And Any Ghosts There Will Remain: Kickapoo, IL

VITAL STATS

Population: Who knows? 500 maybe? (Wikipedia say 3,573 in the greater Kickapoo area)

Area: I would say about, "oh so big"

Cast Members: Dr. Doctorman, Mr. Marlo

Visited On: August 13, 2010

Weather: Balmy

Oh you wish you were a town, don’t you, sweet Kickapoo? You wish you were a recognized municipality, just like nearby Hanna City, Dunlap, and Princeville. You wish it so bad that you’re willing to lie with signs that say things like "Kickapoo 2 miles" and "Kickapoo, a great city to raise your family". You stoop Kickapoo, didn't you know we'd love you for who you really are?

A few weekends ago, friends of the blog Jon and Kevin Klesterates got married at Prairie Wildlife Park just outside Peoria. This was appropriate because it 1.) Was near me, and 2.) lead to the inevitable tidal wave of our friends washing up on the shores of Whiskey Town only to lay about drunkenly the next day. After the heady rush and swell another wonderful wedding came and went, not to mention the dancing of Troy Hayes, I found Mr. Marlo washed up in my basement, sleeping peacefully. Left with a Saturday to while away together, we decided to go ’splorin’.

Kickapoo seemed a natural choice. It’s plenty close and is often thought of by Peorians as "reachable rural". Not to mention they are alleged to have a kick-ass winery. Thus we were hopelessly pulled to this local Charybdis.

YIB tells me that he always (sometimes) does a solid 5-10 minutes of research on a town before blogging. Kickapoo proved a stranger nut to crack. I went into my search assuming I’d finding the usual a/s/l, but instead the internet came back to me with a, "Kickapoo where? Who? Did you mean the park by Danville? Love the blog, by the way."

I figured the U.S. census website would help, but the best it could find was information on Kickapoo Township as a whole. Which, now that I think about it makes sense: I didn’t remember seeing a post office, and when I searched the zip code, 61615, it just comes up as Peoria. You will notice that in the picture with Mr. Marlo above, there's no population count on the town sign, it just marks a perimeter. I guess so that the "townies" can think of themselves as a class apart from the mere "townshippers" out in the sticks. But I digress.

We pulled into town in Mr. Marlo’s sweet rental car and everything seemed in order: There was a nice church, a city park, and the requisite 3 antique malls all in view of the main drag. The town is laid out on the T where Highway 18 butts into Highway 150 (known to Peorians as "War Memorial Drive" and know to Kickapooians [ew…] as "Main Street").

Mr. Marlo and I started this trip with the most important meal of the day to the post-wedding-goer: Lunch. A perimeter sweep around "town" revealed only one place, Ludy’s, not that we were expecting more from a "town" of this size. The bikers were a little intimidating though.

We made it inside safely.

I guess this does reinforce what I’ve heard about Kickapoo being a popular gathering spot in the area. And for what it was, Ludy’s did just fine. What you have to remember in an area like this is it’s RIGHT THE HELL NEXT TO PEORIA. Keeping a restaurant open there has to be hard. It’s only 6.8 miles from a TGIF on the exact same road, although I guess TGIF frowns on bike rallies. Mr. Marlo said his burger was excellent, but he didn’t exactly need to say so.

We let geographic Darwinism decide which antique/knick-knack shop we could visit, and decided that Kightlinger’s could probably eat the other two handily. Mr. Marlo spent some time capturing the scene outside while I wandered in. Jim Kightlinger, proprietor, bondsman, etc. was behind the counter and eager to talk about anything and everything except Kickapoo. I gave him the line that we were just passing through town and stopped for lunch across the street.

Me: So what’s it like here in Kickapoo?

Jim: No much like anything. Just boring.

Me: Oh…(looking at a sprinkling can crafted to display pictures)… So what would you say you do to keep busy around here?

Jimmy: Nothing. There’s nothing here.

Me: Ah. Well, so you grew up here then?

James: Me? God, no. I moved here.

Still Me: You moved here?

Jim Kightlinger: Yep!

