by David Jordan
It’s personal.
Two sons of Irish immigrants – mutual childhood friends from the old neighborhood, which we, like other whites, fled long ago – are in a tight, nasty fight for a state-senate seat on Chicago’s Far Northwest Side.
Like me, both Brian Doherty – for the past 19 years the city’s sole Republican alderman – and his foe in Tuesday’s (November 2) election, John Mulroe – appointed to the seat in August after a long-serving fellow Democrat resigned from it – graduated from St. Angela School, in the North Austin neighborhood on the West Side. I am SAS ’74, Mulroe ’73 and Doherty ’71.
Neither candidate for 10th District senator – Doherty, 53, a standout amateur boxer as a young man, who started in politics as a volunteer to a Northwest Side state representative 30 years ago; Mulroe, 51, a mild-mannered but tough and tenacious accountant-turned-lawyer, who is a relative political neophyte – is pulling many punches in the bout, which has been heavily financed by both parties.
Both candidates, like me, are from big Irish Catholic families.
Mulroe was the third of five children, all boys. The family, like mine, lived for several years in a two-bedroom apartment in a two-flat with relatives occupying the other flat, near little Galewood Park, a North Austin neighborhood hangout for countless youths, including me and several of my nine siblings.
Mulroe’s father, a longtime laborer with Peoples Gas, often carted a gang of us kids in his station wagon to various sporting events.
On the campaign trail, Mulroe often recounts how he began his work career at age 13 as a janitor’s assistant at St. Patrick High School, an all-boys Belmont Avenue institution, where I was a year behind him, just as I had been at SAS, where he later was a director of the St. Angela Education Foundation.
In the 1980s, while Mulroe was working days at Arthur Anderson as an accountant, he attended Loyola University law school at night. Then he served as a Cook County prosecutor for six years before, in 1995, opening a small, general legal practice in an office that is a block from Doherty’s aldermanic office, down Northwest Highway in the Edison Park neighborhood, where the senator and his wife, Margaret, live with their two sons and two daughters.
Similarly, Doherty, the third of nine children, was a presence in my youth. My father, the late Jack Jordan (SAS ’38), St. Angela’s longtime volunteer athletic director, became close to the future alderman while working as a manager for the Chicago Park District boxing program.
At the time, the future alderman was in the midst of his amateur boxing career, in which I remember seeing the slim Doherty out-pound heavier boxers on his way to a 19-2 record and Park District and Golden Gloves championships.
Doherty graduated from Lane Technical high school, one of the few Chicago Public Schools to long have a good reputation. Then he earned a degree in business management at Northeastern Illinois University.
One day in 1980 at his home on the far Northwest Side, Doherty responded to a knock at the door. It was a stranger, Roger McAuliffe, his Republican precinct captain, who also happened to be a local state rep. McAuliffe was recruiting voters for an upcoming election. That was the start of a decade-long mentorship that culminated in Doherty’s 1991 ousting of the 41st Ward alderman, onetime Polish powerhouse Roman Pucinski, which catapulted the 34-year-old Doherty from political aide to elected politician.
A couple of more decades later, Doherty turned his political acumen toward earning a 2005 urban-studies master’s at Loyola.
He now lives in the Oriole Park neighborhood, a couple of blocks from where I lived for many years, where he and his wife, Rose (SAS ’75), have a daughter and a son.
In addition to being my alderman, Doherty was my GOP precinct captain, and, as such, regularly knocked on the door of the home I shared with my mother and brother.
Both candidates have lived on the Far Northwest Side since the 1970s, when they moved with their parents as part of the "white flight" that swept through the West Side in the wake of a wave of blacks migrating in search of better places to live in the city. My own family followed suit in 1985, after the neighborhood had turned from nearly all white to largely black. Today, the enrollment at SAS is entirely black.
St. Angela church has been shuttered since 2005, when, facing a much shrunken congregation in an impoverished neighborhood, the Catholic Archdiocese of Chicago disbanded the parish it had established in 1916.
At an October 5 debate between the two SAS alumni at Wilbur Wright community college, Doherty emphasized his opposition to a tax hike.
