Left Of Center...

At this point, I don't think there's anyone in America whose life hasn't been touched by the Great Recession in some way. Even if you haven't lost a job, had trouble finding one in the first place after graduating college, started economizing to a new extent, clipped coupons, or lost value in your house, it's a good bet you know someone who has. Unless you're a billionaire (in which case you're probably worried that the current wave of anti-corporate greed sentiment will touch you in some way), it's safe to say that times are hard all over.

Of course, this isn't the first time Americans have faced economic turmoil. The Great Depression may be 80 years in the past, but it remains our cultural touchstone for understanding abject poverty. The novels of John Steinbeck and the photography of Dorothea Lange may be the defining cultural artifacts of the era, but a wealth of materials were produced at the time that are becoming newly relevant in today's precarious economic climate. 

To that end, I was attracted to a new production of Clifford Odet's classic one-act play, Waiting for Lefty at the Victory Gardens Biography Theater on the city's north side. Written in 1935, Waiting for Lefty presents a series of vignettes about the crushing effects of corporate greed on average workers, framed by the action of a union meeting in which a group of cab drivers is deciding whether to strike in hopes of securing higher wages. Though the play's heavy-handed socialist message seems a little dated today, what could be more timely (especially in light of the burgeoning occupation of Wall Street that started earlier this week) than a denouncement of income disparity and the perils of capitalism run amok?

I was genuinely surprised by the quality of the American Blues Theater's production. Given that we were able to get tickets for about $12, and the fact that it was housed in the theater's studio space, I was expecting a fairly minimalist staging. However, the cast was surprisingly large (bigger, I think, than some of the shows I've seen in the big-name downtown theaters of late); their costumes, while slightly lacking in authenticity (I don't think working women had the luxury of owning enough pairs of shoes at the height of the Great Depression to own pairs of peep-toe sandals that would have let in show and rainwater on inclement days) didn't look like rented; and the space itself was surprisingly large, spacious, and well-appointed.

Despite the high production values, I found myself wondering at the end of the performance if I had actually enjoyed it. I found the dialogue exceedingly difficult to follow; the actors were speaking much too fast, and if the play had been written today instead of 1935, I would have said that the playwright was trying too hard to cram it full of period jargon to increase its populist appeal. Given that many of those slang expressions have fallen from usage in the intervening years, it was difficult to follow what the actors were saying. Plus, I'm not entirely convinced the actors themselves comprehended the meaning behind their dialogue, as it seemed to me that they were often giving emotional emphasis to the wrong parts of sentences.

I was also distracted by the company's use of blind casting to create a better gender balance for their production. A scene in which a high-ranking chemist at a large research facility quits her job instead of agreeing to her boss's demand that she spy on her coworkers was particularly jarring. I'm pretty sure that there were very few lady chemists in 1935, and those that existed probably weren't being offered lucrative raises. Ditto for another scene that featured a female physician who was supposed to be the head of a hospital's charity ward, who was being let go because she was Jewish. Supposedly, this character went to Harvard, where, in reality, the first female graduates matriculated from the medical school in 1949. I'm sure the company just didn't want all the choice roles to go to their male members, but for me, their casting decision shattered the illusion of historical accuracy.

Though I was ambivalent about the production as a whole, there was one vignette that I found particularly moving: in it, a young woman and her lover contemplate the fact that their economic circumstances will prevent them from marrying and raising a family. Ultimately, despite their love for each other, they decide to part ways since they cannot be together in the way they desire. More so than the other stories, I found their tale of dreams deferred and thwarted romance to be the most resonant for our time. It was less a socialist call to arms, and more a indictment of the economy's destruction of even the most basic tenets of the American Dream.

The American Dream is just as threatened today as it was in the 1930s, and I wish there were a solution as readily apparent as a strike for better wages. Politicians seem more interested today in being reelected than bringing about any relevant change, and more vested in protecting the interests of their corporate campaign donors than their constituents. Grass roots activism from the right has brought us nothing but the idiocy of the Tea Party movement. Will the left get its act together and provide a viable alternative? Only time will tell, but for now, I can only hope...

Regime Change...

Revolution might be rolling across the Middle East, toppling dictators and throwing the future of the region into uncertainty, but I'm slightly more concerned with the historic change that hit my beloved city overnight. Chicago has a new mayor, in one Rahm Emmanuel, former Congressman and Chief of Staff to President Obama. For the first time in 22 years, Richard M. Daley was not on the ballot, and for the first time in my conscious life, he will not be the mayor.

