting from Chicago with two other friends over the long weekend. I seem to have a habit of running into Chicagoans when traveling. I have met them gazing at a waterfall in Ohio, strolling down the street in Key West and met people born in the suburbs in Palm Springs and Yellowstone. At the street corner he went his way and I started across another small park towards the historic St. Louis Courthouse.
I had initially intended to just walk by the Courthouse assuming, it being Sunday, that it would be closed. It was covered by scaffolding undergoing renovation. This is something else I seem to have a habit of running into. The Doumo in Florence, main cathedral in Mexico City, even the 18th century courthouse on St. Martin, it's cornice topped by a carved wooden pineapple, have all been at least partially covered by scaffolding or netting during my visits. I was delighted to discover that the courthouse was open and climbed the steps to it's entrance.
Inside rooms contain historical displays. There is a plexiglas model in one of these rooms showing the original structure and how it had been expanded over the years. The soaring, beautifully painted rotunda and dome were festooned with patriotic stars and stripes banners.
The sign outside had said that two of the courtrooms had been restored to their original 19th century appearance. I stepped into the gift shop to ask where they were located. A Park Ranger, who had been visiting with the woman behind the counter, escorted me out into the main hall to direct me to them, filling me in on the history of the building. A remarkable history it was. This was the site of the Dred Scott hearing. Dred Scott, born into slavery, was owned by an army officer. He accompanied the officer to several of his posts. He eventually sued his master for his freedom, his argument being that, since some of the posts had been in free states, when he set foot in them he became a free man, regardless of where he currently resided. The court's decision was that, as he was born into slavery he was not a citizen and therefore had no legal right to sue. His suit was declared invalid. The suit and decision were more complicated than this, involving appeals and questions of protection of property. Legally Dred Scott was viewed as his master's property. The decision inflamed passions on both sides of the issue. It influenced the nomination of Abraham Lincoln which eventually led to the civil war.
By 1860 more free blacks than slaves resided in St. Louis. A resident's license for a free black, however, required the posting of a $1000 bond, which was a considerable amount at the time.
The courtroom where the Dred Scott decision was heard no longer stands as it once did. A sagging ceiling required building two supporting walls to shore it up, cutting the space up into two courtrooms on either side of a corridor.
On the second floor of the Courthouse are the two restored courtrooms. The second floor is accessed by cast iron steps with filigree risers which date from 1851. The Park Ranger pointed out that the staircase has no vertical support, instead it is anchored to the wall.
Back outside I wandered the downtown streets back to where I would catch the bus to the guesthouse. It being Sunday the streets were almost eerily quiet. Although the majority of the structures in the downtown area are modern, besides the Courthouse a few historic buildings still stand. The city hall is a baroque beauty under it's coating of grime. It is badly in need of some TLC as in it's present state it appears almost abandoned. Across the street from it is a court building. On it's upper floors classical columns hold up a stepped pyramid roof. Unfortunately between downtown and the neighborhoods to the south several blocks on the edge of the downtown area appear to have been razed to construct elevated highways and off ramps. This has created a desolate, almost war torn looking landscape. From the few buildings that remain it looks as if this area may, at one time, have been historic in nature.
St. Louis is by no means alone in this form of destruction. Throughout the U.S. cities have destroyed their heritage, often to accommodate this countries addiction to the private car. Once this history is gone it cannot be regained. We owe it to future generations to restore and preserve history. The knowledge of where we are cannot be fully understood or appreciated without the knowledge of how we arrived there.
I had initially intended to just walk by the Courthouse assuming, it being Sunday, that it would be closed. It was covered by scaffolding undergoing renovation. This is something else I seem to have a habit of running into. The Doumo in Florence, main cathedral in Mexico City, even the 18th century courthouse on St. Martin, it's cornice topped by a carved wooden pineapple, have all been at least partially covered by scaffolding or netting during my visits. I was delighted to discover that the courthouse was open and climbed the steps to it's entrance.
Inside rooms contain historical displays. There is a plexiglas model in one of these rooms showing the original structure and how it had been expanded over the years. The soaring, beautifully painted rotunda and dome were festooned with patriotic stars and stripes banners.
The sign outside had said that two of the courtrooms had been restored to their original 19th century appearance. I stepped into the gift shop to ask where they were located. A Park Ranger, who had been visiting with the woman behind the counter, escorted me out into the main hall to direct me to them, filling me in on the history of the building. A remarkable history it was. This was the site of the Dred Scott hearing. Dred Scott, born into slavery, was owned by an army officer. He accompanied the officer to several of his posts. He eventually sued his master for his freedom, his argument being that, since some of the posts had been in free states, when he set foot in them he became a free man, regardless of where he currently resided. The court's decision was that, as he was born into slavery he was not a citizen and therefore had no legal right to sue. His suit was declared invalid. The suit and decision were more complicated than this, involving appeals and questions of protection of property. Legally Dred Scott was viewed as his master's property. The decision inflamed passions on both sides of the issue. It influenced the nomination of Abraham Lincoln which eventually led to the civil war.