“I am a fiscally responsible conservative,” the alderman said in his opening remarks to the 100-plus gathered at the City Colleges of Chicago campus at Montrose and Narragansett avenues. “I never voted for a property-tax increase.”
Doherty promises to continue opposing tax hikes as 10th District senator, and he attacks Mulroe for joining a senate caucus that had passed a hike in the state income tax to 5 percent from 3 percent. (While the senate passed that proposed hike last year, the Illinois House has yet to vote on a new tax bill, and the governor’s plan would hike the income tax to 4 percent.)
Mulroe says he favors raising the income tax only through a progressive tax and only if a careful study of spending shows the need. Only then, he says, would he seek approval on a voter referendum, as required for such state-constitution amendments, to allow a shift from the current flat tax to a federal-like progressive tax with higher rates for richer residents.
During the Wright debate, Doherty suggested tighter regulation to prevent easy fraudulent eligibility in Medicaid, the federal-state, low-income health-insurance program, which at $7 billion accounts for roughly a third of the state’s general fund.
Mulroe responded that most Medicaid recipients are in managed care and that the main problem with state finances is mismanagement by “career politicians.”
Doherty retorted that the Democrats have ruled in Springfield for the past eight years and are responsible for the mismanagement. “That’s why we need checks and balances,” Doherty said, referring to the Republicans’ lack of power in Springfield, where the Democrats control both the executive and the legislative branches.
Doherty had the last word at Wright. Before shaking hands with his foe, the alderman asked voters, “If you don’t trust Springfield, then why would you trust Springfield in this race?”
The Democratic Party is hoping to hold a seat that is part of its 37-22 senate supermajority.
The Republican Party is betting Doherty can deliver a knockout blow, helping it to regain state power. A shift in just two seats would erase the veto-proof supermajority. (In the House, the Democrats’ 70-48 majority, which may well shrink after November 2, is currently just one vote shy of the three-fifths needed for a supermajority.)
Doherty pointed to ending the supermajority in explaining by e-mail to me why he decided early this year – at the request of GOP leaders in the senate – to give up his annual aldermanic salary of more than $100,000, to become a state senator at about $68,000.
“I was told my party needed me to defeat the supermajority in the Senate,” he wrote. “The supermajority can borrow at will, without any input from the other party.
“Selling bonds with high back-loaded interest and without a plan to pay for them in the future is wrong. It is also one of the many reasons we are faced with this fiscal crisis.”
But Mulroe – who says his accounting experience will help the state erase its $13 billion budget deficit – points to the alderman’s 2008 council vote for Daley’s parking-meter privatization as evidence of budgetary mismanagement.
Mulroe campaign spokesman Owen Kilmer brought up the parking-meter fiasco, in which the city has already spent most of the $1.2 billion it got in exchange for leasing the city’s meters for 75 years, in responding to my asking about Doherty’s claim that Mulroe’s bid for the senate seat is a betrayal of the pair’s friendship.
Doherty had told me that Mulroe had betrayed him – despite his having helped in Mulroe’s 2008 judicial race – by running against him without first informing him.
“This is an open seat,” Kilmer wrote to me in an e-mail reply, “and it belongs to the people of the 10th District, not to Alderman Doherty of the 41st Ward. Doherty never told John he was running either.”
In his own e-mail reply about the so-called betrayal, Mulroe avoided responding directly to my question, but he suggested that consultation with his own family in considering the senate run superseded any concern for his old friend.
“I was running,” Mulroe wrote, “because I think new people need to be involved in public service if we are going to fix the serious problems facing our communities and our state.”
In an e-mail reply to me the previous day, October 12, Doherty had written, “I have assisted John and his extended family whenever I could.”
Doherty said that in Mulroe’s 2008 judicial campaign, his only previous bid for elective office, an unsuccessful run in the 10th Subcircuit primary, “I supported his campaign … holding a fundraiser at my home raising approximately $5,000 for his race.
“I personally walked precincts for John with my brothers and supporters in the dead of winter.
“Despite all of this,” Doherty continued, after Mulroe had entered the 10th District race this year, he “did not have the decency to call me about his decision” to also enter, until after he filed the required nominating petitions.