At this point, nobody knows how the Emmanuel administration will differ from that of Daley, but I am eager to see how the City Council, and the mayor's relationship with it will change. Under Daley, city government operated under a strong mayor/weak council paradigm. The City Council basically acted as a rubber stamp for Daley's initiatives, and had very little power. The election also brought in a considerable crop of new aldermen, so it will be interesting to see if they are able to claim more power back from the mayor, or if the status quo will continue when Emmanuel takes charge.

I'm also curious to see how Emmanuel will tackle the numerous crises facing Chicago, from the budget crisis, to our floundering schools, to the perpetually-on-the-brink-of-disaster CTA. Will he do better than Daley, or did Daley have magical powers that mystically kept the city from turning into the next Detroit? Only time will tell, but I'm eager to see how the Emmanuel mayoralty unfolds...

Me And Da Mare...

This morning, ever with his eye on advancing my career, Dad dragged me to a fundraising breakfast for the Special Olympics, which was, coincidentally, hosted by one of the non-museum partners from my project at work. All of the political elites in state and city government were expected to attend, and many of them were there: Governor Pat Quinn, numerous Chicago Aldermen, including Ed Burke, Dean of the City Council, and Hizzoner, Mayor Richard M. Daley himself. I did some productive networking with several VIPs who we are seeking to interview for the project, but I think that Dad's principle reason for bringing me along was his single-minded determination to get a photo of me with the Mayor.

Of course, as perhaps the most inhibited person I know, I'd been looking forward to this breakfast with intense trepidation, from the fear of looking like a fawning groupie in front of the city's highest elected official, but Dad was undeterred. He marched me right up to the Mayor, prodded me to get aggressive about moving in for the photo, and snapped the picture. No flash, completely blurry, no good. By then, another person had moved in to get face time with the Mayor, but Dad sent me right back for a second picture. I might have been mortified, but Dad was shameless enough for the both of us, and he ultimately got the shot.

I finally found a photo op for my favorite new dress, even if you can't get the full effect here. I've been saving it for just this occasion, determined to make it my "meeting the Mayor" dress.

So, here I am with the Mayor. It never ceases to amaze me that he isn't very tall. As a politician with virtually unchecked power in his domain, Mayor Daley has always been built up to epic proportions in my mind. I've met him twice now (both Dad's doing), and both times I was shocked by his height. Granted, I had heels on in this photo, but not particularly high ones, and I am the same height as Hizzoner.

(Between you and me, it's pretty neat to have a picture of me with Mayor Daley. He's a Chicago legend. Occasionally, even if he forces me to get way outside of my comfort zone, Dad does have some good ideas. Just don't tell him I said that.)

Hail To The Chief...

Yesterday, I had one of those moments in life which cause you to take a step back and wonder, "Am I too jaded?"

Dad, for reasons comprehensible only to himself, had purchased two tickets to a Democratic National Committee fundraiser, featuring an appearance by President Obama, to which he had no intention of going, despite the fact that it was to be held at the Hyatt Regency Hotel, which is next to his office building. Instead, he gave the tickets to me, and left me with the task of finding a guest. I decided to invite my coworker, Irene, a self-described "Obama junkie."

The event was supposed to start at 5:00, but Dad had warned me that we needed to get there early if we wanted to secure a decent vantage point, as it was sure to be crowded. We left the museum at 4:30, and when we arrived at 4:45, the security line had stacked up throughout the underground Pedway system for an immense distance. We ended up standing in line for nearly an hour, before making it up to the Secret Service checkpoint, where they confiscated our umbrellas, tossing them in a pile behind the check-in table for "safe"-keeping. (Thankfully, my umbrella is brown with turquoise and orange raindrops printed on it, so it was easier to find in the pile in the end of the night. I was incredulous that I got it back at all.)

The event did feature free cocktails and hors d'oeuvres, but Irene and I were so preoccupied with scoring a good spot that we did not partake of much. I thought I had found a decent spot, off to one side, and behind some petite women, landing me in the second row of people. Then the wait began in earnest. No amount of uplifting pop standards of the 80's and 90's could have distracted me from standing on my feet in one spot, afraid to move for fear of relinquishing my treasured viewing spot, for nearly two hours as we waited for the President to appear. Annoyingly, the woman standing next to me had brought her 10 year old daughter to the event, whose incessant whining gave voice to what I was already silently thinking to myself, "My feet hurt! I'm tired! I want to sit down! I want to go home! Why is he so late? I'm bored!!!"

