Thursday, July 14, 2022

"Together is Timeless"


     A writer trusts his gut. She listens to her in-the-moment instinct. Use this word but not that one. Jump at that topic while avoiding another. You need a sense of what fits, what doesn't, what's right, what wrong.
     So I'm sitting in the car on Wabash Avenue, just north of Cermak Road, waiting for my younger son to come down so we can go to dinner in Chinatown. And I look across the street and see this billboard for Fannie May candies. And think, "Bleh." Then take a picture to document the marvel, to make sure I'm not hallucinating. To check that this isn't some errant, one-off billboard test.
     It isn't. A big branding campaign, launched last Christmas.
     "Together is Timeless."
     Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me I'm overreacting by even remarking upon its meh-ness. I'm not their target audience. To me, Fannie May candy is barely worth eating, like Hershey's milk chocolate. A palpable substitute for actual candy if nothing better is at hand. A form of pica, only using confectionary instead of plaster of paris.
     I tried to think of how to illustrate its wrongness, and the first phrase I thought of is Sartre's "Hell is other people." The problem must be the word "timeless." It's not an adjective that evokes anything, especially not chocolate. The slogan is close in meaning to "Together is an Eternity," which doesn't sound like a situation you want to enter willingly. "Timeless" is such a tired bit of boosterism. "This heirloom plate from the Franklin Mint will become a timeless treasure your family will cherish for generations..."
     I wondered what Fannie May, based in Chicago, thought it was doing, and am glad that Candy & Snack Today did the heavy lifting for me, reaching out to Ferraro Group's Fannie May Confection Brands Inc.
     “Together Is Timeless showcases how Fannie May takes classic ingredients like caramel, pecans, grahams, marshmallows and chocolate, and brings them together to create something greater than the sum of their parts. Just like the memories that are made while celebrating with loved ones,” Kari Fisch, senior brand manager at Fannie May told the publication. “We are very excited to unveil our new campaign and look forward to becoming a staple of family celebrations nationwide for decades to come.”
     They pay people for that. (And what's a "graham"? Perhaps the word you use when you can't call an ingredient a "graham cracker" for legal reasons. Did you ever in your life say, "I'd like a graham"? Me neither). 
     We are in such a blizzard of communication, a 24-hour wordstorm as big as the Crab Nebula. So if you are going to coin a phrase, buy billboards, you jolly well...
     Enough. Anyone who gets it understood at first glance, and if they haven't, they never will.
     I'd be reluctant to jump on somebody's brain child — I'm tempted to go into LinkedIn and find someone claiming "Together is Timeless" on their resume — except that not caring is how these things are flung at the public in the first place. Nobody is going to cry into their pillow over this.
     I try not to criticize a headline without coming up with a better one and that holds true for commercial catchphrases. A superior slogan can be concocted in the time it takes me to type the words. "Together is Timeless." Hmmm... Drop the "Timeless" as pejorative, keep "Together" as something that sounds halfway appealing. Remembering this is candy. How about "Sweeter Together?" Maybe they tried that and "sweet" didn't test well: implies calories. "Savor Together," with an echo of "Safer Together" which is on everybody's mind nowadays. Or "Choose Together" since Fannie May are famous for their big assortments where you pick the ones you can best stomach. No, abortion rights killed off the concept of choice, at least for timorous marketers. 
     I'd stick with my first idea, "Sweeter Together." It's candy. It's supposed to be a little sweet or, in the case of Fannie May, way too sweet. If you're going to take Vienna, take Vienna. If you're a candy company, be sweet, or "Together is Sweetness."




Wednesday, July 13, 2022

‘Today is not the last day’

     “Come right in,” says Edith Renfrow Smith, opening the door to her modest single-room apartment on North Sheridan Road. “Have a seat. How have you been?”
     Curious about her. I tell her if turning 107 was a big deal, then turning 108 is also worth notice.
     “One hundred and seven will be gone in three days,” she says.
     Readers might recall meeting Smith last year: the first Black person to graduate from Grinnell College, class of 1937, a woman who met both Amelia Earhart and Muhammad Ali. Who knew jazz great Herbie Hancock as a baby. Whose grandparents were born in slavery.
     She was born July 14, 1914, two weeks before World War I broke out.
     “How was the past year?” I ask.
     “Fine,” she says.
     It was an eventful year. Smith got new hearing aids. “These are much better.” She moved from Bethany Retirement Community, where she lived for 11 years, to Brookdale.
     Why move? It’s complicated.
     “Thorek hospital bought Bethany,” she begins. “They didn’t really want it. They wanted the parking lot. That’s what they wanted.”
     The sale, Smith believes, led to a decline in the food and most everything else.