Two months earlier, in an August 16 e-mail reply to me, Mulroe wrote: “When the seat opened up, it became the people’s seat. No one was entitled to it…. The people would have felt betrayed if it was handed over to someone without an election.”
That reply, ironically, came nine days after his appointment to replace longtime Senator James DeLeo, who, apparently giving unspecified “personal” reasons, had resigned on July 17, about six months shy of finishing his four-year term, essentially handing over his senate seat to Mulroe till an elected senator – Mulroe or Doherty – fills the seat for two years, 2011 and 2012.
Under the 1970 state constitution, a third of the senate seats after having two four-year terms have a two-year term. (The other two-thirds each have two-year terms earlier in the 10-year cycle.)
In the 10th District race, the alderman will benefit from an army of volunteers that he shares with his close ally Michael McAuliffe, who basically inherited his state-rep job from his father, Doherty mentor Roger McAuliffe.
McAuliffe, whose legislative district, the 20th, is one of two contained in the senatorial 10th (all senate districts are split into two representative districts), is unopposed for re-election in November, just as he was in the GOP primary in February.
McAuliffe, Chicago’s only Republican state lawmaker, was first elected after Roger died in a 1996 boating accident. In the other representative district contained in the senatorial 10th, the 19th, Mulroe figures to do better because it’s overwhelmingly Democratic.
The 10th is also divided into four roughly equal-size wards that dominate the district, including, to the northwest, Doherty’s largely Republican 41st. In the others, Democrats are in the majority: to the southwest, the 36th; to the southeast, the 38th; and, to the northeast, the 45th.
The 10th also contains a smaller suburban area: most of Norridge and Harwood Heights, plus a bit of Niles.
Also under the Illinois constitution, local Democratic committeemen had 30 days after DeLeo’s resignation to pick a replacement, with their votes weighted based on how much territory they represent in the 10th.
Mulroe, the sole applicant to go before the committeemen at William Banks’ 36th Ward office, won their unanimous appointment there as senator.
Attempts to reach DeLeo and Committeeman Banks for comment were unsuccessful.
According to reporter Patrick Butler, in the August 16 issue of the local Pioneer Press newspaper, in an article posted on the Brian G. Doherty site on Facebook, Doherty called Mulroe’s appointment as senator “a ‘slap in the face’ of the local Republican party, the electorate and Doherty, personally.”
Above the link to Butler’s article Doherty’s Facebook comment was “Another day... Another backroom deal by the Chicago Ward Bosses.”
Mulroe argues that he deserved the appointment because he won the Democratic primary for the seat, with 10,036 votes (compared to only 5,809 for the closest among his three Democratic rivals). (Doherty, running unopposed in the GOP primary, got 6,279 votes.)
Since the 96th General Assembly doesn’t reconvene, for its final session, until November 10, if the alderman beats the senator on November 2, Mulroe would serve, while the senate is in session, only as a lame duck for a brief so-called veto session, probably about a week’s worth of days late in 2010, mainly to consider overrides for bills rejected by the governor. (The 97th legislature will first convene next January 12.)
“Win or lose,” Doherty pointed out in the Wright debate, Mulroe will get about $30,000 in salary for completing DeLeo’s term.
After the debate, Mulroe told me that he is earning the salary, taking many calls from constituents and having introduced bills in the legislature: one to change the law so senior citizens must file only once for an annual property-tax exemption instead of every year, and one to require a voter referendum before a municipality can privatize airports, waste facilities or parking meters.
Doherty has also accused Mulroe of “quadruple dipping,” in that his appointment added to three other part-time government jobs.
Mulroe responded to Doherty charges from the podium at a Portage Park Neighborhood Association forum on September 13. The senator said he had known Doherty would criticize him for the appointment, but that he had decided to seek the job so he could “immediately begin working for and representing the people of the 10th District.” Mulroe further said that he had been surprised when DeLeo, who had been expected to retire after finishing the term, resigned. Also, Mulroe rejected Doherty’s suggestion that the appointee should have been a caretaker, to hold the post till a new senator was elected.
