Left to my own devices

February 9th, 1985 was a Saturday. I know this because it was a special day in my life, and much of it has remained emblazoned upon my mind for decades. I also looked it up before writing this, so there's that. Why do I remember it so well? Why, I'm glad you asked. Let me tell you about it. As many friends and family know, Doctor Who has long been one of my favorite television shows. Specifically, its run from 1963 - 1989. The series was revived in 2005 and, while I've enjoyed parts of it, it just hasn't been the same as it was when I was a kid. The original show was serialized, with multi-part stories which always ended every episode (except the concluding one) on a cliffhanger. Classic Who was made on a shoestring budget, with tatty special effects, dodgy costumes, and sets that wobbled so much at times you wondered if they might fall down. And I loved it. The stories were engaging, and the circumstances of its production allowed one to use their imagination to fill...

Years ago, my mom, maternal grandmother ("Gummy") and I were sitting around, talking, and the subject of what the favorite time of our lives was came up in conversation. I don't remember what mom's answer was, but Gummy (born in 1928) said, "Probably 1938/1939. that period right in there." She went on to say that she thought most people would, posed with the same question, give an answer that would fall somewhere in their childhood. That often seems to be the knee-jerk, default response most folks have about when they thought things were best. You know, the 'good old days.' What I liked then, and appreciate now, about Gummy's reasoning was its honesty. She acknowledged the personal nature of her response. Of course she thought the world was better when she was ten. Everyone's life is different, but for many, being a kid, unburdened by the responsibilities of adulthood, can come with a unique level of happiness, even if it may only be appare...

T wenty-eight years ago today was, of course, another Valentine's Day. It was also the day that a great ice storm swept through Champaign County, laying waste to the urban centers of Champaign-Urbana. I was a resident of Champaign at the time, and remember it (mostly) well, though certain exact details are now lost to memory. February of 1990 saw me living on the north side of town. Mom and I (and her then-partner and step-kids) had moved over to a house in north Champaign. My maternal grandmother, Gummy, having recently moved back to town from Wisconsin, rented a small, cozy house in Urbana. My father still lived in Champaign, in a condo in the south part of town.

The latest CU Pride Fest will occur this weekend, September 15th - 17th, in downtown Champaign. Undertaken by the UP Center of Champaign County , along with countless volunteers, Pride Fest is a celebration of the LGBTQ identity. As we approach this year's event, it hit home, more than ever this year for some reason, how important occasions such as this are. First, one might wonder why there is pride in something like sexual orientation, or gender fluidity, especially when it has been argued that people are born this way? Why, indeed. For some, that question will never have an adequate answer. For those more open-minded and empathetic, they can understand that pride comes from the condition of having been a marginalized minority. Being gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender has often come with a stigma attached. And that's putting it mildly. Bullying, harassment, mental and emotional damage, legal inequality, and even death have been part & parcel with one being...

Over the weekend I attended an event titled Women Making Waves . It is an annual breakfast/conference/meet & greet, arranged by IL State Representative Carol Ammons, and shines a spotlight on elected women at the state and local level. Along with the all-female panel discussion, there were also tables featuring women entrepreneurs selling their wares. This was the second annual event and, as with last year, I found it inspiring. One of the questions posed to the panel was along the lines of who initially inspired them. Of course, most of those on the panel answered with a nod to their mothers. The question made me stop and wonder, who had inspired me? I'm not a woman, obviously, but we all have someone who has, for whatever reason, inspired us or at the very least captured our imagination enough to help propel us to better ourselves. After some thought, the personal answer to the question crystallized with two answers: my mom and Joan Severns, Champaign's first fema...

The dreams came one night after the other. They were like a replay of a horrible situation, made worse by the altered reality so common to the dream state. It was a few years ago, some time after my friend Tracy had committed suicide in December 2004. A range of emotions occurred after his passing, from guilt, to sadness, to anger, back to sadness. Finally, an inevitable calm upon the psyche's realization that the event happened, Tracy was dead, and there was nothing that could be done about it. And yet... The first night, in the dream, Tracy was a ghost. Or at least he had the stereotypical ghostly qualities: an almost transparent, soft-white luminescence that took his form. I found myself next to his house, over by the back door. I heard a soft whimpering, like the kind you hear in a horror movie before a spook suddenly bursts onto the scene. Sure, enough, here came Tracy, passing through the back door, down the steps and over to the garage. I called out to him, ...

Growing up on South Draper St. in Champaign, IL., I had the best bedroom a boy could wish for. With walls and trim painted in orange and beige, it was a fun little room. In the evenings and on the weekends I'd watch PBS on the small black & white TV situated across from the bed. On the bed, I'd sometimes build a fort and pretend I was defending it from an oncoming horde. A desk somehow fit in there, as well, and I'd put the small blue typewriter my parents gave me on it, and plunk-out short stories, or use it to interview my 3rd grade teacher for a writing project. Of everything in my childhood bedroom on Draper St., I think perhaps my favorite part of it was the window. This portal to the outside world was big enough for me to sit on the sill and take-in what was beyond, yet feel safe enough within the confines of the room itself. The window looked-out onto our back yard, where there was a tall Sycamore tree (so tall, in fact, that I could see it from the play...

