Stories of Lemont 150 th Anniversary Zine A collaboration between the Lemont Writers Guild and Lemont Artists Guild in partnership with Lemont Downtown
Lemont
The Paper Boat By Josh Kratovil I was crouched among the crushed limestone and goose muck lining the I&M’s shore when the blood-orange beams of the rising sun crept over my sneakers. A soft breeze rustled the wildflowers on either side of me, stirring the canal to life. Gnats and dragonflies played along the water's surface, casting furtive ripples in every direction while robins flitted between the tree tops. And for a second—just long enough for my breath to hitch in my throat — I let myself believe all the kooky town legends about the canal’s magic. Kelsey had been missing for months by then, and I was willing to believe in anything that might put things back to normal - even if it meant switching places. You see, my sister was the quintessential good twin: the pop quiz-acer, the early bird, the Catechism-quoter. I was the defective twin, bumming cigarettes off senior boys and ditching class to drink lukewarm beer with Marcy at the quarry shore. Even Kelsey’s rich copper hair outshined my dull, red-brick locks. And though my parents never said it, I knew their biggest question wasn’t “Where’s Kelsey?” but “Why not Irma?” Why couldn’t the defective daughter have been the one to vanish after the Turnabout dance? I could see it in the dead-eyed bear hugs Dad insisted on giving me whenever I came home and in my mother’s endless, furtive glances at Kelsey’s chair each night at dinner. So, yeah. I would have been fine switching places, even if that meant finding myself in a shallow grave just off Bluff Road. At least then, everyone else would be able to move on. I whispered my wish and put the little boat into the babbling waters. After a gentle nudge from my shaking hands, the lazy current took hold of the craft, turning it so Kelsey gazed at me from the picture I'd paperclipped to the boat's center. I stared back until the boat became a distant dot, indiscernible from the water’s surface, as my sister left my life a second time. Disgust over my wish wrestled with a black, twisted glee. With no small effort, I pushed the intrusive thoughts aside and turned for home. By then, the sun was no longer a creeping pinprick of light but a shimmering disc looming over the canal. Heat bugs buzzed their droning call from unseen branches overhead, and the wildflowers brushed against my bare arms as a warm summer breeze teased them into motion. The flowers bent toward a gnarled tree on the path ahead. Beneath its broken shade waited a mangy kitten. There were almost certainly fleas or ticks hiding in its matted fur, and there was a wicked scar across one eye. But when I approached, it did not cower: it stepped cautiously toward me. As it entered the sunlight, I realized its mud-caked fur, once cleaned, would shine with a rich copper hue and allowed myself to believe in the canal’s magic once more.
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Artwork by
Mary Fronczak Grochocinski
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Joey walked down the dusty path on Smokey Row, past the gentlemen’s clubs and the brothels that lined the main street of the small quarry town of Lemont. He turned into the alley between Old Petey’s Place and the livery, slipped into the doorway near the end of the alley, and down the spiral stairs to Mr. Corgen’s pharmacy. He tipped his hat at Mrs. Corgen as he approached the bookcase, pulled a wrinkled, leather-bound book, and entered the passage known only to the Order of the Dolomite and, of course, Mrs. Corgen. Sam nodded at
him, Drew, Brewster, and Mia were also in the den.
“Well, what did ye call the meetin’ for?” asked Mia impatiently. “I had to tell me husband I was visitin’ me sister. And if I get caught on Smokey Row, sure as I’ll never be let out of the house again.” Joey approached the table where they were already seated and hesitated. “For this,” he replied as he pulled the box from his satchel. He laid the marble crusted vessel on the table. It was adorned with coats of arms from the five founding families. It was etched with a yellowish limestone cover and a keyhole in the center. The den fell silent, and they all moved closer to inspect the piece. Mia removed the map from the drawer and laid it next to the box. Drew plucked the key from under the planter and added it to the items on the table. Sam walked to the bookshelf and pulled the old journal from the shelf. He opened it to the page that had been scrutinized by all of the descendants of the Order of the Dolomite for the last three generations. He laid it on the table next to the vessel. Drawn in the journal was an exact replica of the piece now sitting on the table, a box that was rumored to hold the Treasures of the Quarry. asked Sam, looking at Joey. “My Uncle Irv left me an old trunk when he died,” replied Joey. “My cousins made sure to check it for anything of value before giving it to me, and it was full of junk and some of my mom’s things from when she was a kid. Last night, I accidentally kicked it into the wall, and the bottom dropped out. I tried to put the bottom back up and noticed that it wasn’t broken. It was just unhinged. I turned the trunk over, slid the bottom off, and there it was.” Silence filled the room as the enormity of what might be in the box fell upon the descendants. Nothing in the journal ever described the contents of the treasure in the box, but rumors had surfaced every so often among the quarry managers and paid off politicians of jewels and priceless scrolls that had traveled with the minister who first settled on village grounds. The minister gifted items to each founding family before he died—a map, a die, a key, a journal, and a vessel. They were to be kept in the town vault until the village had officially been settled, but the box had been lost before the vault was sealed. The silence snapped as the descendants broke into a discourse on what to do with the box. They decided to uncover the treasure and then determine what to do with it. Drew placed the key that had been left to his family in the hole and turned it. The box was opened to reveal a jewel crusted compass. asked Drew, disappointed. replied Sam. 4