Just when I thought I couldn't stand any more, they trotted out a slate of speakers to encourage us to continue our grass-roots organizing for the President, and to continue to support him. As one of the five speakers put it, "We can't leave him to do it alone!" Finally, as Lovie Smith, coach of the Chicago Bears orated to the adoring crowd, a wave of VIPs filed into the open area in front of us, obscuring my hard-won line of sight. Even though I was standing three feet away from Illinois Governor Pat Quinn, I couldn't help but be crushed.

I had been on my feet for almost three hours. My toes were tingling, my bad knee was bordering on collapse, and I could scarcely see. Yet when the first strains of, "Hail to the Chief" came over the speakers, the crowd erupted in cheers and applause. Hundreds of arms popped up wielding cameras, and even I found myself straining on the tiptoes of my tired legs and craning my neck to catch a glimpse. I may have been miserable, but I was not immune to the Obamania.

Check out the VIPs who came and obstructed my view. I guess this is what $250 buys you in the world of political appearances.

Most importantly, I did manage to get this one decent picture, right before my camera battery died. It almost looks fake, doesn't it?

The President spoke mostly on the topic of health care reform, about which he was quite stern, but he also commented joyously on the White Sox's perfect game, pitched earlier in the day by Mark Buehrle. Although his oratorical skills are widely recognized, in person, it is difficult not to be struck by his articulate, thoughtful rhetoric. After eight years of George W. Bush, it is endlessly refreshing to observe the return of intelligent leadership in America.

Impressed as I was, my excitement paled in comparison to that of the audience. People love this man. People are proud to have him as their leader. The crowd reacted to his speech with the sort of call and response that is usually reserved for church. Cries of "Amen!" and "You tell it, Barack!" rang out from across the room. Although not quite as full of naked ebullience as the election night celebration in Grant Park last November, the energy of the crowd was a rare thing indeed.

Still, I found myself wondering, "Was it worth it?" After a long day at the office, was the chance to see the president speak for ten minutes, at a distance of a hundred feet, through a forest of heads and cameras, worth it? Surely I was being ungrateful?

Then, later that evening, when I was comfortably ensconced in my favorite chair at home, my mom told me a little story that Grandma had told her for the very first time, earlier that day. When she was a little girl, roughly five years old, her father had dragged her to Alton to see FDR at a whistle-stop tour. She sat atop her father's shoulders, and saw him in the distance, and she couldn't have cared less at the time. All these years later though, it's something she still remembers, and it's a story she could pass down to her daughter, and granddaughter. It's too early to say, but it's entirely possible that Obama will become the FDR of the 21st century. Maybe someday, I'll be able to tell my grandchildren that I saw him with my own eyes. On that day, it will have been worth it.

Much Ado About Nothing...

Anyone who has been following the news in Illinois must be familiar with the Illinois Admissions Review Commission, which was convened to investigate allegations of public officials and other influential people using clout to secure admission for otherwise unqualified prospective students to the University of Illinois. Today, the intrepid reporters over at the Chicago Tribune broke another story, this time uncovering the use of clout to obtain admission to the elite magnet schools of the Chicago Public School System. Is it unfair that some students get an advantage based on who their parents are? Yes. But it's also nothing new, and I can't help but wonder if all of this newly fomenting rage over the use of privilege is grounded not in a fundamental discontent with the disparities between the classes, but in the recent economic crisis.

By and large, America is an aspirational society. We have bought into the Horatio Alger myth that if you work hard, and pull yourself up by your bootstraps, great wealth and fame are well within your reach. While I could go on at length about the inherent dichotomies of the so-called "American Dream" and its hold on our collective imagination, I will merely point out that our belief that riches are just around the corner often leads us to protect the rights of the wealthy. Take, for example, the phenomenon of the "death tax." Legions of Americans who are far from feeling the burden of a 55% tax on inheritances of more than $1.5 million have worked themselves into a lather over the maximum limitations on the uppermost echelon of the tax brackets. Americans pulling in a modest salary, struggling to pay off their credit card debts, their mortgages, and afford decent health care are still concerned about their ability to protect their non-existent wealth, because they are under the belief that they will someday become rich.

So, in my estimation, this sudden outrage over the inequities of the educational system must be rooted in the precarious state of the economic system. With the American Dream under assault, Illinoisans are less willing to accept that the privileged classes are exercising their clout when it seems less likely that they will someday enjoy the same advantages themselves. Wealth has always brought privilege; if it did not, there would be very little incentive to accumulating it. The rich have used their influence and connections to obtain special treatment since time in memoriam. The only reason this story is now attracting so much indignation in the press is because people have less hope that it will be them in the future, calling in a favor to get their children a better opportunity. When the economy recovers, people will be more than willing to accept the status quo.

