Aurora Was A Small Town

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Before there was Amazon, before there was a Walmart there was Crosby's Sporting Store, a boy's dream. Glass cases with pocket knives alongside hunting knives with leather sheaths. Basketballs, footballs, and baseballs, both hard and soft. Fishing rods and all kinds of reels. If dad took me there I knew I would be getting something, like a glove to play catch. If my brother took me into Crosby’s it was simply to look. Aurora, a small town, had all kinds of stores. Back then, whatever someone wanted there was a store downtown where you could buy it. A store for coin collectors, another for stamp collectors, a store just for toys, and dime stores. It was simply a matter of walking a block or two and having a brother willing to drag you along.

Saturdays were exciting when Micheal was taking me along, I was still young enough to ride the bus for free, but big enough not to need carrying . Cook’s Music Store was a regular stop. My brother was in charge of the jukebox for CYA, a dance group for Catholic teens. My parents organized a dance every Friday night for kids from the girls school and the boys school to meet and dance. Every teen was welcome, you did not need to be Catholic, just to be good. Mom was on the phone all the time asking parents to chaperone , dad was in charge of the popcorn and other treats and Micheal filled the jukebox with the latest hits.

The bus ride down was full of neighbors heading to town to work or do their shopping. Mr. Swanson, on his way to his shoe store, reminded my brother to put the paper on his porch and to tell mom that shoes were on sale. Mrs. Miller was sorry she's missed her chaperone pledge. Then, the bus was full of neighbors and friends. Aurora was a small town and the downtown was its unofficial meeting place. I cannot remember a time when I wasn't standing in front of some store waiting for mom or dad to finish some conversation. Sometimes they would meet at the dime store and sit at the counter where I'd get a Coke in a real glass. I remember splitting a hamburger with my brother there once, and buying my other brother goldfish and carrying them home in a plastic bag, watching them swim around in that bag while riding the bus home. Neighbors smiled at me holding my bag with the goldfish.

A Bus Stop of Memories

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Paintings bring back memories to me, and not always my own works. Sometimes another artist’s painting will stir a personal memory. A fellow artist’s painting of a bus stop in Ukraine sparked a memory of my oldest brother taking me with him downtown to turn our paper route money in. I remember getting on the bus for free and grabbing a window seat, while my brother paid his fare. The bus filled up the closer we got to town.

Getting off at Galena, we walked to the Beacon News building where we waited in line with other boys from across town to turn in the money collected from our paper route. I remember those trips from before my oldest brother, Mike, was stricken with polio. Polio not only changed things for my oldest brother, but for our entire family.

Mike would also take me with him to check out books at the library. This is one way I got my interest in art. Mike would take me upstairs where the floor was glass and the art books were found.

Flipping through the pages, I would sit on the floor looking at the pictures the great illustrators painted for ads and stories in such magazines as The Saturday Evening Post, Boy's Life and Life Magazine. The best-of-the-best Illustrators made it into those books. Science books were Mike’s interest. He would check out a half dozen and have them all read in a week. The first movie he took me to was about men from outer space coming to earth. Gave me nightmares for days. I tried to remember those great illustrations from the library, but all I could picture in my head were men from Mars biting Earth people heads off.

Fortunately, Indians quickly became my first favorite subject, putting an end to people eaters - until Purple People Eaters made the top ten music list...