By 1860 more free blacks than slaves resided in St. Louis. A resident's license for a free black, however, required the posting of a $1000 bond, which was a considerable amount at the time.
The courtroom where the Dred Scott decision was heard no longer stands as it once did. A sagging ceiling required building two supporting walls to shore it up, cutting the space up into two courtrooms on either side of a corridor.
On the second floor of the Courthouse are the two restored courtrooms. The second floor is accessed by cast iron steps with filigree risers which date from 1851. The Park Ranger pointed out that the staircase has no vertical support, instead it is anchored to the wall.
Back outside I wandered the downtown streets back to where I would catch the bus to the guesthouse. It being Sunday the streets were almost eerily quiet. Although the majority of the structures in the downtown area are modern, besides the Courthouse a few historic buildings still stand. The city hall is a baroque beauty under it's coating of grime. It is badly in need of some TLC as in it's present state it appears almost abandoned. Across the street from it is a court building. On it's upper floors classical columns hold up a stepped pyramid roof. Unfortunately between downtown and the neighborhoods to the south several blocks on the edge of the downtown area appear to have been razed to construct elevated highways and off ramps. This has created a desolate, almost war torn looking landscape. From the few buildings that remain it looks as if this area may, at one time, have been historic in nature.
St. Louis is by no means alone in this form of destruction. Throughout the U.S. cities have destroyed their heritage, often to accommodate this countries addiction to the private car. Once this history is gone it cannot be regained. We owe it to future generations to restore and preserve history. The knowledge of where we are cannot be fully understood or appreciated without the knowledge of how we arrived there.
St. Louis - The Arch
On a still gray, cloudy and rainy Sunday morning I left the guesthouse for my trip to the iconic landmark the St. Louis Arch, an almost mandatory visit on a trip to the city. The bus service on Sundays is somewhat sporadic so I chose my departure time carefully and got to the stop with plenty of time to spare. A misstep here could mean on hour long wait until the next bus came along.
I settled in and observed the Sunday morning goings on. An elderly couple carefully picked their way across the rain slick street heading towards the church next to the stop. Bicyclists in their skin tight lycra outfits, their aerodynamic helmets making them resemble some odd form of insect, pedaled hard in an effort to successfully navigate the hilly terrain in the area. Bells rang in the distance announcing the start of Sunday services elsewhere in the area.
After a short ride that I was beginning to become familiar with, I transferred to a train and was soon at the park surrounding the St. Louis Arch. A nationwide design competition was held in 1947 for a new National Monument. Eero Saarinen's design of the Arch was chosen and construction began in 1963. Unfortunately, Saarinen died prior to the completion of the structure in 1965. Weighing 43,000 tons, at 630 feet it is the nation's tallest National Monument. Although from photos one might assume that the base of each side of the Arch is square, they are actually trapezoids, which gives the massive structure a surprisingly graceful silhouette. Small signs lead you through the pleasant park to the underground entrance and visitor's center.
Times being what they are, and this being a National Monument, security at the entrance is tight. All bags are x rayed, jackets must be removed and all visitors must pass through a metal detector. They let you keep your shoes on! Due to the limited number of elevators and somewhat small observation area at the top of the Arch, to maintain crowd control tickets to the top are sold for a particular time. Arriving relatively early in the day the line was short and I only had to wait 20 minutes before my reservation. I browsed in the gift shop, I noticed two women in colorful African dress. One was about to take a photo of the other. I offered to photograph the two of them together as I crossed the lobby to my place in line for the elevator. These women plus the mix of languages and accents around me let me know that this monument is truly internationally known.
Prior to my visit friends asked me how the elevators worked. Did they turn sideways at the top requiring you to climb out of them like a space capsule? To a certain degree I wondered how they would work myself. In fact the elevators, 8 on each side of the Arch, are small, pod like affairs which seat 5 people each, in theory. If one member of the party is particularly large or tall this could make the space rather tight. Fortunately there were well behaved children in my orb going both up and down so the 4 minute ride was as comfortable as it could be, considering. As the pod elevators resemble eggs I began to relate to the feelings that an unhatched chicken might have. Glass doors keep at bay any claustrophobia and give a fascinating view of the inner construction of the Arch. Short steps lead you to the observation deck from the elevator area. Small windows from the observation area look out on the Mississippi river on one side and the St. Louis cityscape on the other. This vantage point provided me with a clear view of the layout of the downtown area allowing me to better plan my walk through it after I left the Arch. After peering out the windows and snapping a few photos I was done and returned to the elevator banks for the ride down.
