When Dr. Robert Andrews first proposed that a series of historically accurate, educational murals be painted on downtown buildings in Punta Gorda, Florida, some residents opposed the idea, insisting the murals would be nothing more than “graffiti.” Business leaders, on the other hand, loved the idea. They formed the Punta Gorda Historic Mural Society (PGHMS) in 1994 and successfully lobbied the City Council for permission to paint the first one on a large blank wall of a former shopping center located on U.S. 41 Northbound. Once the first mural was completed, others quickly followed, and residents who had initially opposed the idea began taking guests around town, proudly showing off the works of art.
Over the next ten years, more than 90 murals were painted at 20 different sites. Then disaster struck. On Friday, August 13, 2004, Hurricane Charley roared onshore at Punta Gorda as a category 4 storm with sustained winds in excess of 145 miles per hour (to get a sense of the destruction, check out this post on the TampaBay.com blog; click on each photo to see the same scene, as it looked immediately following the hurricane). In one short hour, 11,000 of the city’s 16,000 homes were totally destroyed, along with six schools and six fire stations. About 300 businesses were leveled. And half of the mural sites were gone.
Five years later, the occasional vacant lot is still visible, but buildings that were damaged beyond repair have been torn down and debris has been carted away. In their place, new facilities have sprouted. Downtown has colorful new shops, luxury hotels, and a new convention center. Schools and fire stations were rebuilt with state-of-the-art facilities. The murals, too, are slowly being recreated. Continue reading
The meaning of the term “skyscraper” has changed dramatically over the centuries. Originally a nautical term referring to a tall mast or main sail on a sailing ship, the word was first used to describe buildings when the ten-story steel-framed Home Insurance Building was constructed in Chicago in 1885. Although later demolished, the structure forever marked Chicago as the birthplace of the skyscraper. Chicago today has an unrivaled collection of skyscrapers that makes the city a premiere destination in the world for the study of architecture.

Chicago Model City display in the lobby of the Architecture Foundation documents the history of architecture in the city
Chief among the city’s spectacular skyscrapers is the Chicago Board of Trade Building, which anchors the southern end of the downtown financial district on LaSalle Street and is the world’s oldest futures and options exchange. Built to provide a centralized location where buyers and sellers could meet, negotiate, and enter into contracts to buy and sell commodities produced in the Midwest, farmers flocked to the CBOT with samples of their wheat, corn, and soybean crops. Over time, the function of the exchange evolved into one of buying and selling forward contracts for commodities. Today, more than 50 different options and futures contracts are traded by over 3,600 CBOT members through open outcry and eTrading from the floor of the open exchange.