Mulroe told the small weekday-evening crowd in Portage Park that his constituents deserve someone with a “vested interest” in the office.
“I possess the professional background, life experience and compassion that are required to successfully represent our community,” Mulroe wrote in a statement prepared for the Portage Park forum.
“John,” as the winner of the Democratic primary, “was the natural choice” for the post, Committeeman Mary O’Connor said in an e-mail reply. O’Connor – since 2008 the Democratic boss of the 41st Ward, where Mulroe is president of the party’s ward organization – is running in the February election to replace Doherty as alderman, as are longtime Doherty aide Maurita Gavin (SAS ’71) and others.
As for the “quadruple-dipping” charge, Mulroe in Portage Park said his intermittent government jobs – city hearing officer, Chicago Park District hearing officer and Cook County Circuit Court arbitrator – all three of which he has resigned from, paid no benefits and a combined nine-year total of $151,154.
The Wright debate was moderated by Jefferson Park-based Nadig Newspapers publisher Brian Nadig, who said abortion was by far the most asked about topic on cards submitted by the audience.
Doherty said he opposed abortion except to preserve a mother’s life and in cases of rape and incest. The alderman also said he favored requiring parental notification before a minor can get an abortion.
Mulroe, who is pro-choice despite being a Catholic in a heavily Catholic district, said he favors abortion rights because the decision to end a pregnancy is personal, as is the decision “to have a big family.”
In his time as alderman, Doherty has kept his pledge to never vote, at least directly, for a property-tax increase, and now, in the race for the 10th, he touts that fact constantly.
Mulroe counters that Doherty has, in fact, voted to raise property taxes numerous times over his aldermanic career, by voting in favor of city budgets and thereby hiking the city’s property-tax levy – and by voting on 41 occasions to create tax-increment financing districts around the city.
Ben Joravsky – who has written extensively about TIF as a staff writer for the weekly Chicago Reader and who moderated a Jefferson Park Neighborhood Association forum in June between Doherty and Mulroe on TIF, argues that every time property-tax money is diverted into a TIF fund – away from the Chicago Public Schools, which levies half a homeowner’s tax bill, and other taxing bodies – the taxing bodies have to compensate by raising their tax rates.
Doherty argues that TIF-district creation, originally designed to spur development of blighted areas (a use both candidates support, though seeing a need for TIF reform) but used via loopholes virtually anywhere in Chicago (and throughout Illinois), is not taxation and tends to increase the city’s overall tax base by adding newly developed properties to the tax rolls, thereby actually lowering homeowners’ tax bills.
Because it caps at the current level the tax assessment that taxing bodies can draw on from property in a so-called TIF, those taxers can’t tap new money generated when the assessment rises. That money is diverted into a special TIF redevelopment fund, controlled by the city, for up to 24 years. To compensate, Joravsky points out, those bodies must raise their tax rates to meet their levies.
Doherty called the Mulroe-Joravsky argument, “convoluted thinking.”
“If you have a successful TIF, that’s good news,” the alderman said in Portage Park, “and, Would property taxes go up? Yes.
“What if a TIF fails? Then the price (the assessed value of a property) doesn’t go up, but, Do the taxes go up? No.”
Joravsky responded in an e-mail to me:
“It's conceivable that TIF-subsidized deals could possibly bring in so much in property-tax dollars that the taxing bodies, flooded with new revenue, would lower the rate at which they're taxing property taxpayers…. But even if this miracle occurs, those lower tax rates won't benefit taxpayers for 24 years! In the meantime, taxpayers will have paid 24 years worth of tax hikes to compensate for the TIFs.
“So, Alderman Doherty and his council colleagues jacked up our taxes today with the hollow promise of maybe reducing them in 24 years. Though, of course, whatever reduction we get in 24 years probably won't begin to make up for the increase we paid over the years.
“Only a sucker would fall for this argument....
“Alderman Doherty should just give it up and admit that he and the rest of the council were duped by a scam.”
On development in general, the alderman touts his early creation of the 41st Ward Zoning Advisory Board, a panel of neighborhood leaders that votes on proposed building plans.