Haley Goes to Washington - Day Two

On our only full day in D.C., we made a relatively late start to the day, grabbing breakfast at a cost-effective little cafe near the hotel and across from the Arlington County District Court, and frequented by a sizable number of policemen from the police station housed therein. It wasn't particularly memorable, as far as breakfasts go, and we were soon on the way to visit the Washington Monument, which Abel had spotted from his taxi the night before, and therefore wanted to see in person. We didn't actually go up in the Monument, as I had done that on my first trip to D.C. over a decade ago, and experienced what I believe was my first panic attack, induced by acrophobia.

Still, we enjoyed taking a gander at the imposing structure, and Katie regaled us with a story about how the Washington Monument came to be two different colors. Evidently, Congress did not appropriate sufficient funds, and the project ran out of money when the monument was a mere third of its proposed height. It struggled forward for a number of years, was further delayed by the outbreak of the Civil War, and was not completed until the 1880s, when the original stone was no longer available.

How trite is this picture? I couldn't resist though.

From the Washington Monument, we progressed to one of my requested tourist destinations, the new National World War II Memorial, which was conveniently located nearby. Completed in 2004, the Memorial is the newest addition to the Mall, and its construction was not without controversy. With war veterans passing on at an ever increasing rate in the 1990s, Congress was eager to facilitate construction on a memorial for the war. After all, the Vietnam Veterans Memorial had been completed a mere six years following the end of that conflict. Therefore, Congress removed many of the approval process requirements for the project, leading many architectural critics to malign its vainglorious and trite iconography.

The view from the Washington Monument towards the Lincoln Memorial, with the World War II Memorial. The construction of the World War II Memorial was also controversial because it obscured the previous, uninterrupted vista.

The monument consists of 56 columns, bearing the names of the 48 states, two territories, and six U.S. protectorates who were involved in the war effort. Two towers represent the Atlantic and Pacific theaters, and each has a fountain inscribed with the names of each theater's main battles. All things considered, I did think the architecture was a little reminiscent of the grandiose structures favored by fascist dictators, but I consider that more appropriate to the time period than some sort of abstract contemporary design. Not to make generalizations about the so-called "Greatest Generation," but I sense they would probably appreciate having a memorial designed in a traditional style to which they can easily relate. Besides, cheesy as the Memorial was, I still found myself overwhelmed with emotion as I thought about how many lives were affected by the war. What more can you hope for from any memorial?

My favorite part of the World War II Memorial was the bronze frieze lining the entrance, which depicts the ways in which different Americans served during the war, both on the battlefield, and on the home front. This one could have been Paw-Paw, who was a mechanic with the Flying Tigers in China.

The memorial is inscribed with many quotes about the war, but this one was my favorite.

Abel and I in front of the Pacific section of the memorial. We both have grandfathers who fought in that theater.

These 4,048 stars represent America's sacrifice during the war. Each star stands for 100 American lives that were lost.

Because the World War II Memorial rests in the shadow of the Lincoln Memorial, Abel decided he wanted to to see it up close as well, so we slogged along the edge of the Reflecting Pool. It seemed like a good idea at the time, until we were quickly overcome by the aroma of stagnant water and goose feces, which turned the ground into a veritable mine field. The experience was less than pleasant, to say the least.

I don't really have much to say about the Lincoln Memorial, since I've seen it before, and I'm rather Lincoln-ed out at the moment, because we are currently in the "Year of Lincoln" at work. We've revamped our "Lincoln Treasures" exhibit, brought in a full slate of Lincoln speakers, and are preparing to open our feature exhibit, "Lincoln Transformed" later this summer. Suffice it to say, Lincoln has lost his luster in my eyes.

Tripod photo time! Abel, Katie, and I in front of the Lincoln Memorial.

Soon, however, it was time to move on to my second requested visit of the day, the Franklin Delano Roosevelt Memorial. Also relatively new, the FDR Memorial was completed in 1997. Its style is a marked departure from the other presidential memorials in Washington, as it is far more personal and down-to earth. Somehow, I think the originator of the "Fireside Chats" would have approved. Instead of a single imposing structure, the memorial consists of a series of rooms adorned with statues, symbolic water elements, and quotations representing different eras from FDR's four terms in office.

This statue represents Americans waiting in bread lines during the Great Depression.

FDR is pretty much the reason why I am a liberal today. This quote exemplifies why he is my favorite president.

