Opinion

As 2022 closed out, all of us at Growing Community Media, the nonprofit parent of the Forest Park Review, are enormously grateful to our communities for the support we have received this year.

We well surpassed the original fundraising goal of $150,000 for our end of year Make a Match campaign. That represents hundreds of individuals who have donated anywhere from a few dollars to many thousands. Each of you has fueled our determination to continue building our nonprofit newsroom, which now includes five flags across the Greater West Side — from Garfield Park to Oak Park, from Maywood and Proviso to Forest Park and Riverside.

Thanks also to the thousands who subscribe to our vital print editions and the thousands more who read us digitally. A special thanks always to our hundreds of advertisers who continue to invest in us and in their businesses by connecting with our readers.

We have big plans for 2023, important and contested elections to cover ahead of the April vote. While as a nonprofit we may no longer endorse candidates under IRS regulations, we will overperform in providing all of our readers with extensive coverage of the candidates and the issues in every race. Planning for that coverage — digital and print, and a return to live candidate forums — is already underway.

Also, we are actively hiring for full-time reporting positions. If you, or someone you know, wants to be part of this newsroom, now is the time to reach out.

Finally, always, gratitude for recognizing that strong community journalism is the essential glue that builds neighborhoods. While we are building a new model to fund our work and adapting how we tell stories on many platforms, the core effort of explaining, demanding accountability, and connecting is the same as it has been since we launched our first paper, Wednesday Journal, 42 years back.

As Pastor Walter Mitty tried to wake up from a deep sleep the day after Christmas, for a few seconds he didn’t know where he was.

He knew for sure that he wasn’t in his own bedroom in Poplar Park, but as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, the smell of brewing coffee and the sound of Bing Crosby singing “I’ll be Home for Christmas” began to connect the dots in his consciousness.

He wasn’t at home, but then again he was. He was in the basement apartment his sister-in-law Susan had set up for him during the year he had taken a leave from Poplar Park Community Church to help her care for his brother Herman during his year-long, losing battle with cancer.

I’ll be home for Christmas …

Mitty traveled back 50 years in sentimental time to that two-bedroom frame house in Manitowoc where he, Herman, and their mom and dad had celebrated Christmas in virtually the same way every year until he went off to college.

In his freshman English class, they read Thomas Wolfe’s You Can’t Go Home Again. The novel came to his mind because, lying there in Susan’s basement, he remembered coming home for Christmas vacation and thinking that Wolfe was right, or at least partly right. Just one semester out of his “bubble” had changed him and now, over three decades later, the town itself had changed.

I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams …

Still, he found himself drifting back in his fantasies to those predictable years when everything stayed the same even though it didn’t. The world around him was changing, but in that house on South 24th St. he was safe and secure

Hanging on the wall of his office he had a print of Norman Rockwell’s painting called “Freedom from Want,” in which a grandma is serving a turkey to an extended three-generation family sitting around a big dining room table.

He felt a bit of that sentimental coziness as he lingered under the covers listening to the Christmas music Susan had asked Siri to play, and he began to wonder how his two nephews, Brian and Matt, were feeling about the holiday.

Susan had tried to keep the family traditions alive during the holidays, to somehow recreate that feeling of being home again, but Uncle Walt knew it wasn’t the same and so did his nephews. Matt and Brian gave Uncle Walt a hard time about sleeping late because he was getting old when he finally trundled down the stairs and into the kitchen. Just like old times. After that first cup of coffee, Uncle Walt was finally fully awake. Susan sat down at the table with her “three men” and the conversation meandered into stories about the “good old days.” “Do you remember that time Dad brought