Artwork by
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The Quarry Tour
By Jacquelyn Uznanski
I knew Lee Anderson from the Lemont Artists Guild. He was a wood carver, who specialized in meticulously painted wooden birds. On a lovely and hot spring day, around the time I was 14, he gave our guild his 1st quarry tour along Lemont’s I&M Canal. Lee, a tall thin man with short gray hair, and a warm sense of humor, grew up in Lemont. He dressed casually for the occasion, wearing a red plaid western shirt, bolo tie, white Stetson, jeans, large shiny belt buckle, and cowboy boots. He carried a long walking stick and wore a blue vest covered in Earth Day and bird buttons. The I&M was built in the 1830’s. While digging this section, a high quality limestone was discovered, beginning the quarry industry here. Lee spent a lifetime hiking, fishing, hunting, and swimming in the area. As a kid, he helped his dad set traps along the canal for muskrat. He knew the terrain well. He described quarry workers, when he was young, pumping water out of some quarries to keep mining. Others had already been abandoned to nature. Lee showed us an arc carved into the canal’s side for barges and boats to change directions. At it’s peak, the arc almost doubled the canal’s width. Not too far down the path we came upon the remains of a huge kiln for making lime. Four pillars, three tall and one shorter, marked its outside corners. A pile of limestone rubble filled the space between so when standing on top, my head was nearly the height of the highest pillar. The kiln was about twice my height, or one and a half of my dad. Amato’s Quarry, aka Quarry 1, was a busy summer hotspot. Lee said the spring fed water was cold enough that being near the edge felt like air conditioning. A stone outcrop right in the middle allowed swimmers a rest. Lee gleefully told us about the nuns, who lived at least a quarter of a mile uphill, calling the cops on skinny dippers. We laughed and decided that the nuns either had extraordinary eyesight or binoculars. At the Great Lakes Quarry we sat on rocks, dangling our feet over the water, feeling the cooling effect. A lovely respite. The edge of this quarry was also the home of the cat lady. She had dozens of cats and was one of many squatters in the area when Lee was young. As we went, Lee pointed out the remains of houses…stone steps, chimney bases, fire pits, garden borders…archaeological hints of the people who once lived here. Lee’s tours lit up my imagination. I dreamt of a park for Lemont with hiking, swimming, boating, climbing areas for kids and adults, an amphitheater in the field past Great Lakes Quarry, and a beautiful little diner with outdoor seating where the cat lady lived. I presented my plan to the village in H.S., and again in college. The town slowly developed the area, and it eventually closely matched my vision. The tour was a great hike filled with natural beauty, stories and history. I was so glad that Lee shared his passion and knowledge with us. For me, the experience brought our beautiful valley to life.
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Artwork by
Lynn Rozycki
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A Glimpse of Historic Charm By Nancy L. Uznanski A steady hum from the breeze passing through our open Chevy station wagon windows reduced any temptation to talk as we turned homeward from a late September outing. Air conditioned cars were a luxury then. The quiet relaxed state of travelers as they return from a journey had descended on us. My brother and I leaned against the frames of our respective doors and lazily gazed out windows while my little sister slept with her head tucked against my arm. Mom was driving south on Lemont Road and Dad wanted the two of us to stay alert because he said we would soon see a remnant of a once famous canal. A broad curve moved us into a sweeping descent down a long bluff in a heavily wooded area, where a few houses flanked the road sides. In their late summer glory, the trees sent a bit of refreshingly woodsy air our way with a slight earthy, nutty scent. At that moment, we were called to attention and I caught my first glimpse of the Village of Lemont. For me, it was love at first sight! Across from us an astonishing assortment of steeples glinted in the early evening sun as they peeked through trees on the opposite bluff. Houses all around them dotted the height and breadth of the hillside. The intricacies of the scene were a feast for my imagination. Before us, the valley opened to a 19th century storybook village. We crossed the Des Plaines River and entered town over one of the prettiest and narrowest old cement bridges I had seen in my entire nine years of existence. Just beyond us, the old buildings and narrow road looked like the perfect place for horses to be pulling buckboards piled high with packaged goods as they clopped down the street. Then there it was. The tiny Illinois and Michigan (I&M) Canal that made Chicago a great city; by connecting New York to the Mississippi River and Gulf of Mexico, passed under a much shorter bridge. The canal had dwindled to a deep, limestone sided, weed filled ditch with a trickle of water. It was no longer the mighty route Dad had described. But our interest in the village was piqued, and Lemont became a passage to adventure throughout my youth. We even discovered a few of its secrets, including stories about ghosts in the cemetery surrounding Saint James of the Sag Church, dangers encountered by swimmers in the abandoned limestone quarries, and Indians who had lived in the area and frequented Black Partridge Woods. When my husband and I learned that we both had been enchanted by the village as children, we made it our home. Here, we built a photography business, raised our family, I wrote a weekly column for the Lemont Reporter Newspaper and taught school. And we have always felt welcome as we have participated in community life. Through time, the Village has also grown. It has revitalized itself and our historic canal; and I’ll bet it still charms others as they see its spectacular view from the hill for the first time.