Art deco designed Chicago Board of Trade Building anchors the south end of the LaSalle Street financial district
Growing up in Chicago, I had always wanted to tour the Board of Trade building and watch the commodity traders in the “pit” but, like most locals who never visit the attractions in their own back yard, I just never got around to it. I moved away and forgot about CBOT until recently, when I returned to the city for a conference scheduled to be held in the Loop. In years past, anyone could visit the Chicago Board of Trade, but since 9/11, security concerns have necessitated limiting access to the facility. Fortunately, tours are still available through the Chicago Architecture Foundation, a nonprofit organization dedicated to advancing public interest and education in architecture and design. The CBOT is one of 16 “Lunchtime Tours” of historic buildings available through the Foundation. In this instance, the timing was perfect; not only would I learn the history of the skyscraper and see its unique architectural details up close, at the conclusion of the tour I would have an opportunity to witness live commodities trading in the pit from an overhead observation gallery.
I arrived early and strolled around the massive granite tower to kill time. Courtyards on two sides of the building provided seating for harried traders clad in the bright blue, red, or gold jackets of their particular brokerage houses. They rushed in and out of revolving doors for quick breaks, gulping coffee while talking on cell phones and puffing furiously on cigarettes, generating a billowing cloud of smoke. Wading through the billowing smoke, I was reminded that not so long ago I was living the same kind of harried and stressed-out life and I gave silent thanks that this part of my life is over. Continue reading
The seeds of my love affair with Chicago’s Palmer House were sown back in 1969. An anxious and giddy teenager, I was thrilled that the famous hotel had been chosen for my senior prom. I vividly recall stepping into the opulent lobby, with its Tiffany 24-karat gold chandeliers, majestic “Winged Angels” (the largest bronze statues ever made by Tiffany), and its magnificent domed ceiling painted with Grecian frescoes. I was the ugly duckling, suddenly become a lovely swan. I was Cinderella. My handsome, tux-clad prince offered his arm as we promenaded through the glittering lobby and up the staircase to the ballroom, where we danced the night away.
Although I no longer live in Chicago, I recently attended a conference in the Loop and spent a few extra days in the city. Memories came flooding back one afternoon when I turned a corner and found myself in front of the Palmer House. I stood on the sidewalk, debating whether or not to go inside. Perhaps it would be best to remember it the way it was on that fairy-tale night. But the temptation to revisit my past was too strong; I stepped through the front entrance and mounted the stairs to the lobby. And just like that I was 17 again, rendered speechless by the exquisite surroundings.
From the moment I began my six hour walking tour of downtown Chicago last Saturday, I had dinner on my mind. I planned to end my day at the Italian Village Restaurant on Monroe Street between State and Dearborn where, in 1927, Alfredo Capitanini, an Italian immigrant who never worked in any restaurant before coming to the United States, began serving up spaghetti and meatballs for 40 cents.
Capitanini’s philosophy was uncomplicated: make good, simple food, serve it in ample portions, and offer it with warm Italian courtesy. A few things have changed over the years. Although the Italian Village is still located in the same place, it now houses three different dining venues: The Village occupies the entire second floor, while La Cantina and Vivere share the ground floor. Vivere boasts the most celebrated wine list in the Midwest and the restaurants have collected numerous awards and accolades over the years. In addition to being included on Wine Spectator’s list of “America’s 10 Best Italian Restaurants,” the restaurant earns the City Search designation of “Most Romantic” and “Best Italian Food” restaurant.
My meal was excellent, the service was impeccable, and the price was reasonable, but none of these were my reasons for choosing to dine at the Italian Village. My reasons were purely sentimental. You see, my father proposed Continue reading
Environmentalists constantly charge that development has deprived plants and animals of their natural habitat. While I would normally agree, a few thing have happened over the past few weeks that make me wonder whether this is true, or if plants and animals are adapting just fine to cityscapes.
Last week, I was walking along Main Street in downtown Sarasota. It was early evening, perhaps 7 p.m., and still light. As I passed the building housing the offices of First Baptist Church, I glanced down at the sidewalk. Lying on the concrete, at the junction where the church building butted up against the locksmith shop, was a length of rubber tubing. I took a few more steps before it registered. “What on earth was that?” I wondered aloud. I backed up and bent down for a second look. Just a two-foot length of black rubber hose, sticking out of a hole in the mortar between the buildings. Then it moved. Slowly it backed away from me, sliding back into the circular hole a few inches. Thinking I was imagining things, I inched closer, cautiously. Again the snake retreated, this time until only its head was visible at the entrance of the hole. I blinked and it was gone. I have no idea what type of snake it was; I was so astounded to see it in the midst of an urban environment that I never thought to identify it.

Night Blooming Cereus flowers adorn the scraggly cactus just one night each year. Photo courtesy of http://skiplombardi.org.
Later that same night, I was leaving my favorite coffee shop following a performance by guitarist/vocalist Michael Miller, when his wife, Laura, told me about the Night Blooming Cereus, a cactus flower that only opens after dark, and only blooms for a single night each year. This being the long-awaited night, I drove to the Towles Court neighborhood in search of the elusive flower. As Laura had promised, it was a Continue reading