Opinion

OUR VIEW

Drinking season draws near

The Forest Park Tap Room has reopened at the corner of Madison and Circle. Its liquor license was reinstated by the village of Forest Park after the Illinois Liquor Control Commission ruled the village had overstepped in pulling the license last August.

Unknown at this moment if the village will appeal the ruling to the state. But it’s already clear that Mayor Rory Hoskins, also the liquor commissioner for Forest Park, plans to keep a sharp eye on a business that has absolutely chosen to not be a great neighbor on the street.

In the days after its reopening, Forest Park police twice visited the tavern and police reports were filed noting that, unsurprisingly, liquor was being served. The point being made is that the village argues the Tap Room does not currently have a legal license from the state. It argues that the necessary license expired on Sept. 30, 2021.

The lawyer for Hansel and Lance Law, the brothers who own the Tap Room, called the state license renewal an “administrative issue.”

Still required. And clearly the village’s focus on it indicates it is not giving the Tap Room a pass on its return to business.

We are now three weeks out from Forest Park’s return to celebrating St. Patrick’s Day with a parade and a large crowd of determined drinkers. Spring will follow quickly and warmer temperatures remind us that it was a year ago, coming out of the depths of pandemic restrictions, that bars on Madison suddenly drew giant, and, at times, disruptive crowds.

Forest Park wasn’t ready then. Our urging now is that Forest Park officials who have spent a year adjusting — readjusting hours of operation for the bars and restaurants and updating the live entertainment ordinance — make sure they have what they need in place.

Policing strategies need to be finalized. Legal strategies need to be refined.

We’d also urge engagement between the village and bar owners. Tensions throughout last year led to raw wounds that need tending — while also making clear expectations for how local businesses must operate.

This is the moment.

OPINION

The perfect midwinter daydream of summer

The following first ran in February of 2016: I like to write about summer in winter. It’s like sending a love letter to future, expressing excitement over an impending visit. Anyhow, a couple years ago I went to the state fair. The first thing I saw on the way in drew a Bugs Bunny-style double-take: Two girls, both about 7, walking a cow.

On a leash.

The cow must have been three times the size of the two girls combined. I would have offered to help but they clearly knew what they were doing. The kids were treating the cow like an untrained, willful puppy.

Next thing I heard was “First Call,” the bugled tune that heralds the beginning of a horse race. I love that sound, so I went off to investigate and found “hog races.” The “hogs” in question are piglets. There was, inexplicably, no pari-mutuel window, but I thought fast and won $5 from the lady next to me.

What is a state fair without funnel cake? (Or ice cream, or beer, or barbecue?) I stopped to talk to one of the food vendors. He was a focused entrepreneur; while I was sitting with him, he took a call on his cellphone: “How much is it? Is it the good kind? I’ll take 30 cases.” He was sitting in a barbecue tent in a black T-shirt and jeans, talking about corn for his roast-corn concession, but he sounded like a commodities trader shouting in the pit at the Stock Exchange.

Ambling around with my ice cream, I found myself outside the Rabbit & Poultry Barn. I braved the tremendous noise and entered.

I had no idea there were so many kinds of chickens.

The birds are divided by type. The varietals have excellent names: Plymouth Rock Silver Penciled, Old English Millefleur, Non-Bearded Splash Silkie, Spanish White-faced Black. Had the names been told to me instead of printed on the cages, I’d not have believed they were real. The array of plumage is astonishing; colors and patterns and poofs that look like something out of Dr. Seuss.

The west wing of the barn is given over to turkeys and waterfowl. One complete row was reminiscent of the optical illu-

sion created by facing two mirrors at one another; just a forever-row of perfect white ducks. I also saw the Grand Champion turkey, a Narragansett. I attempted to alert him to the ephemerality of fame, particularly vis-à-vis the proximity of Thanksgiving, but he ignored me, simply preferring to pace and examine his “Grand Champion” banner. Success changes turkeys too, it seems. If you look at the fair properly, you can see that it is really two fairs, one built atop the other: The ALAN BROUILETTE upper layer is the carnival, the one with the neon T-shirts, the Ferris wheel, the livestock pageants, and the funnel cake. The lower layer, the foundation, is the agricultural trade show. There is a lot filled with tractors, on which children climb and play and pretend while their fathers examine the new tractors and discuss specs and costs with salesmen. It’s like the Detroit Auto Show, but with more green and yellow, and stranger vehicles. (Well, to me, at least. I boggled for 10 minutes at a display of commercial-grade riding lawnmowers so complexly futuristic that I had to ask a passerby what they were.) I was passing through this display lot on my way out to the swine barn, which is quite some distance west of the main fairground, which makes a lot of sense, considering both the buildings and the fair considerably predate air conditioning. I was walking out there and debating if I wanted a piece of cheesecake on a stick when I was startled by horrific screaming. I prepared to run to the screamer’s aid, but no one else seemed concerned. I nervously tracked down the source of the screeching, and that is when I learned that an angry pig sounds awfully human. Several members of the 4-H Club were washing pigs in advance of their turn in the show ring, and the water was cold. The pigs were vocally unhappy with the temperature. There was a free concert that night — country music, of course — and fireworks and a parade. I stayed, despite the sticky heat and the country music, possibly because I knew there would come a February when the fair would provide the perfect grey-day daydream.