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Photography by
William (Bill) E. Uznanski
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Fictional Letters to Mrs. Virginia Reed* In the time between midnight and a new day, you might see Mrs. Virginia sitting on her park’s toy train, thinking about all the many years of happy children playing. She remembers her letters, and her Mothers’ Club friends. Each year she returns to read new letters and visit her park. — May 1948 Dearest Virginia,
— June 1989 Mrs. Reed: As president of the Park District commissioners, I am happy to tell you that your park has been renovated and has some new play trains. In fact, that’s what the little ones call it. The choo-choo train park. The teenagers still call it the Elephant Park. Again, we are delighted to take care of the park, a treasured gift from your wonderful Singer-Warner Mothers Club. We know you’ll be there with us in spirit.
Just a note to thank you for all your hard work for our children. Even the mayor is impressed. I’m looking forward to the playground’s Grand Opening. Kids are already there all the time. The slide and teeter totters are popular and my boys ask every day after school if they can go play. I can hardly get them to do their homework. The children clearly love it. I can’t wait to see all of our club mothers at the park. I wish it’d be named after you. After all, you started everything. I’m sorry you won’t get to see the results of your labors. We all miss you; we were saddened by your passing. I wish you could see it. Love, Priscilla
Mrs. Virginia looked around and smiled. — July 1959 Dear Mrs. Reed and the Mothers Club: I’m just a kid, eight years old. I want to tell you how much I love playing at your park. I do love it. When I’m grown up, I want to be a mother bringing all my children there to play. My favorite is the elephant slide. Love, Monica — September 1978 Dear Mrs. Reed: Congratulations! I was at the park today and the sign, Virginia Reed Park is lovely. The leaves are blowing everywhere, making it more beautiful as children race to catch them. I hope you can see it wherever you are. Sincerely, Nancy White
By Mary Inman
Tom Freirichs Lemont Park District — April 2012 Hello, We are excited about renovations to your namesake. The children will have a new rubber flooring which will be fun to run and jump on. There are new swings and of course the beloved #1948 caboose and train. We are proud that the Park District has added Storytime Hill. In June, Miss Sally will bring her special stories and share them. Lemont kids love her stories and the beautiful Hill will be ready with its bright green grass. Sincerely, Lisa Ledowski LPD Activities
Mrs. Virginia shook her head. A rubber floor? What will they think of next? — June 2012 Dear Ms. Virginia, I just can’t wait to read from your new beautiful Story Hill. I’m bringing the best stories and bodacious songs for Fathers’ Day. I love reading to smiling families. It’s going to be hot and sunny; we will hand out icy cold popsicles. Love, Miss Sally
Virginia gives a happy smile as she holds another letter dated 2023 with pale fingers. No one has forgotten her. Her mission to make a playground full of children continues. She floats over to Storytime Hill and rests in the lovely green grass.
Mrs. Virginia looked at the sign and it was beautiful. Fall was her favorite.
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*All other names are fictional
Artwork by
Liz Connelly
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I&M Canal Gifts By Kay Norfleet
Mary, Louis, and little Anna Eberhart arrived in the farming country of Illinois from the economic unrest in Germany in the late 1800s. They came to northern Illinois because, they were told by knowledgeable people, that it was one of the most settled, and conducive for farming. Farming was how they made a living. However, when they got here they still had no idea where exactly they could find rich farmland. But the I&M offered a chance for them to see the land they were considering. And it also had a stop on the canal in Lemont, where they could load their produce (corn) and send it to markets. The Illinois and Michigan Canal connected the Great Lakes to the Mississippi River and the Gulf of Mexico offering many market possibilities. The I&M barge ride gave them a chance to view the grounds from the barges that went up and down the waterway, from Bridgeport to LaSalle-Peru. The acreage surrounding it was good earth. They boarded at Lemont and paid the fare for a ride on the I&M which would be 22 hours, then prepared to watch for an area to be their home. The mules were hitched up and pulled the barge, Queen of the Prairie. Their journey began. At three miles an hour being the top speed Louis and Mary were able to carefully assess the surrounding country. When they saw a promising piece of land, they were able to get off the barge and look more. What they saw certainly offered possibilities: a lot of flat lands that would be relatively easy to plow and which would be open to rain and sun. God certainly had been kind. They settled on a piece of land near both the Canal and Lemont and reaped the benefits.