And then he changed the conversation to me and where I work and what I’m like and refused to go back. It was like he was trying to repress something and didn’t want a headshrinker like me mucking about in his thoughts. Whatever force in heaven or hell caused him to move to what he describes as "nowhere" and open a pretty nice knick-knack shop is completely beyond me. Mr. Marlo came to my aid though, and we interrogated the rest of the shop.

Like Wal-Mart, Jim prescribes to the "never too early for Halloween" theology

He also bragged about the people he attracts from Peoria and even Chicago. Specifically old lady types that come for wine tastings. Again, you have a shop that attracts people from over 100 miles away, and everything you can say about your town I can fit between the butt cheeks of a small hamster. That old pastime of crapping on your town came back to haunt us. I just don't get it. Honestly, if you chose to live in a burned out hole in the ground, shouldn't you try to convince yourself and others that it is, in fact, the best hole in the ground that ever got burned out? And the case goes triple for small towns like Kickapoo. Why take pot-shots at it when you choose to live there? Chaos reigns!

Anyway, after Mr. Marlo and I were thoroughly antiqued, we strolled around town, taking in the sites and snapping a picture or two.

This isn't reflective of the town at large, but, come on! Four satellite dishes?

Actually we didn't get many pictures of the nice parts of town. Because that's boring. For the most part it all came off as pretty nice, though. There really didn’t seem to be any run-down houses or neighbors, save the unmowed lawn or two. I suspect this is because Kickapoo is very much a bedroom community. Sexiness aside, that means that most of the people who live there drive anywhere from 20 to 45 minutes to get to work everyday. That’s simply where jobs are and where people need to be. I do know that a lot of Kickapooians (again, ew…) work at the many Caterpillar plants scattered around P-town, so it only figures.

We also took a turn through the town cemetary, which, honestly, was pretty cool, especially the tiny Catholic church that’s over a 150 years old. And what's hilarious is the pamphlets they had in the little box next to it had a journal entry from around that time that specifically said there weren't many Catholics around then and "maybe this would help attract some". Kevin Costner is Catholic.

They still use it a couple of times a year, which, as a church-goer myself, I really like because it mixes things up a little.

Catholic Mom: Kids, hurry up, it’s time for church!

Catholic Kids: Aww…

Catholic Mom: Come on kids, it’s in the graveyard!

Catholic Kids: Hellz yeah!1! Roxorz!!!!one!!!

Because apparently all Catholic children speak in 2002 Leet.

And if your name is Heinz, this cemetary is for you!

The walk back revealed two more businesses: A used car lot and a monument/2nd best knick-knack shop in town. Not to mention a lighthouse/clubhouse in some folks backyard.

"Bottles" was certainly a motif around Kickapoo

At that point we’d had enough and decided it was time for THE WINERY.

I’d been here one time before for a graduation, and it was just fine. The inside was simple but also really nice. Mr. Marlo and I enjoyed our 5 tastings, plus a secret 6th taste. Getting mellow on wine certainly makes any DTL project end on a sweet, port-flavored note.

And the summary. Do I vote Kickapoo? Maybe! While not a town and completely willing to let you go on believing it is, it did have several businesses and amenities that you might not expect in a town 7 miles away from a town of 100,000. But therein lies the reason, because I’ll bet people like to maintain a small amount of locality there. But not too much: There was no bank, no post office, and no grocery store. There were two bars and a gas station, though. If I had to guess, I would say that Kickapoo has stabilized with the larger draw of Peoria. Everyone we met did seem to be smiling and more than a few people we saw in there yards and on the ballfield waved happily at a couple of strangers wondering their streets.

Beats other places we’ve been.

And here’s a bunch of other shots Mr. Marlo took around town. He’ll leave you his website in the comments section. Also congrats again to Jon and Kevin, you no longer bachelors you!

Signing off,

Dr. Doctorman

DTL on the Nerdy Nothings Podcast

A very sincere DTL "Thanks" to Eric Garneau over at Nerdy Nothing for hosting Your Intrepid Blogger and Doctor Doctorman on his lovely podcast this weekend. If you want to hear us try to contextualize our adventures so far, head over to Nerdy Nothings. If you don't want to, I'm just going to appear outside your window, blasting the podcast on a boom box. So you might as well at least listen to it on your own terms.