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The shortest-longest month of the year

There are many reasons to hate February. The Romans thought so little of it, they originally left it off the calendar. In 700 BC, though, they added January and February, so that the year would match the length of one trip around the sun. Both months were 28 days long but January somehow gained three more. Twenty-eight days, however, was more than enough for February. It was named for “Februa” a festival of purification that involved ritual washing. Nowadays, when we come in from the cold, we still do plenty of ritual washing. Julius Caesar started Leap Year, also to keep the calendar accurate. Why add a day to the month we least want lengthened? Wouldn’t July 32nd have made more sense? Well, the Romans were superstitious about numbers and thought even numbers brought bad luck.

February isn’t only our most miserable month, it’s difficult to spell. That’s because no one pronounces the first “r.” I was training an assistant and the first question she asked was, “How do you spell February?” I can’t blame her. If I didn’t write for the Review, I’d still be struggling with that word. February includes Groundhog Day, the silliest holiday we celebrate. Punxsutawney Phil is as poor as Phil Connors at predicting weather. The weathercaster failed to predict the blizzard that stranded him in Pennsylvania, while the rodent-caster is right only 37% of the time about the arrival of spring. Plus, Forest Park has been slammed twice on Groundhog Day with record snowfall. On Feb. 2, 2011, a blizzard dumped 21.2 inches of snow. Exactly four years later, we dug out from 19.3 inches of white stuff. My college students braved this blizzard to attend services at Living Word. Like most college kids, they loved going to church on Sunday mornings. They also took Black History Month seriously. Why was our shortest, gloomiest month chosen for Black History? Because February contains the birthdays of the “Great Emancipator,” Abraham Lincoln and abolitionist Frederick Douglass. In February 2019, I hosted two events to celebrate Black history. The first was on the North Side and drew three people. I ended up stuck with a whole platter of pastries from Twisted Cookie but found plenty of volunteers to scarf them down.

The second event was on the South Side and drew zero people. This time, I was only stuck with wine, cheese and crackers. The lesson I learned was that Chicagoans don’t leave their homes in February, regardless of Black History Month events and free refreshments. What February has in history, it lacks in sporting events. After the Super Bowl, February is a sports desert. This year,

JOHN though, we have the Winter Olympics. Because sportscasters have overused the word

RICE “downhill” to describe any aggressive move by a running back or point guard, they are Why add a forbidden to use it during the Olympics. This includes the Alpine Events. day to the February’s one saving grace may be Valentine’s Day. I’ve had many memomonth we least rable Valentine’s Days but the memories want lengthare mostly embarrassing. There was the time I stood up my wife because a lawyer ened? Wouldn’t named Dick Valentine kept me overtime. July 32nd have There was the romantic musical we almost missed because Sizzler was serving allmade more you-can-eat shrimp. But I most remember a Valentine’s Day blizzard that forced me to sense? trudge through snow bearing a red rose and a bottle of wine. Finally, February has Presidents Day. How did we get this holiday? Did one of our chief executives own a mattress store? How do we celebrate if we didn’t like some former presidents, or dislike the current one? My final question is, why does the shortest month seem longer than all the rest?

Karen Yarbrough, running for 7th District State Representative in March of 2000, visits with residents during a campaign fundraiser at Scoreboard Sports Bar, 7505 Madison St. (now Slainte Irish Pub). Yarbrough would successfully defeat the appointed incumbent, Wanda Sharp, that year. Her political career grew in years to come, later serving as the Cook County Recorder of Deeds (preceded by Eugene Moore), as the Cook County Clerk (preceded David Orr), and serving as c hair of the Illinois Democratic Party (preceded by Michael Madigan).

Jill Wagner

A L OOK BA CK IN TIME

Mixing it up

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