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Tuesday, July 12, 2022

Would you like a lovely pen?

Therese Schmidt at Atlas Stationers.

     Cities are serendipity. Working at home might be easier and more convenient. But who ever drops in? Going downtown, you have all those people gathered together, and one thing leads to another.
     I was meeting a city official for lunch at The Dearborn Monday. No need to drive into the heart of the Loop, however. I had time, so parked on Franklin. After I got out of the car, I realized I was around the corner from Atlas Stationers, 227 W. Lake, and decided to stroll over and check up on my favorite office supply store. Just walking in that direction was educational: I looked for Whimsical Candy, figuring I'd pop in to support the cause by picking up a Raspberry Truffle Crisp. But they are gone, no doubt a victim of the pandemic. 
    But Atlas Stationers, which has a strong online presence, endures in its cast iron columned flagship.
     "Maybe Therese will be in," I thought, of Therese Schmidt, who owns the place with her husband Don, whose grandfather founded it in 1939. Not with much hope — people aren't downtown the way they once were. But the moment. I walked into the store, she came out of the back room, as if on cue.
    We had a lot to catch up on. Her Tennessee Treeing Dog, a 90-pounder named Captain James Tiberius Kirk, had blasted after a squirrel he saw through a window and smashed into her head while she sat on the sofa, setting off a series of medical troubles.
     "I almost kicked the bucket," she said.
     Therese underwent brain surgery, a craniotomy at Condell. Two sections of her skull were replaced by plates. She showed me a photo of her 35 staples.
     "They did a number on my head," she said. "I looked like the Bride of Frankenstein. I didn't run for six weeks."
     For her, that was an earthquake. Readers with long me
mories might remember that Therese is a dedicated runner, whom I accompanied once as she raced her deliveries around Loop office buildings. She doesn't deliver office supplies by racing a cart along Lower Wacker Drive anymore — not enough workers downtown — though she does wear shorts every day, thank to a vow she'll keep "until the Bears win the Super Bowl again."
     We also
 talked fountain pens. At the front of the store, Atlas features a wide array of fine  pens. I apologized: I tried to dangle them in front of the boys, as potential college graduation gifts, but neither bit. 
     "Kids aren't into pens anymore," I suggested, trying to spread the blame around. She disagreed, claiming that young people are gravitating more toward fountain pens, as an offshoot of tattoo culture. 
     "They want some ink with their ink" she said.
     Ballpoints do well too. One recent customer was Lori Lightfoot, who came in last week and bought six of the store's custom ballpoint pens with designs keyed to the stars in the Chicago flag.
     "That's our exclusive," she said. They've already sold out pens honoring the 1933 Century of Progress and the 1871 Great Chicago Fire, and are now on the third version, an 1893 World's Columbian Exposition pen.
     "People love it," she said.
     I could see why. The pens are made in a limited edition of 500, come in their own numbered tubes, are priced reasonably—$56—make great gifts, and go to support one of Chicago's most distinctive and personable family businesses, one that doesn't rest on its past but keeps charging into the future.
     "You have to change up the game a little bit," Therese
 said.




   

Monday, July 11, 2022

A little candy might help


     When John Ryan, production manager at Ferrara’s Itasca plant, came home, his kids would sometimes drag their friends over to him for a quick sniff.
     “Come over and smell my dad!” they’d say. “My dad works for a candy company!”
     The ability to impress your children is only one benefit of running a candy factory. Employees — and yes, they’re hiring, like everybody else — get free samples.
     To be honest, I wasn’t sure what to do with my recent visit to Ferrara — in mid-May, not so recent. I’d seen Nerds — little granules of hard candy — being made in big drums, bright yellow, hot pink and cool aqua, then poured into tiny rattling boxes. And Sweetarts, those little squat pastel cylinders, packed into clear wrapped plastic cylinders. Cherry ropes running through a production line as long as a football field.
     Not the sort of inside information the world is eager to consume. I kept waiting for a break in the awful news to slip this sweet interlude into the paper. Isn’t mid-July supposed to be sleepy? The president off on vacation, glimpsed wearing a big Panama hat while patting a bison, on some ranch in Wyoming?
     But no. For nearly two months, one damn thing after another. I woke up Sunday morning and assessed my options. The headline on the Sun-Times was “TOGETHER WE GRIEVE,” with six pages of coverage of the Highland Park July Fourth parade massacre. States scrambling over each other to smother women’s reproductive rights. The Ukraine war still grinding on. Boris Johnson out as British prime minister, after mass resignations in his administration, the kind of selfless move that only adds a new layer of shame to our Republican leaders. Shinzo Abe assassinated in Japan, a nation of 125 million people that had one — one! one! ONE! — murder by gun last year. Maybe I should just write that sentence over and over, 25 times, then call it a day.