Words are Flowing Out Like Endless Rain: Marion, IL

MARION, IL

Population: 17,193

Area: 13.5 Sq. Mi.

County: Williamson (County Seat. Woot?)

Motto: "The Hub of the Universe" (no...really.)

I actually visited Marion a couple months ago, but I kept holding off on writing it up. I just couldn’t put a coherent post together; I saw a lot of interesting stuff while I was there, got some good pictures, but none of it really flowed together. I like to have a unifying idea for these things, a sort of thesis to make the whole thing hang together. And one was not presenting itself for Marion, and I didn’t really want to go searching for one. For god’s sake, I’d already driven to Marion, you mean I gotta go further?

            So, I consulted DTL’s official Southern Illinois (Or: “SO ILL”) correspondent*, Ryan “CashMoneyHos”Lenghrer. I told him I’d visited Marion, but that I was having trouble writing about it. I needed some perspective. And in response, Ryan said, “Oh god, you went to Marion?”

            And whaddaya know, that did the trick!

            Because really,that was just par for the course in Marion. When I got there, I went to this bar:

            And inside, I got to talking to some people. I talked to a lawyer who’d lived in Marion for about 20 years. When I asked him for a good place to eat, he said, “Well, your basically in CULINARY HELL!” And he repeatedly called Marion “CULINARY HELL!” And he yelled it every time. A few times, little spittle came off of his lips.

            Meanwhile, the bartender insisted that SHE was the best thing about Marion, and I mean, I believed her, but she was only about a 6, and she seemed to know that. I’d put a picture up so you could judge yourself, but, no, gross. 

            No one could tell me any cool things to do, or good places to eat. No one told me what they did for fun. The best they could come up with is that they went to Paducah.

            In other words, the civic pastime of Marion appears to be shitting all over Marion.

            But y’know what, fuck the haters, I enjoyed myself. Look around this bar: It was practically built for whiney not-as-smart-as-they-think would-be-urbannites like me.

            And it had it’s own special brew of Schlafly’s (Chicagoans: “Schlaflys” is St. Louis-talk for “Goose Island”). It was…well, the important thing is, the bar had it’s OWN SPECIAL BREW.

            And the place was playing the Black Keys, and The Cardinals were winning, and as I had my second glass of the special Schlaflys the bartender kinda creeped up to a 7 ¼, and I found a decent calzone, and it was fun, dammit.

            Maybe more importantly, Marion really had the feel of being it’s own place. The lawyer knew every other lawyer in town, which amounted to about three people, and was on a first-name basis with a judge who walked in. Which reminds me: the fucking judges apparently walk into the same bars as all the rest of us (Granted, it was right off the town square, so maybe it was just a lazy judge. But aren’t they all?).

            Meanwhile, outside, Marion had the usual monuments and stuff, but here’s the thing- they were mostly for LOCAL history.

 

   I didn’t get most of it. Who's John Logan again? Christ I took an IL history class...

   Nonetheless, I now pray to this man every night. For power.

 

            And clearly, Marion had- or was at least trying to get- it’s own little art scene.

 

            And how bad could that be? THAT CAMERA IS HUGE OH MY GOODNESS ITS PICTURES MUST BE EXCELLENT.

            The bar even had a stage and live music once a week. Right there in the town square.

            Now, Marion wasn’t the first place we’ve visited that gets all emo about itself. Out of the roughly one dozen places we’ve visited, it was the 20^th to do so. But it might’ve been the most frustrating one, just because I found cool things to do (okay, mostly drinking), and I was only there for about two hours.

            Someday, in the process of writing this blog, I’m gonna figure out that impulse to keep talking shit about your own town. I’m going to figure out why Chicagoans, Springfielders, and Urbana-ites are, in my experience, the only Illinoisans proud of their damn town. But I’m not there yet, so in the meantime let me just say: Marion? Quit your bitching, okay? Christ.