The main sculpture of FDR includes his beloved dog Fala, and is the only presidential monument in Washington to include a pet. Elsewhere in the memorial is a statue of Eleanor Roosevelt, the only statue of a First Lady included in a presidential memorial.

Katie and I with FDR's famous Four Freedoms.

All in all, I rather liked the FDR Memorial. I enjoyed its modern sensibility, and all the open, green spaces made for a nice place to pause and contemplate all the tremendous changes in our country that Roosevelt oversaw. I thought the use of water was quite clever as well: a single large waterfall represented the crash of the stock market, a series of organized cascades represented the construction of dams and hydroelectric power under the Tennessee Valley Authority, a chaotic collection of haphazard waterfalls and rapids represented the calamity of World War II, and a series of small waterfalls falling into a single basin represented global collaboration in the post-war era. And, I loved all the quotes. Roosevelt has my vote for most eloquent American president of the past 150 years, and it makes me happy that Obama is trying to bring eloquence back in our day in age.

When we'd finished at the FDR Memorial, Katie's energy was starting to fade, and everyone was craving lunch, so we made a valiant effort to find a taxi, when instead, we spotted the Jefferson Memorial nearby. Since none of the three of us had seen it before, we decided to make a quick visit, figuring that it would be a popular enough site to be able to find a cab there.

Katie and Abel at the Jefferson Memorial.

Jefferson, with the immortal words he penned for the Declaration of Independence.

I particularly liked this more obscure quote from Jefferson. These words should serve as a reminder that in no way whatsoever was our country founded to be a Christian nation, but rather, one of religious tolerance and a firm separation of church and state.

I've only recently begun to appreciate Jefferson among the Founding Fathers. I'd always felt a certain affinity for John Adams, the devoted patriot who never gained the acclaim and admiration of our nation, yet who was just as important to the creation of our country as Washington, Jefferson, and Franklin. Yet, a few months ago, I stumbled upon a quote from Thomas Jefferson on the topic of religion, and it really stuck with me. I really appreciate his views on the necessity of separating religion from governance, and I think it's a lesson that many contemporary politicians could do well to take to heart.

At the monument, we decided that burgers sounded good for lunch, and given our president's prediliction for burger runs, we decided to try out Ray's Hell Burger, site of Obama's first burger outing. As predicted, we were able to secure a cab from the Jefferson Memorial in short order, but unfortunately, 411 could not locate a listing for the restaurant to give the driver the address. Abel's Japanese iPhone was operating less-than-favorably outside of its home country, so I ended up calling Mom and asking her to Google it for us. As it turned out, the restaurant was only a couple blocks from our hotel, and we had no idea.

Obama's visit had conferred an incredible amount of noteriety on the hole-in-the-wall joint, which didn't even have a sign. The only way to locate it, short of its alleged street address, was the huge line of people snaking out the door and down the block. We may have been starving, but we were also intrepid, and we waited it out for about 45 minutes.

Ray's Hell Burger -- if it's good enough for Obama, it's good enough for me. Who am I to argue with the leader of the free world?

As it turns out, a number of local and national publications have conferred "Best Burger in D.C" status upon the venue, and the menu boasted a variety of high-brow toppings. Foie gras, four year cave aged cheddar cheese, imported brie, and roasted bone marrow were all on offer, but I opted for the more conventional toppings of American cheese and bacon. The meat, ground in-house from the scraps leftover at the restaurant's sister institution, Ray's The Steaks, was loosely hand-packed and very juicy. The only thing lacking, in my opinion, was some sort of seasoning on the beef -- it was bewilderingly bland in spite of being perfectly cooked. Perhaps some salt would have been in order? Nevertheless, I was glad to say that I had eaten where Obama ate, and I felt a little closer to his spirit having been there.

After lunch, Katie was still tired, and deservedly so, after all the exertions of the day, so we decided to retire to the hotel, where Katie could enjoy some television. Abel and I had no excuse, but soon, all three of us were enjoying an afternoon nap. Our lunch had been so filling that we felt little motivation to seek out dinner, and we passed the time with a television airing of Independence Day and chatter until we realized that it was far too late to go out for food. 

Instead, we ended up using Abel's computer to locate Piola, an upscale pizza place that was willing to deliver to the hotel, and soon, a sausage pizza and a classic pizza margarhita were on the way. The pizzas were cooked in a wood-burning oven, and were perfectly acceptable, although my heart still belongs to Chicago deep-dish. After eating, we finished up our movie and walked Katie back to her apartment, thereby bringing our big day to a rather anticlimactic end, which was just fine by me.