TOM home a turkey they had given him at work” Brian said, “and decided since it was his HOLMES turkey, he was going to cook it?” “Yeah,” said Matt, “but he forgot to set the timer, got involved in a football game on TV and realized that the turkey was, let’s say, well done when we all began to smell smoke coming from the oven.” “A lot of healing has happened in the last three years,” Mitty said to himself. After the laughter subsided, Susan added, “I still miss him. I wish he were here.” And the looks on the faces of her “three men” revealed that they felt the same. Just then Siri was playing another Bing Crosby Christmas hit. “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas,” he crooned, “just like the ones I used to know.” “Well we did a get a white Christmas this year,” thought Mitty, “but it’s not entirely like the ones we used to know. Not a blue Christmas for sure. Somewhere in between, I guess.” When Bing finished the song, Susan noted that it was written by Irving Berlin who was Jewish. “I heard on the news that his 3-week-old son had died on Christmas Day in 1928 and the sadness he felt, even years later, was perhaps what gives the song its melancholy, wistful feel.” “The funny/sad thing about the song is that Crosby sang it on the radio for the first time in 1941 a few weeks after Pearl Harbor had been bombed. It sold 50 million copies over the years, and many of those sales were made while millions of American young men were away from home fighting — and often dying.” “I’ll be home for Christmas,” said Brian with a sigh, “if only in my dreams.” Mitty marveled at his nephew’s comment. “He’s grown up,” said Uncle Walt to himself. “I don’t remember seeing any Norman Rockwell pictures hanging on his wall. “I bet Mary wished she could be home,” Mitty imagined, “to share her newborn with her parents instead of spending Christmas in a barn.”

It’s time to get serious with our New Year’s resolutions for 2023. ■ We’re going to buy a new car with enough sensors and cameras to take the guesswork out of changing lanes. But we’ll sure miss the adrenaline rush we get every time we merge. ■ I’m going to spend another year talking about learning to play pickleball while avoiding any form of exercise. ■ If anyone dares to use the term “homeless” in my presence, I’ll pounce on them with the more politically correct “unhoused.” ■ We will make sure to consume our daily recommended quantity of bacon. ■ If we’re ever going to save the planet, we have to stop buying single-use water bottles. Besides, we can no longer carry a case of water. ■ We’re also going green by using handkerchiefs instead of tissues. Sociologists determined the decline of civilization began when we stopped carrying handkerchiefs or wearing one on display with our suits. ■ I will continue to volunteer at Triton College tutoring ESL students to improve their English. There’s no better way to sharpen your English skills than teaching it to others. ■ My wife and I will save cash and calories by splitting restaurant entrees — for the rest of our lives. We’ll also experiment with the “Happy Hour” diet to see if we can survive on chicken wings and mozzarella sticks. ■ I’ll continue to take walks without musical accompaniment. I also will not make phone calls. I have to stay alert to avoid pedestrians who are staring down at their screens. ■ I’m looking forward to hearing more from my friends at “Potential Spam.” ■ We’re never going to finish watching the second season of Ted Lasso because we couldn’t get past the episode that focused solely on Coach Beard. ■ I will brush up on my geography and no longer write that Dubai is in Saudi Arabia. By the way, Dubai is now the number one tourist destination on the planet. What happened to Wisconsin Dells? ■ We’ll continue watching our grandsons, but the days of getting down on the floor with them are numbered.

■ I’m trying to remain neutral in our upcoming local elections, but it’s tough to resist a fundraiser at Circle Lanes. ■ The Altenheim Advisory Committee hasn’t asked me for input, but if we build a pond, animals and people will come. ■ We’re converting our spare bedroom into an Airbnb. Guests are encouraged to supply their own air mattress. The single bathroom is available most mornings by JOHN 11. ■ Solitaire Scrabble may sound desRICE perate but it’s more fun than solitaire Yahtzee. I also enjoy playing solitaire basketball. ■ We will continue to scroll through movie channels without watching any of them. Brings back fond memories of not finding anything to rent at the video store. ■ I’m going to become a member at the Roos Recreation Center. Unlike more expensive health clubs, not showing up will only cost me $10 per month. ■ We will explore exotic lands and encounter strange new cultures by driving south of I-80. ■ We will avoid toxic people who only care about themselves and don’t want to hear detailed accounts about our health problems. ■ We will continue to be grateful for the giving spirit of Forest Park.

The Jan. 12, 1972 issue of the Review featured the Glass Mobile as its lead story, with the headline: Ecology - Everybody’s Business. The handsome mobile unit, clearly labeled with the presorted glass colors — green, brown and clear — was sponsored by the Forest Park Environmental Committee. The glass collection would take place in the St. Bernardine’s parking lot. Newspapers were also collected — tied in bundles — and deposited in “the Village Garage — the back of Peaslee’s Hardware.”

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