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Sunday, July 10, 2022

"Stroll in the Park"

     Saturday was a gorgeous summer day in Chicago. And I got lucky, in that a young cousin from Boston was in town with her friend, which prompted me to get off my ass, out of the ol' leafy suburban paradise, and into the city — Lincoln Park Zoo, specifically, after an enjoyable lunch at R.J. Grunt's which is still crowded, still delicious, still fun. 
     While strolling in Lincoln Park we came upon this whimsical sculpture, at the corner of Dickens and Lincoln Park West. By Robbie Barber, it's titled, appropriately enough, "Stroll in the Park." The 58-year-old Texan explains in an artist's statement that the artwork is "an homage to the homemade assemblages that dot the American roadside (dinosaurs, muffler men, cars on poles)," intended to elevate "the mobile home to the level of an American icon, right beside monster trucks and professional wrestling."
     Mission accomplished. While most public art is crap, as I've said before, the whimsy and humor of this instantly appealed, as did the sky blue color, and the careful weathering of the trailer part of the baby carriage. It's here for only a year, thanks to Sculpture in the Parks, a program putting 20 artworks in 20 parks, run by the Chicago Park District, the Evanston Arts Council, and the North River Commission.

      One clever artwork doesn't counterbalance the windstorm of bad publicity that Chicago has been suffering. But it's good to remember that, despite its problems, Chicago is functioning as a city should, between its free zoo, busy lakefront and freshly scattered sculptures. We drove up Lake Shore Drive from North Avenue to Hollywood, then up Sheridan to the Bahai Temple.  Nobody shot at us, the lake sparkled and the whole city seemed to be out in force, enjoying life.
     "Some hellhole," I said.




Saturday, July 9, 2022

Wilmette Notes: Can’t Fix Stupid

Photo by Caren Jeskey

     Seven people were gunned down at the Fourth of July parade in Highland Park on Monday. Everyone I know feels terrible about it—I find myself growing more and more horrified as the shock wears off and the details filter in. For me, it was that 8-year-old boy having his spine severed by a bullet. Just the awfulness of that. Of course North Shore correspondent Caren Jeskey, rather than merely feeling bad, did what she could to help. Her Saturday report:

By Caren Jeskey 

“I can fix almost anything that runs on those presses but I can’t fix stupid.” 
                      —Shoe Comic Strip by Jeff MacNelly
     Folks on neighborhood social media groups in the North Shore are plotting a mission to buy out gun companies and put a stop to this nonsense, or at least a finger in the dam. A pipe dream that I will try to have tonight instead of the nightmares of last night— snarling German shepherds the size of ponies skulking around my house in the middle of the night, shadowy vehicles the size of tanks with tinted windows trailing them. Unknown faces planning unknown things behind the wheels.
     
 Part of me believes that mass shooters can and should be stopped, and perhaps even rehabilitated, with early intervention into their predilection for violence.
     When the news rolled in about the Highland Park massacre I was at home in Wilmette, having just seen my one 4th of July holiday client on Zoom. Little did we know that as we spoke about improving life, a reminder that a better tomorrow is not guaranteed for any of us had just played out.
     Like you, I am still reeling and processing this most recent horror. As I listened to live news coverage on WBEZ on Monday, I could not just stay at home. As a volunteer professional, I drove to the Highland Park hospital where FBI agents sent me to the Police Department. I checked in with my name and professional license number and waited to be called upon to provide crisis counseling. Decades of crisis work in hospitals has prepared me for this, and I had to at least offer my services.
     A local man walked up as I hunkered down outside of the station to wait, and we entered into an animated conversation about the need for action. A ridiculously sized (considering the terrain) black pickup truck rolled by slowly. Expertly affixed flag poles hosted American flags flapping in the wind as the driver carefully surveyed the area, bearded men in Harleys slowly following behind. Vigilante justice at its finest. Amerika as in the 1987 ABC miniseries where the result of political strife resulted in the Divided States of America. Prophetic, as many things are.