"I heard the Fire Chief say your name earlier, and Gladney isn't a common name. Are you by any chance related to the Gladneys who were in construction?" The preceding quote is from a white-haired gentleman who introduced himself to me last week after an awards ceremony for Champaign firefighters. He'd worked alongside my dad and uncles doing construction work in the community and around Illinois, and asked after a few of them: Lewis, Joe and Paul. Unfortunately, I had to tell him that Joe and Lewis were both deceased, and that uncle Paul wasn't doing too well. He seemed genuinely sorry to hear that. The aforementioned encounter is one I have more frequently than you might imagine. It occurred again just this past Sunday, at a dinner party. It was one of those occasions where everyone was wearing a name tag and, early on in the evening, an older man walked-up, read my name tag and asked if I happened to know a Gene Gladney (Gene is uncle Paul's act...

Living in the same community where you grew up comes with its own set of idiosyncrasies. An example of this is feeling pangs of sadness for the closing of a restaurant whose food, decor and service you weren't particularly fond of. Such is the effect that memory and place can have on us. I remember going to Taffie's as a kid, sometime during the early-mid 1980s, mostly with my dad. Lewis seemed to know a lot of the clientele there, mostly blue collar types, and we'd often plunk down on some stools at the bar in the smoking section and he'd chat with them. It was unusual to go on solo outings with my dad, so these trips to Taffie's are rather pronounced in memory. I can remember us going there one morning and learning that the Red Wheel restaurant had burned down. Other times, we'd see friendly Mr. Roberts there, father of a classmate of mine, and seemingly good acquaintance of my dad.

Today is National Arbor Day , and folks are generally encouraged to go out and plant trees and some such. I'm all for it. While I enjoy living in a moderately urban environment, the fact that it is suffused with so many trees is something to treasure. To that end, I am today reminded of Mildred Sims, my teacher for both second and third grades, and the tree our class planted in Clark Park many moons ago. From 1983 to 1985, Millie Sims was not only my teacher, but an adult whom I looked up to (both figuratively and literally). She was smart, fun, warm but knew how to keep her distance, and had a supremely endearing personality. She is to date the only person to have gotten me to eat celery (by smearing peanut butter in the hollow of the stick, placing raisins on it, and calling it 'Ants on a Log'). She brought local weather celebrity Judy Fraser to our class one day to discuss meteorology, which I thought was one of the coolest things ever.

I happened across the listing by chance, as one so often does when perusing the internet. Curiously enough, I am familiar with both the house and the listing agent, the house having once belonged to a friend's family, and the listing agent being an old school chum. But it's the house that grabbed me. It's the house that, frankly, tugs at my heart strings. 315 S. Garfield Ave. in Champaign, Illinois is, in many respects, a house like any other. Cape code-style, 3 bedrooms, 2.5 baths, located on a nice, quiet street (I promise I'm not attempting to do an ad for it). So, yes, a fairly typical middle-class home in the midwest. What makes this abode special (to me) is its history. Here resided my good friend Derrick and his parents Ike and Linda. Here, dear reader, I spent many happy moments of my youth.

The local newspaper has a feature from one of Champaign-Urbana's most legendary restaurateur's, John Katsinas, on what his favorite area restaurants were that have now since closed (or will soon be closing).  It's a nice little read, and has made me stop and think about the restaurants that have come and gone that have left an indelible (and edible) impression on me throughout the years. Here we go....

Did I tell you about the time I was scared for my life by a couple of (probably) drunk guys who took my treasure chest? It was the summer of 1989, the first summer of my teenage years, and the first full summer I'd spent living in north Champaign. Mom and dad had divorced in the autumn of 1988, and mom and I had moved from the central/west part of town, to the north end, in order to save money. It was disrupting to a then-12-year-old, who'd spent his entire life in just one part of town. When you're young, and have less mobility, your world is particularly small. What is a short drive nowadays was like the other side of the world back then. Thankfully, a couple of friends from the old neighborhood made the bike ride over to where I lived (and vice-versa), so the separation from familiar surroundings was filled with a little less anxiety. So, with the summer of '89 in full-swing, plenty of time on our hands to think of things to do, I decided to create a t...

I grew up and live in Champaign-Urbana, IL, a nifty little college town. Having been here for (ahem) some time, I've watched the community grow and prosper. Most of the changes have been for the best, although change is often defined subjectively. One of the areas about to undergo a somewhat major overhaul is the campus town district. Many college communities have a campus town, an area close to the university full of shops and cafes, where students and townies alike can meet up for food, friends and fun. The changes coming to our own said area include several new high-rise (for C-U) buildings, parking garages, retail spots and hotels. An employee at the university here, driving in to work this morning I became wistful while gazing upon the campus town landscape and skyline, all the while thinking of the aforementioned changes, and how things used to be. In truth, campus town here in C-U used to be more, well, grungy. And I mean that in the most affectionate way poss...

Yet another division has arisen between the Champaign Police Department and the citizenry of Champaign. Over the summer, a young man was stopped for jaywalking after leaving a bar. He was mouthy. For his sins, he was pepper-sprayed and, perhaps, choked. I say "perhaps" because, after viewing the video of the incident , it is unclear that he was in fact choked. Regardless, it was a rough time. It's doubtful either the police officer or the young man made a new friend that night.

There's been yet another clash of citizens vs. police in my fair city. This time, it's an allegation of police brutality. The citizen (and his family & friends) tells one story. The police tell quite another. But I don't want this to be about that situation in particular. Really, I don't. Instead, I want to discuss something perhaps even more important, and that is rhetoric, and it's power to shape and influence a community, however large or small.