Odds and Sods from around Marion….

1)    Yeah, let’s talk about that town motto. I admire the way Marion just decided to buttfuck subtlety on that one. When I’m mayor of Springfield, I’m changing its motto to “The Only Goddamn Town That’s Ever Fucking Mattered. Recognize.”

2) Let's talk about that asterix. Yes, Doctor Doctoman is also from SO ILL. But he can't be a correspondent, he's the DOCTOR for fuck's sake. He has to do doctor things, like drive around with me, induce labor (by pushing down on the top of the belly, right?), and use the slightly psychic paper.

3)    As befitting the Hub of the Universe, Marion has TWO City Halls.

Also, every city hall built after 1950 has been uniformly depressing. I want something with a sense of civic grandeur, dammit, not a walk-in tax consultant.

      4) Speaking of depressing: "The city is part of the Marion-Herrin Micropolitan Area and is a part of the Carbondale-Marion-Herrin, Illinois Combined Statistical Area with 123,272 residents, the sixth most populous Combined statistical area in Illinois." -Wiki.  WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT? YOU TRIED TO COMBINE THREE CITIES INTO ONE, AND IT WAS STILL ONLY THE SIXTH LARGEST WHATEVER IN THE THING! CHRIST, YOU SUCK AT LYING WITH NUMBERS! WHERE IS MY VALIUM?

5)    Why does the Marion Public Library have a stuffed camel in the window? Because it fucking CAN. Marion Librarians don’t play by your rules, Mr. Uppity Blog reader.

6)    Oh my god, how did it take me this long to figure out there was a Marion the Librarian pun in here? I’VE HAD THESE PICTURES FOR MONTHS! I’VE WASTED MY GIFT!!!

7)    The town paper is the Daily Republican. At least they don’t give you a picture of Jeb Hensarling every morning. 

8)    Well Justice League, you’ve apparently let all of reality get re-written under your feet, but you’re keeping my comic prices low. Way to nail those priorities, boys (and token girl).

9)    Sometimes, he sneaks into your room at night, just to watch you sleep. Sleep soundly, so, so soundly, my darlings.

YIB BEARDSTOWN LOG: SUPPLEMENTAL

First of all, let's me clear: Doctor Doctorman NAILED IT on Beardstown. Just a fucking heroic effort from a grizzled veteran of the Tour Wars. I'm only adding this in because I had my own thought/feeling about Beardstown, one that Doctor Doctorman couldn't know. HIS PRECIOUS STETHOSCOPE CAN'T HEAR MY THOUGHTS.

I actually found Beardstown disappointing. I'd heard about the Latino influx for so long, I expected something epic, like a little Spanish Harlem on the edge of town, or violent street clashes between Latino and Gringo youths (by which I of course mean well-choreographed musical numbers where ever fifth dance step looks mildly aggressive. Keep cool, boy).

But I didn't find that. I mean, we saw plenty of evidence that Beardstown had a growing Latino population- we saw people on the streets, the signs that Doctor Doctoman posted- but there wasn't that much. We had to wind around for half an hour before we found a Mexican restaurant that looked at all open. In general, it just looked like another run-down Illinois river town- cute public square, vacant buildings, dead factories (Except for Cargill, I suppose), Lincoln.

Also, we didnt' get a picture of it, but there was totally a stump burning in someone's yard. Just cold burnin'. It kinda felt like a religious experience.

Anyway, the existential question is now on the board: Are we EVER going to find a town that's really different? Read on, gentle web surfer.

Beardstown: I've Never Really Been But I'd Sure Like to Go

VITAL STATS:

Beardstown, IL

Population: 6123 (as of 2010)

Area: 3.5 square miles (0.1 square miles water, 0.00000001 square miles beards)

County: Cass

Cast Members: Doctor Doctorman, Your Intrepid Blogger

Visited On: July 16, 2011

Hey all you Illinois small town enthusiasts! After weeks, neigh, minutes of preparing, I, Doctor Doctorman, am finally ready to reveal and report on the goings-on of rural Illinois. Your Intrepid Blogger has been doing a fine job of pulling the sum weight of this project on his own so far, but I know at least I’m ready to hear from me. So read on, future loyalist!

