The bus rolled
away down 61st Street, and the morning grew quiet. Here was the beginning of the day’s walk,
with sixteen miles of adventure ahead.
As I looked up at the street sign, I heard a starter’s pistol go off in
my head.
The wind was
silent, too, rustling the back of my thin hoodie with its icy breath. I exhaled, and a cloud of warm vapor mingled
with the crisp air. Time to go!
Directly across
the street, a modern, blockish building was painted a bright gray by the
morning. From the outside, I’d say it’s
upper class student housing, but I was admittedly going into this portion of
the walk a little blind.
My original plan
had been to start from the Museum of Science and Industry, a Chicagoan
landmark, about three miles east of here, near the lakeshore. However, due to the potential for a lack of
variety in scenery, I decided to head inland a bit. The college features several architecturally
significant buildings, but its main library, the Regenstein Library, provided a
nifty architectural centerpiece, with its post-brutalist concrete design. A couple months ago, a fellow photographer
had featured it on their blog, and I knew I was going to Chicago by then, so
this felt like the right choice.
The University
of Louisville, where I’m currently in the last weeks of my business graduate
degree, is a treasure trove of dated, brutalist structures with harsh angles
and textures and innovative placement of architectural design elements. Based on the modernity of this first
building, though, it might be the exception.
I leisurely crossed the first intersection and turned north.
About halfway
down the block, my stomach roared. Truly
roared. I had rationed three protein bars for the
walk, and it sounds like it was time for the first one. I got an assortment of them; one was a
particularly high protein-count bar, one was an all-natural bar, and the other
was a normal, have-every-morning bar. I
decided to eat the big one first, and it was right tasty and surprisingly
filling for basically being an unsweetened Three Musketeers for meatheads. I stowed the wrapper and came to the center
court of the first building and its
neighbor.
This trendy
compilation of chain fast food and casual dining outlets was designed to serve
the most well-placed students. The fact
that it was so quiet at 9:00 in the morning means two things: it’s a commuter school
or it’s a Saturday morning and they are college students who wouldn’t get out
of bed that early if the place was burning down. No judgment: I did the same thing, too.
At the end of
the block, the Midway Plaisance spread out; the Plaisance, probably from the
French word plaisir, meaning to make
happy or please, was an expanse of grassy fields and bushes. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a park, as
there were still significant roads that cut through the paths every hundred
feet or so. I skipped across 60th
and took a right.
No one said
March was going to be the prettiest time of year to come; it’d probably be
several weeks still until the grass would grow and the trees would bloom,
especially if the below-freezing temperatures I was feeling now lingered for
any amount of time. I crisscrossed
through the official and unofficial paths wrought in the dirt, and found my way
back over to 60th Street, mainly for the architecture it featured.
This
glass-walled facility, veiled behind an iron fence, was particularly
unusual. I love wall windows like that,
so I’m sure it was quite a view from up there.
Goodness knows there were probably some law students up and about at
this hour, reading through case history, texting their BFFs, and looking oddly
out at the hooded guy leaning through the fence gaps to get a good shot.
A lawn care
worker nearby was walking to his truck; he looked like he’d been working for
hours, but he greeted me warmly all the same.
I was already
off my prescribed path, but I knew that’d happen. As long as I found the street I needed on the
north side of the campus, we’d be fine.
I took Woodlawn north across the Plaisance, and I heard music to my
left. What looked an outdoor swimming
pool, clearly in disuse, had speakers blaring some Motown hits. I heard a Temptations number ring out and, in
transit, it changed to an old Police song.
Once on the other side, I could get a closer look at the huge cathedral
that had been visible the moment I cleared the first corner.
It had a
manufactured newness to it, similar to the National Cathedral in Washington,
D.C., if you’ve ever been there. A bit
of investigation turned up that it was younger than my grandfather: 1928 was
the year on it. I’d wager there was a
revival in this style at that time, as there are several Louisville buildings
that have this grand, gothic style like cathedrals of Europe. One particular example is one of our most
impressive old churches, but it does admittedly look a bit out of place across
the street from an equally famous greasy spoon, Dizzy Whizz.
A bit farther up
the road, though, I got a real treat.
This handsome
and contemporary façade contains the Booth School of Business, one of the best
business schools in the country. U of L,
my soon-to-be alma mater, is up there, too, but Booth is an undisputed
heavyweight. Most people know where the
Booth School is without tying it to the parent university.
Either way, the
building in which the school is housed is quite dashing, maintaining the fresh,
contemporary look of the rest of the campus.
I wish I had a minute to walk through and size up my competition, but
we’ve got to keep moving. At the end of
the road, I took a left towards the main quad, where’d I’d turn right and find
the library across campus.
On the way, I
passed another handsome, well-kept
institute; this is the economics wing of the school, and that campanile is enormous! I’m not sure why an economics building needs
a bell tower, but that didn’t slow U of C down.