Such neighborhood-friendly initiatives combined with personal friendship made it easy for me to vote repeatedly for Doherty, even though he leans considerably right of me.
But, aldermen are largely concerned with such practical matters as collecting garbage and filling pot holes, while state lawmakers more frequently get involved in ideology, and, as Brian knows, John leans more my way.
Fortunately, I won’t face the tough voting-booth choice, because I recently moved out of the 10th.
Mary Susan Littlepage contributed reporting
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Former West Siders do battle in Northwest Side legislative race
I voted in February for one of my two old West Side friends in Illinois' 10th District state senate primaries, the winning Democrat, attorney John Mulroe.
The other one, Brian Doherty -- who had regularly gotten my vote, beginning with his first four-year term on Chicago's City Council, when he ousted former powerhouse Roman Pucinski in 1991 -- didn’t need it this time because the city's still-sole Republican alderman was unopposed in the GOP primary.
My two fellow 1970s St. Angela Elementary graduates are fighting it out for the seat held by retiring James DeLeo, D-Chicago, the Illinois senate's assistant majority leader, who has been a legislator since 1984.
Fortunately, in the November general election I won't have to choose between Mulroe and Doherty, because I recently moved from their Northwest Side battleground to southwest-suburban Berwyn.
The other one, Brian Doherty -- who had regularly gotten my vote, beginning with his first four-year term on Chicago's City Council, when he ousted former powerhouse Roman Pucinski in 1991 -- didn’t need it this time because the city's still-sole Republican alderman was unopposed in the GOP primary.
My two fellow 1970s St. Angela Elementary graduates are fighting it out for the seat held by retiring James DeLeo, D-Chicago, the Illinois senate's assistant majority leader, who has been a legislator since 1984.
Fortunately, in the November general election I won't have to choose between Mulroe and Doherty, because I recently moved from their Northwest Side battleground to southwest-suburban Berwyn.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Friends forever from St. Angela
I wrote the following for the ad book for St. Angela School's Oct. 25, 2009 fundraiser:
St. Angela parish has been defunct for a few years. The church at Potomac and Massasoit has been shuttered since May 2005. Statues, stained-glass panes and many of the elaborate marble, silver and gold furnishings from the stunning 1952 church now grace a suburban church, Our Lady of Ransom, in Niles. The Catholics are largely long gone from Chicago's West Side.
Still, though, there is a school, a community centered on its students thrives there 89 years after SAS opened.
The St. Angela parish community that I grew up in from the early 1960s till the early 1980s was tight knit.
My father had grown up in the parish, from the late 1920s till the late 1940s, having been born there a few years after SA's 1916 founding.
By 1952, eight years before my birth, Catholics in Chicago, a huge part of the immigrant haven's population, had created parish communities throughout the city and into the suburbs, and new churches continued to be built, though none so magnificent as St. Angela's.
St. Angela parish itself reached into suburban Oak Park, as parish boundaries followed their own lines, not those containing governmental jurisdictions or secular neighborhoods.
When I was a kid, whenever anyone asked me what part of Chicago I hailed from, I said, "St. Angela's," not "North Austin," the secular name for the area surrounding my home, which was a brick two-flat on the 1800 block of north Mason Avenue.
Parishes and local parks were pillars of childhood in Chicago (and still are in some communities in the area).
Little Galewood Park, near Bloomingdale and Central avenues, where me and many of my nine siblings hung out, drew kids from well beyond the neighborhood.
At St. Angela, bonds were strengthened by the SAS sports program that my father, John "Jack" Jordan, built up and led as volunteer athletic director from the 1960s into the 1980s.
But, by the time my family finally said goodbye to St. Angela, moving to the Far Northwest Side in the mid-1980s, "white flight" had left few parishioners remaining.
The rolls at St. Angela's school, like those at its church, were shrinking as many Catholics moved out.
When Sister Mary Finnegan took the helm at St. Angela elementary in 1983, its enrollment had shrunk to about 500 students from a peak – with eight grades and no preschool or kindergarten – a decade or so earlier of around 1,200.