It was a lovely balls-hot July Saturday when Your Intrepid Blogger and I set out looking for our next town in need of our particular brand of tourism. For this day, we deferred to the heavy suggestions from Mrs. Doctorman’s grandparents, to visit her grandpa’s hometown of Beardstown. I haven’t been deliberately avoiding this one or anything, but until YIB started up this project, it hadn’t been a priority. Now though, I’m making two tacos with one tortilla!

Standing on the east bank of Illinois River, Beardstown is your basic old river town, living in the memory of its former grandeur, but it has a twist! Not content to let Beardstown shrink and shrivel like so many other towns we’ve seen, the Powers That Be have chosen Cass county as the site of a grand battle of mythical proportions.

A challenger appears.

That’s right, like select other towns across Midwest, Beardstown has seen a relatively large influx of Latino/Latina residents. As was explained to me, Cargill, a local slaughterhouse of biblical proportions, has attracted the new residents because it provides jobs in butchery and processing they are ready, willing, and able to perform. As was not explained to me (and deducted on my own), the current generations of Beardstownians weren’t exactly tearing Cargill’s doors down demanding jobs as butchers. Thus, in order to keep those very doors open, the “Meat Solution Corps” (not making that up), found the skilled individuals it needed to get the job done. And as far as YIB and I gathered, from our time there, the integration is going fairly well.

Jesus Cristo, they’re Methodist!

Also there was a cute church fair going on parking lot just off the square.

The Schwan’s Man was even there! Seriously, I thought these guys went extinct in the flood of ’93.

But what would a trip to an old river town be without a bunch of old river history? Dunno, hasn’t happened yet. The museum was built onto the courthouse just off the town square.

Beardstown boasts being the site of the famous Lincoln Almanac Trial. We got a pretty good tour of the museum and courthouse from the local docent who explained that Lincoln took this case only because he personally knew the accused. During the trial he was apparently able to use an almanac to discredit his opponents' witness by showing there was no full moon on the night in question as he had said. He was furthermore able to prove that witness was a witch.

“See? Witch. It says so right here.”

Lincoln sealed the deal with the jury by saying his now infamous quote about his client, “I rocked him in my arms a child.” This is true, and the jury was quite moved by his conviction, ultimately setting Duff Armstrong free. Upon leaving the courtroom, though, Your Intrepid Blogger muttered to me under his breath that was really complete bullshit and would be thrown out of a modern courtroom faster than a kid at a cake buffet.

What is cool and worth noting is this is the only courtroom where Lincoln once practiced that is still in use today. A local judge likes to use it occasionally for filing paperwork and passing minor motions, likely more as a sentimental thing and because he likes stuff like that. Incidentally, YIB said he could see himself doing something like that someday after he gets a robe. I very much approve.

Here are a few random shots from the museum, including the double jail.

Apparently the people of Beardstown liked to feel very secure. This place was used up until the 1990’s!

Anyway, after we had seen enough history, we decided to walk down to the river. When we got there we were met with this site.

A River Look. “Look” being the primary noun here. I guess it beats the Byron Nuclear Power Plant “Touch” or the Effingham Interstate “Listen”. They did have some of those mounted binoculars, though.

Whatever I saw here apparently did not please me.

We did find a fountain to stand in and cool off for a minute on this ridiculously hot day, which was nice. After that we loaded up and went in search of lunch that would really put the T on our Beardstown experience.

We found it.

And a few more random shots around town.

A directive? An ominous warning from the future? You decide.

All in all it was a pretty good trip. We’re still working on the whole “get the people who live there” to talk to us thing but at least we met a nice museum docent. Oh, speaking of the museum again, on our way out we picked up a bumper sticker and this lovely bit of literature. The picture is of Lincoln in a white suit, which is apparently about as rare as the one of him in Mary Todd’s wedding dress.

The Spanish stack was at least twice as tall as the English one.