The tower is not solid; each of its four sides are mostly unwalled,
providing a neat effect as you look up from the ground, looking through the
tower’s bones to the other side. I’d
walked about a mile, so it wouldn’t be chiming for a while.
The quadrangle
was, like the rest of the school, impeccable.
New and old buildings lined the grassy square, and each sidewalk had
permanent and temporary barriers preventing cars from going up onto the quad.
As was the rest
of the university, a variety of colliding architectures mashed shoulder to
shoulder along the edge of the common area.
There were a couple students out here reading, even despite the chilly
temperatures. I turned right at the
circle in the middle and followed the wide path north again.
I didn’t really
feel like I was an institute of learning; I felt like I was in some rich guy’s
estate, an interloper wandering about looking for a spot of food or
warmth. Under the stone arches I went to
the older buildings of the campus and, soon, to the library that drew me here
in the first place.
This looked
positively Elizabethan; I think it was probably the covered walkway, but I
could just about here the lute and lyre strumming away as period actors walked
along its length. Dried ivy tendrils
crawled up the sides and along the base of the building, hinting that soon each
building would be delightfully overgrown.
Through the Hull
Gate ahead, and there we are!
In stark
contrast to the century old stylings I just saw, the brutalist Regenstein
Library was a severe behemoth.
It was tall and very wide. I couldn’t fit it all in the shot, even at a
distance. The library was older than I
thought; built in the late sixties, its smooth appearance is owed to the
limestone that comprises it. That’s
right, it wasn’t concrete after all;
it was made as the same stuff as the Great Pyramids (after a fashion.) It had that look all the same, though, and
even now, you probably could have fooled me.
The lobby,
visible from the courtyard, enticed me inside, but I couldn’t spare too
long. Moreover, I frankly felt
underdressed. Maybe it would just be for
students, anyway. Regardless, looking west, I saw something I hadn’t expected,
and I decided to make time for it.
This earthbound
spaceship was another library, distinct from its neighbor. It was much smaller than the Regenstein, too;
perhaps 20 feet off the ground at its apex, and as I walked around its
elliptical shape, I’d say it was maybe 200 feet on its longest side. It really did look like a spaceship, and I was
tempted to approach the edge to peer inside.
The kid in me wanted to climb
the outside like a sand dune, but there plenty of signs to dissuade me and
drunken college kids from doing so.
As I walked
around its periphery, I realized that it looked familiar. I glanced in, seeing stacks of books and an
array of meticulously organized chairs, tables, and workstations. Have I seen this before?
You know, the
book series (and, inevitably, the movie series) was set and shot in
Chicago. There was one particular scene
in the movie where the Erudite faction (the smarty pants of post-apocalyptic
Chi-town) are seen reading, studying, and looking at complex math equations in
sharply dressed uniforms. They appear to
be in a glass dome, and there is a minimalist feel to the scene.
It was actually
a pretty good movie, all said and done, but I instantly thought of this
building the moment I could see inside.
A bit of
research confirmed my hunch; the shot this scene right here!
So the next
question is: how do you get in there?
There were emergency exits built into the glass panels (which would
probably be pretty cool to come scrambling out of), but I didn’t see a proper entrance. I guess you come in it from the bottom, maybe
through a tunnel from the Regenstein.
This is all
pretty awesome; wish I went to school
here.
North of the
libraries, a couple new dorm buildings stood quietly, their occupants still
sound asleep from a night of…studying.
Man, even the gym is interesting to look at! What a campus, huh? As if on cue, a couple German-accented bikers
rolled past me, discussing something just out of comprehension. I banked right at 55th Street,
planning to connect back with University Avenue, which I’d take northeast for a
while.
After finally
getting a lull from the beautiful campus I’d just traversed, my beautiful wife
gave me a call to check on me, and all was well.
North on
University, and I was in another
university before I knew it.
What a funny
looking seminary building. The first
comparison I could think of? The
underside of a Portobello mushroom; yeah, not the best way to describe a
building, but that’s what it looked like.
The arcade at the base of the buildings led to a pleasant courtyard
area, with classes, administration, and the library all seemingly confined
within this bizarre, vehemently rectangular structure. Valparaiso, near Gary, Indiana, sometimes
gets into the NCAA basketball tournament, but besides that, I knew little about
them. I certainly didn’t expect them to
have a Lutheran school. Turns out they
are, in fact, the Lutheran school,
with the largest enrollment of any Lutheran-affiliated institution in the
country.
Past here, the
college campuses ended, and the residential neighborhood of Hyde Park replaced
it. Truly a beautiful campus, but I
still like variety.
The townhouses
were well-maintained, putting even some of Louisville’s nicest historic
neighborhoods to shame. People of all
backgrounds went in and out of them, all off to start their day. In Louisville, I’d be halfway out of the
county as far as I was from downtown, but here, this was truly urban.
