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Here at Illinois Times, we have a new full-time staff writer, which qualifies as
a truly blessed event at our lean, mean little journalism machine. Her name
is Amanda Robert, and she is just a kid, albeit an extra smart specimen of
young adulthood. She asks a lot of questions and remembers the answers. Of
course, that’s precisely what she’s supposed to do: she’s
a reporter. But Amanda comes from Georgetown, Ind. — so far
southeast it’s practically a suburb of Louisville, Ky. Consequently,
her questions tend to be about Springfield — who’s who, how
things work, and why things are the way they are. I try to give her honest
answers, but I don’t want to blow her mind. I want to arm her with
basic info without scaring her away. Some of the stuff she needs to know is simply quirky.
For example, many newcomers assume that if you drive far enough on South
Grand it will eventually become North Grand. It’s a logical notion;
after all, South Second becomes North Second as it crosses
Springfield’s equator, Washington Street. But the Grands run east and
west, as parallel as railroad tracks. Every time she asks directions, she learns about
ghost landmarks. No native Springfieldian can describe how to get from
point A to the nearest gas station without guiding passing the “old
Kmart,” the Pillsbury Mill, or the Wabash Curve, none of which exists
anymore. Maybe it’s as harmless as nostalgia, but this habit is a
virus that infects even new residents. Ask me where my office is located,
and I’ll say, “Behind the old Esquire Theatre.”
Some stuff Amanda may have to learn the hard way. I can
see it now: She’s motoring down Chatham Road, or Wabash Avenue, or
North Grand or South Second, singing backup for a Dixie Chicks CD, when she
suddenly notices flashing red and blue lights in her rearview mirror.
That’s how she’ll discover the little towns tucked inside
Springfield, each with its own attractive sales-tax rate and oddball zoning
regulations, idiosyncratically liberal laws that accommodate cigarette
smoking and leaf burning, hardball conservative laws that make it a crime
to drive over the speed of 25 mph, and a band of law-enforcement officers
to enforce these provisos.
Amanda has agreed to cover the Springfield City
Council for us, so I’ve taken her to a few meetings recently just to
show her the ropes. She keeps asking me why this alderman said that, or
that alderman said this, and many of my answers include the
alderman’s political party allegiance. I’m teaching her to
insert the phrase “The city council is officially nonpartisan”
in every news article.
The other day she was asking me about various
characters she has noticed at council, and I found myself trying to
illuminate the roles of Ernie Slottag and Todd Renfrow. Slottag is the
city’s director of communications; Renfrow the director of City
Water, Light & Power. But anyone familiar with the workings of city
government knows that these titles don’t begin to describe the true
scope of the two directors’ responsibilities. I’ve lived in
Springfield less than five years, which is just long enough to realize
there are some things I’ll never be able to explain. Amanda will have
to figure Slottag and Renfrow out for herself. Horseshoes fall into that same category. Horseshoes
may be the official taste sensation of Springfield, but I have never eaten
one and don’t intend to ever eat one. Maybe young Amanda can try one
and tell me all about it. I’m buying time on Springfield’s other
culinary curiosity. With the temps around 90 this time of year, odds are,
she’s not going to hit me with the “chilli” question
anytime soon. Springfield produces a veritable river of the red stuff,
including at one time as many as four different chili-canning companies,
including “Chilliman chili.” Why does Springfield insist on
misspelling chili “chilli”? Maybe someone will tell me before
winter arrives. I have a hunch that I already know, though. I think
the answer is “It’s because we’ve always done it that
way.” That’s the answer to so many questions around here, it
might as well be the town’s official motto. I don’t want to be cynical, just realistic. The
truth is, neither Amanda nor I have been here for five generations; neither
of us can go back in time and relocate our ancestors. By Springfield
standards, no matter how long we stay here, we’ll always be just
passing through. I hope Amanda will enjoy Springfield as much as I do.
Contact Dusty Rhodes at drhodes@illinoistimes.com.
This article appears in Jun 21-27, 2007.