     “It is organized violence on top which creates individual violence at the bottom.”
                        — Emma Goldman, 1917

     Outside of the police department that day, I met friends of victims and provided an ear because they needed to vent. 
As TV vans rolled in and the area started to get crowded, I headed home to await next steps. A colleague linked me with a small group of therapists who had set up a counseling outpost at the local high school. Thursday evening I spent nearly five hours at Highland Park High School with nine other professional volunteers.
      Audrey Grunst of Simply Bee Counseling had generously taken it upon herself to spearhead this effort. They funneled us through a well organized process, which linked us to those in need. No person or family had to wait more than a minute or two for help. We were provided with therapeutic tools for all ages—stuffed animals and crayons, sparkly balls to squeeze for comfort, and even donated wearable TouchPoints. These devices work "by altering the body's stress response with BLAST (Bi-lateral Alternating Stimulation Tactile) technology. BLAST uses gentle, alternating vibrations on each side of the body to shift your brain from your default ‘fight or flight’ response to your calm and in-control response.”
     The people I treated walked in with pinched expressions, cried while they shared, and walked out feeling reassured and less scared, even laughing and smiling. Counseling can and does work.
     On my way home I turned the wrong way and came across the memorials that had been created in downtown Highland Park with hundreds of people lighting candles, or in quiet contemplation, or gathered around a rabbi who spoke words of comfort. Nestled amidst hundreds of bouquets of flowers were messages written on poster board and in chalk on the sidewalks. “Enough. Ban Assault Weapons Now.”
     It wasn’t until I stood before the life sized images of the seven lives we lost that it really hit home. I am, you are, we are all one fanatic away from being touched by tragedy if we have not yet been. Many have mentioned that since the violence has affected an affluent community, perhaps this means that change will really come. We shall see.
     As I left the area I found my eyes peeled to the top of the office building near my car. Just in case. Yesterday, during a client session, I jotted down a sentence they had said. “I put a deposit down on an engagement gun.” I noticed right away that the word ring was not where it was supposed to be. Later as I played my flute I heard a car drive by with thumping music and briefly wondered if a shooter had arrived. This too shall pass, I tell myself. Over and over.
     According to the National Center for PTSD, 60% of men and 50% of women experience at least one trauma in their lives and about 8% of women and 4% of men develop PTSD sometime in their lives. This data is outdated, however, so I will have to do some digging to find out more. Even if people are not diagnosed with PTSD, they very well may have lingering effects after having been targeted and seeing others fall.
     I will try to remember that there is more good in the world than bad, most people are not violent, and that right will one day win over might.
"Violence can always destroy power; out of the barrel of a gun grows the most effective command, resulting in the most instant and perfect obedience. What never can grow out of it is power.”    —On Violence, Hannah Arendt 1970
Photo by Caren Jeskey





Friday, July 8, 2022

Averting his gaze from the wreckage

Robert Feder

     "Did you ever give interviews?" Eric Zorn asked our lunch guest. "Did you ever appear on panel shows?"
     No, of course not.
     "So this is an opportunity..."
     An opportunity, to the former Chicago Tribune columnist. Me, I thought we were going to lunch with our old friend, Robert Feder, to celebrate his retirement after 42 years as the unblinking eye chronicling Chicago media. After being the rare journalist to have worked, at various points in his career, for the Sun-Times, the Tribune, the Daily Herald, Crain's Chicago Business, and WBEZ. If anything significant happened in TV, radio or print, Feder typically had it first. “Hustle, tenacity and humility,” said the Daily Herald’s editor, summing him up well.
     But Zorn, a keener judge of news than I, suggested we should record it, as a kind of exit interview. That sounded like work, but okay. I turned on my digital recorder as we three settled in a booth at L. Woods Tap in Lincolnwood on Tuesday.
     Rob always avoided the spotlight, and it did make sense to shine it on him now that we had the chance. He certainly has a newsman's way of capturing a moment.
      "We are all working in isolation, we're all working at home," he began. "The newsroom is all a myth. It's an idea in the past. And so you decide how long can you keep your sanity and keep pretending you're part of a larger thing."
     Sounds right. Why retire now?
     "For every reason. Everything came together at once," he said. "Within the last five or six years, I lost both my parents and my wife, if that doesn't start you to think about how short life is, what happens when the last day comes, and there's no tomorrow."
     He has nothing lined up. No plans.

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