I was to share the pod with a couple and their two young daughters, who were in town for the birthday of the girl's cousin. The wife was sweet and related her memories of visiting the Arch when she was young. The husband was silent and almost unbearably hot with his shaved head and wide receiver's physique. I had heard that the Arch was designed to withstand winds by having been built with a certain ability to sway, up to 18" if winds were to ever reach 150 mph, 2" on 20 mph winds. Although I did not perceive this movement in the observation area, I did waiting for the elevator. The sway that day was not enough to be nausea inducing, just ever so slightly disconcerting. Once back outside I lingered for a few moments in the park admiring the simple beauty of the monument. I marveled at the technical skill involved in it's construction, particularly in a era prior to computerized measurements and construction techniques. Standing on the banks of the legendary Mississippi it elegantly symbolizes the "Gateway to the West".
I settled in and observed the Sunday morning goings on. An elderly couple carefully picked their way across the rain slick street heading towards the church next to the stop. Bicyclists in their skin tight lycra outfits, their aerodynamic helmets making them resemble some odd form of insect, pedaled hard in an effort to successfully navigate the hilly terrain in the area. Bells rang in the distance announcing the start of Sunday services elsewhere in the area.
After a short ride that I was beginning to become familiar with, I transferred to a train and was soon at the park surrounding the St. Louis Arch. A nationwide design competition was held in 1947 for a new National Monument. Eero Saarinen's design of the Arch was chosen and construction began in 1963. Unfortunately, Saarinen died prior to the completion of the structure in 1965. Weighing 43,000 tons, at 630 feet it is the nation's tallest National Monument. Although from photos one might assume that the base of each side of the Arch is square, they are actually trapezoids, which gives the massive structure a surprisingly graceful silhouette. Small signs lead you through the pleasant park to the underground entrance and visitor's center.
Times being what they are, and this being a National Monument, security at the entrance is tight. All bags are x rayed, jackets must be removed and all visitors must pass through a metal detector. They let you keep your shoes on! Due to the limited number of elevators and somewhat small observation area at the top of the Arch, to maintain crowd control tickets to the top are sold for a particular time. Arriving relatively early in the day the line was short and I only had to wait 20 minutes before my reservation. I browsed in the gift shop, I noticed two women in colorful African dress. One was about to take a photo of the other. I offered to photograph the two of them together as I crossed the lobby to my place in line for the elevator. These women plus the mix of languages and accents around me let me know that this monument is truly internationally known.
Prior to my visit friends asked me how the elevators worked. Did they turn sideways at the top requiring you to climb out of them like a space capsule? To a certain degree I wondered how they would work myself. In fact the elevators, 8 on each side of the Arch, are small, pod like affairs which seat 5 people each, in theory. If one member of the party is particularly large or tall this could make the space rather tight. Fortunately there were well behaved children in my orb going both up and down so the 4 minute ride was as comfortable as it could be, considering. As the pod elevators resemble eggs I began to relate to the feelings that an unhatched chicken might have. Glass doors keep at bay any claustrophobia and give a fascinating view of the inner construction of the Arch. Short steps lead you to the observation deck from the elevator area. Small windows from the observation area look out on the Mississippi river on one side and the St. Louis cityscape on the other. This vantage point provided me with a clear view of the layout of the downtown area allowing me to better plan my walk through it after I left the Arch. After peering out the windows and snapping a few photos I was done and returned to the elevator banks for the ride down.
I was to share the pod with a couple and their two young daughters, who were in town for the birthday of the girl's cousin. The wife was sweet and related her memories of visiting the Arch when she was young. The husband was silent and almost unbearably hot with his shaved head and wide receiver's physique. I had heard that the Arch was designed to withstand winds by having been built with a certain ability to sway, up to 18" if winds were to ever reach 150 mph, 2" on 20 mph winds. Although I did not perceive this movement in the observation area, I did waiting for the elevator. The sway that day was not enough to be nausea inducing, just ever so slightly disconcerting. Once back outside I lingered for a few moments in the park admiring the simple beauty of the monument. I marveled at the technical skill involved in it's construction, particularly in a era prior to computerized measurements and construction techniques. Standing on the banks of the legendary Mississippi it elegantly symbolizes the "Gateway to the West".
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