Troutbend put up some videos of classic artists from the 40s recently. I remember that time vividly. I was not a major fan of these artists at the time but they did not offend me the way many current entertainers do. They resonate far more with me today than they did then. Anyway, her post started me thinking about those days and here are some memories.

When I was 13– 1944 or so, I used my summers to explore Chicago, mainly the Loop. Mom and Dad were both working, I had to get away from my sister, who was, in those days, rather domineering, so I’d hop on the Madison Street Car and go to the Loop. The last stop before the car turned around was Dearborn Street – so I’d get off and walk East. First came Sate Street, then Wabash, darkened by the Elevated train that formed the loop for which the area was named. Then Michigan Avenue, which bordered Grant Park. The Art Institute was there and it was a real treat. I visited the exhibits, and one of my favorites was the Thorne Miniature Rooms. This is an incredible collection of tiny, fully furnished rooms with exquisite detail.

Or I would walk further into the park to the Michigan lakefront. Walking 5 or 10 minutes north, I’d reach the Coast Guard Station. The fellows there let me hang around and sometimes gave me a ride in their military jeep.

If I walked south on the promenade bordering the lake, I’d reach, after an hour, the aquarium. I easily spent the whole day wandering. Occasionally, I’d decide to see a movie. The major, first-run movie theaters were in the Loop on or near State Street. They were ornate palaces, relics of the 20s and 30s. Their interiors were marble and gilt and majestic. The State and Lake, the Chicago, the Oriental. The State and Lake not only had movies, it had live acts – stage shows. I remember going to the State and Lake and when the movie ended and the lights came up, I thought it was time to leave, but it was the beginning of the live show. I didn’t realize my ticket allowed me to see that too, and I slunk down in my seat afraid the usher would come and ask me to leave.

I saw some great acts there – The Ink Spots with Nat King Cole, Peggy Lee, and even Frank Sinatra. All for the price of a movie ticket that was under $1.00. What an amazing time.

It was war time – the Loop was filled with servicemen, mostly navy stationed at the Great Lakes Naval Training Base about an hour or so north of Chicago. They’d come in on the train and saturate the loop. Young as I was, I flirted, and so did they.

My favorite music (other than classical) of that time was from the big bands. Artie Shaw, Benny Goodman, Tommy and Jimmy Dorsey, Glen Miller. Harry James – musicians of high quality, intricate riffs, complex themes – not the two-three note wonders of today with lyrics relying heavily on “babe” and the waif-like, whispy-voiced, no make-up, forever teens heavily advertised as unique and wunnerful who (gasp) sing their own songs full of angst and somehow enthrall the reviewers who, otherwise, sound reasonably intelligent. Get a therapist.

Years later, I remember talking to my then boss at The New York Times. He was worried that his 16-year-old daughter wanted to come into Manhattan on her own from their home in the burbs. He thought she would be somehow lost or hurt or mugged. I thought he had a point because she had been burb-sheltered her entire life. No training in "city". I found her circumstance pathetic. How could you get to be 16 and still not have a clue?

Grubby as it was, I loved my neighborhood with its tenements and seedy bars, and strip joints (the El Mocambo, Juju's Glass Show Lounge) with those great photos of near-naked "dancers" lining their facades to lure in the passers by. There was also a derelict now and then sleeping it off in our lower hall of a cold night -- I'd have to step over him on my way home from a late date -- and the occasional perv I spotted instantly and avoided. And I loved the mom-and-pop stores – druggists, used books and pulps and periodicals (what a great, great aroma those stores had), the oculist, the day-old bakery, the Chinese restaurant that closed after the owner was murdered, and the diner with the mimeod menu (my favorite meal -- two grilled pork chops, tomato slices, home fries - 50 cents) -- all gone now. The neighborhood demolished and replaced by concrete boxes. Some call that progress. I call it hysterical change.

xx, Teal