The historic Cook County Hospital Administration Building

 

The building at 1835 W Harrison Street in Chicago, Illinois, is the historic Cook County Hospital Administration Building. Completed in 1914, this eight-story Beaux-Arts structure was designed by architect Paul Gerhardt. It played a significant role in providing medical care to early immigrants and low-income residents, becoming renowned as a teaching hospital and the site of several medical breakthroughs, including the development of the first blood bank in the United States and the discovery of the cause of sickle-cell anemia. After its closure in 2002, the building underwent a $133 million rehabilitation and reopened in 2020 as a mixed-use development, featuring a 210-room hotel, retail spaces, and a museum.

A look back - September 19, 2012 - Evergreen Lake’s Vanishing Waters Reveal Hidden Paths

 

Evergreen Lake’s Vanishing Waters Reveal Hidden Paths

HUDSON, IL. (SEPT 19, 2012) — The south end of Evergreen Lake looks vastly different this September. Where Barred Owl Trail would normally meet the water’s edge, hikers now step onto a cracked and barren lake bed, a stark reminder of the relentless 2012 drought.

For months, the lack of rain has drained the once-thriving reservoir, exposing long-submerged land. What was once unreachable by foot—small, tree-covered islands—are now accessible, their roots gripping dry earth instead of rippling currents.

Local hikers take advantage of the eerie transformation, tracing paths normally lost beneath the lake’s surface. But for longtime residents, the sight is unsettling. "I’ve never seen it this low," said one visitor, kicking at the dust where water once stood.

Forecasters predict continued dry conditions, leaving the future of Evergreen Lake uncertain. For now, it remains a place of both opportunity and concern—where nature’s extremes carve new trails in the absence of water.

Elkhart Illinois - Route 66, the Mother road

 

On a warm April afternoon in Elkhart, Illinois, along the weathered stretch of Historic Route 66, a bench crafted from the rusted tailgate of a 1957 Chevrolet pickup truck sat outside a model raceway establishment. The tailgate’s faded paint gleamed faintly in the sunlight, a relic of a bygone era repurposed into a quirky seat. On to it sat Ronald McDonald, or rather, a weathered statue of the fast-food icon, his red shoes dulled to a soft pink, his chipped grin fixed in perpetual cheer.

The odd pairing of the tailgate bench and Ronald marked the edge of the raceway lot, a haven for hobbyists and nostalgia buffs. Inside, the hum of tiny engines filled the air as enthusiasts raced miniature cars around intricate tracks, their shouts and laughter drifting out into the quiet afternoon. The bench, otherwise unoccupied, seemed to wait patiently, as if it held stories of its own—perhaps of the truck it once belonged to, rumbling down the Mother Road decades ago.

As the sun climbed higher, heating up Route 66, Ronald sat as a sentinel on the tailgate, his painted eyes gazing out over the bright concrete of the street. The scene remained still, a snapshot of small-town charm and faded glory, tethered to the enduring legacy of the historic highway.

"The Great Pelican Paddle-Off"

On a breezy warm spring morning, three American white pelicans—Carl, Bev, and Frank—bobbed along the glassy surface of Evergreen Lake in McLean County, Illinois. They had stopped for a layover during their annual migration, and as usual, boredom was setting in.

"I’m telling you," Carl said, flapping a wing dramatically, "I caught a fish this big yesterday."

"That wasn’t a fish," Bev scoffed. "It was a soggy flip-flop. And you nearly choked on it."

Frank, the self-appointed philosopher of the group, dipped his bill into the water and sighed. "Isn’t it curious," he mused, "how humans throw their shoes into lakes? What if those flip-flops are part of a secret migration ritual?"

Bev rolled her eyes. "You’d think less if you fished more."

Carl, not one to be outdone, straightened his neck. "Alright, enough chit-chat. Let’s settle this with a good old-fashioned Paddle-Off. First one across the lake wins bragging rights—and the best fishing spot."

And so, the Great Pelican Paddle-Off began.

Carl surged ahead with reckless enthusiasm, sending water everywhere and startling a family of turtles. Bev, focused and calculating, glided smoothly, drafting behind Carl to conserve energy. Frank? He took a more leisurely approach, pondering the meaning of water ripples and occasionally stopping to admire his own reflection.

Halfway across, Carl burned out, wings aching. "I’m not saying I peaked early, but—" he huffed, as Bev shot past him with a gleeful squawk.

Just as Bev neared the finish, Frank floated by without breaking a sweat—or a feather. "You know," he said dreamily, "sometimes the fastest way across is to let the wind do the work."

He drifted gracefully over the finish line, winning the Paddle-Off through sheer philosophical detachment.

Carl and Bev caught up, glaring at their unflappable friend.

"Well, Frank," Bev said grudgingly, "I guess you earned the best fishing spot."

Frank smiled. "Oh, you two go ahead. I’m just here for the vibes—and the occasional soggy flip-flop."

And with that, the three pelicans paddled off into the sunset, their rivalry settled—for now.