Most of the
homes were classic, red brick, and even the surrounding, non-residential
buildings strove to match.
Up ahead, a
foreign-looking chimney spewed smoke (or steam, perhaps) as the furnace beneath
it warmed its keep. At intersection of
Hyde Park and University, and the synagogue that owned the chimney came into
full view. A dog leg onto Woodlawn
again, then north along its length.
One of the
larger residences I came across had an interesting, albeit primitive, security
system. Each fence section supported a
small, silver bell that, when the adjoining gate opened, most likely made a
sound as the whole fence vibrated, announcing that someone was home. At least that’s what I assume the function was. I
waited for a moment, curious if someone would leave or arrive to test my
theory.
Right up the
street, a Frank-Lloyd-Wright-ish house popped up to the left. Although
admittedly a bit bland for his style, it reminded me of the great architect
nonetheless. I couldn’t tell what the
large statue in the lawn was, whether it was an anchor, a breakwater block, or
simply an oversized jack (as in “ball and jacks.”) Maybe this was Truck Show’s/John’s house?
There’s a
mosque, just four blocks from a synagogue.
How ‘bout that? Chicago is
certainly a diverse place; the largest mosque (or, as they often call them,
“Islamic centers”,) I know of in Louisville is a repurposed residence, smaller
than every townhouse I’ve passed today.
Even this one, purpose-built and on a prominent corner, is still quite
compact. All the same, mosques are
places of prayer, contemplation, and worship, and you don’t need much space to
do that. Christians have enormous
facilities of worships, with even small congregations investing heavily in
building a huge temple to God. Muslims,
however, have a different perspective, and I appreciate that.
A quick jaunt
across the street, and I was about seven blocks from my next major turn.
More townhouses
lined Woodlawn Ave as the walk continued.
One particular one had an owner whose dog sat on the stoop outside the
front door. As I passed by, he ran up to
the fence, barking and wagging his tail wildly.
Cute little guy;
I love sleek dogs like that, and friendly ones, too. Maybe the owner wouldn’t mind if he walked
with me the rest of the way? He had the
energy for it, that much was clear.
Over the top of
a local store, I could see the towering peak of Willis Tower, still several
miles away. It would likely be the
lighthouse by which I’d guide my walk when I got lost or simply needed a frame
of reference for distance. I’d get there a little bit over halfway through my
walk, so it’d also let me get a good judge on how I was holding up, and how
well I was using my time.
I knew my turn
was coming up, so I started moving east at each block, ready to intercept 43rd
Street.
As I crossed
over Lake Park Avenue at 44th Street, I passed a woman engaged in a
somewhat unusual chant. I heard “God”
and “strength,” and after I passed by, I wheeled around to get a better
listen. She was reciting a prayer, but
not as if she was praying at that moment.
Rather, I think she was rehearsing. Perhaps she was on her way to church or Bible
study, and she would be giving the opening prayer. Maybe she was off to a wedding or
funeral? Either way, I’m sure she’d do
great. Three different faiths, all
represented within a mile of one another.
Chicago really is a diverse place.
I turned up
Oakenwald Ave, the last street before marching to the lakefront, and it was
smattering of houses in all states and conditions.
On one lot, a
well-build and well-maintained single residence sported many colors, while
another lot had a condemned husk darkening its acreage. Still others were flanked by vacant lots
where homes once stood.
This lot held
two houses, it seems; on the right, the basement lies somewhat intact, the
foundational borders just barely visible.
To the left, another house has been gone for much longer, perhaps more
intentionally demolished and removed.
Another few
steps and here I was. 43rd
Street. My directions told me to turn
right and take the stairs, but this was very clearly a dead end. A train track lay before me, surrounded by a
gravel path and an old, abandoned warehouse with a sketchy-looking van parked
out front. I checked my directions
again, but I sure didn’t see any stairs.
I considered
abandoning the directions and continuing north; I could see the Willis Tower
after all, and that could be my guide.
But it was bright and sunny; surely I could safely investigate the
murder warehouse.
My sneakers
crunched on the gravel lot, camera still in hand, checking around corners to
see if I saw what I wanted to see (stairs) or something I didn’t want to see
(literally anything else.) The van was
empty, which was a bit of a relief. I
rounded the hood and – oh!
Although
glaringly obvious in the photo, the stairway blended in with its surrounding in
such a way, with no signage indicating its existence or destination, that I
totally overlooked it. I clamored up the
stairs to the bridge deck above.
The deck was in
poor repair; no doubt decades of exposure and incessant vibration from passing
trains had fractured the stone comprising it.
Still, looked safe enough.
It was already
looking closer; well, that’s what I told myself. I’d been on the road for just about an hour, but I’d already seen so much; today was shaping up to be a
walk for the ages!
Come back next
week for part four, and until then, keep going!
- Matt
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