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Not quite seventy years later, my husband and I moved to Lemont, I&M area. It was my idea since Mary and Louis were my grandparents and I knew how they liked the area. However, we did not farm. Instead, we started a newspaper-well, newspapers. One of the papers served the town of Lemont, and was called the “Lemont Met.” Such Lemonters as Mike Galati and Sonia Kallick wrote for the paper. Both were local high school teachers and they used their inquiring minds. Sonia knew and wrote about the history of Lemont and Mike added his thoughts on the town. His experience in Lemont was unique. He was a very very introspective person, as was Sonia, who diligently let all of us know what had shaped the politics and people here by the Canal. The paper also sponsored golf outings and Little League games. My husband joined the Rotary and several Village committees. I was able to use my proofreading and writing knowledge. Our kids honed their skills in writing and publishing and became accomplished in the news business. The oldest son is |the editor of another paper, my daughter, is a pretty accomplished photographer, and the youngest is a man of many talents. Unfortunately, my husband got sick and we had to sell, but I think that the Lemont area has given us so much...so thank you.
Artwork by
Ryan Hennebry 13
WHERE SHALL WE MOVE? Lemont
By Jacqueline Bienias South Haven, Michigan, 1990 Jackie, I got another job! It’s in Chicago. We can stay with my mom until the house sells. That’ll give us time to decide where we want to live. What do you think? I thought, Home!
After twenty-one years, Ron and I moved back to where we grew up, where family was. Our Michigan house sold. As we looked for a new home, we found ourselves often in Lemont. Its historical small-town outdoor atmosphere, and its hills and valleys appealed to us. The piece de resistance was The Strand in the downtown area that sold South Haven’s Sherman’s ice cream where I could continue to get my favorite Chocolate Malt Supreme cone! We bought a house that, if necessary, would be big enough for our in-college children or our parents to live with us. In 1999, the children moved in, along with our daughter’s husband and our son’s girlfriend. We were six working adults with different schedules, cooperatively cooking, cleaning, parking five cars, playing games, watching Friends, and enjoying Lemont activities. One of our favorites was being part of St. Alphonsus’ Christmas gifting to its sister church in Chicago. We chose tags from St. Al’s Christmas tree, bought and wrapped gifts, and one year actually got to deliver all the St. Al’s gifts to Epiphany. The smiles and Thank Yous of the parishioners warmed our hearts. The kids moved out and moved on with their lives. Ron’s father had died in 1987, mine in 2006. Our mothers were independent ladies, but when the time came in 2008 that my mom needed daily help, she couldn’t do any of the stairs in our house. A decision had to be made. Long before she needed one, my mother-in-law visited various senior housing developments. She always liked Franciscan Village in Lemont the best. Mom and I visited the facility, also liked it, did the necessary paperwork, and she moved into the Dependent section. In 2010, Ron’s mom moved into the Independent section. While the mothers enjoyed being at families’ homes for visits and celebrations, they were also happy having guests. Being a welcoming community, family and friends were constantly in and out of the Village visiting and participating in various activities. It was Come One, Come All for daily mass, holiday and birthday celebrations, musical events, plays, barbecues, crafts, bingo, and horse racing games. The mothers especially enjoyed the Easter Egg Hunts, Trick or Treating, and Christmas parties set up especially for grandchildren and great grandchildren. Captured in treasured photos are smiling faces, young, old, and in-between. When it came time for the mothers to leave us, the staff at Franciscan Village was sympathetically helpful. I was blessed to be with my mom in 2013 when she passed; Ron was blessed to be with his in 2019. Their services were held in the Village chapel. These moves to Lemont enriched our lives. Now, as senior citizens, Ron and I wonder When and, once again, Where Shall We Move? 14
South Haven
Photography by
Jason Walk
Skylab Aerial Solutions
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As the Village of Lemont began preparations for its 150th Anniversary as a Village, we engaged the local creative community to help us celebrate Lemont’s anniversary through the arts. The Lemont Writers Guild crafted fiction-based short stories, which were presented to the Lemont Artists Guild, who paired up each story with an artist for an illustration. The result? A magical combination of writing and illustrations capturing the history of our Village. We hope you enjoy this ‘zine. Many thanks to Gaby Pasman at All Together for the layout and additional illustrations.
www.lemontartistsguild.org
South Haven