My 1974 Class had 116 graduates. The eighth-graders were divided into three home rooms. Our teachers, at the "new-school" wing, were Mr. Brand, Miss Russ and Mr. Rolla.
When I attended, because the big building was bursting at the seams, SAS had to reject some kids, new arrivals to the parish, whose parents resorted to sending them to the local public school.
Despite its changing fortunes, SAS has endured, and Sister Finnegan is still the principal.
Today, SAS's enrollment, from 3-year-old preschoolers to young-teenage eighth-graders, stands at about 250.
In recent years, more than one friend of mine from elsewhere in the United States has expressed amazement at the number of old childhood classmates from Chicago Catholic parishes who stay in touch, keeping each other connected to the place they went to grade school.
And it's very much a Class-Of kind of thing. Not that we exclude people from other class levels from our group of friends, but that special bond of being a classmate remains. We had the same teachers in the same grades at the same time. We have mutual, grade-exclusive memories.
Just like some people remain close to a few classmates from high school and college, many Catholic Chicagoans instead – or also, and often more so – retain friendships from their parish grammar school.
In "Surviving the Death of a Sibling" – a 2003 book that my sister-in-law Maureen Jordan sent me six weeks after the accidental August 1, 2009, death of her husband, my 45-year-old younger brother – author T. J. Wray says your sibling is unique in knowing you from childhood to old age. While I get her point that no one knows you like a brother or sister – and, indeed, Marty was so very near and dear to me – I think Wray is not entirely accurate, especially when I consider my – unrelated – St. Angela classmates.
Sure, there were divisions among SAS classmates, cliques that, kids being kids, formed, sometimes at the cruel exclusion of others. But it seems that the lines tend to fade away over time. And, though we may not see each other for many years, we retain a special mutual remembrance. We are still classmates, and the school's continued existence means lifelong friendships can continue to form among students at St. Angela.
St. Angela parish has been defunct for a few years. The church at Potomac and Massasoit has been shuttered since May 2005. Statues, stained-glass panes and many of the elaborate marble, silver and gold furnishings from the stunning 1952 church now grace a suburban church, Our Lady of Ransom, in Niles. The Catholics are largely long gone from Chicago's West Side.
Still, though, there is a school, a community centered on its students thrives there 89 years after SAS opened.
The St. Angela parish community that I grew up in from the early 1960s till the early 1980s was tight knit.
My father had grown up in the parish, from the late 1920s till the late 1940s, having been born there a few years after SA's 1916 founding.
By 1952, eight years before my birth, Catholics in Chicago, a huge part of the immigrant haven's population, had created parish communities throughout the city and into the suburbs, and new churches continued to be built, though none so magnificent as St. Angela's.
St. Angela parish itself reached into suburban Oak Park, as parish boundaries followed their own lines, not those containing governmental jurisdictions or secular neighborhoods.
When I was a kid, whenever anyone asked me what part of Chicago I hailed from, I said, "St. Angela's," not "North Austin," the secular name for the area surrounding my home, which was a brick two-flat on the 1800 block of north Mason Avenue.
Parishes and local parks were pillars of childhood in Chicago (and still are in some communities in the area).
Little Galewood Park, near Bloomingdale and Central avenues, where me and many of my nine siblings hung out, drew kids from well beyond the neighborhood.
At St. Angela, bonds were strengthened by the SAS sports program that my father, John "Jack" Jordan, built up and led as volunteer athletic director from the 1960s into the 1980s.
But, by the time my family finally said goodbye to St. Angela, moving to the Far Northwest Side in the mid-1980s, "white flight" had left few parishioners remaining.
The rolls at St. Angela's school, like those at its church, were shrinking as many Catholics moved out.
When Sister Mary Finnegan took the helm at St. Angela elementary in 1983, its enrollment had shrunk to about 500 students from a peak – with eight grades and no preschool or kindergarten – a decade or so earlier of around 1,200.
My 1974 Class had 116 graduates. The eighth-graders were divided into three home rooms. Our teachers, at the "new-school" wing, were Mr. Brand, Miss Russ and Mr. Rolla.
When I attended, because the big building was bursting at the seams, SAS had to reject some kids, new arrivals to the parish, whose parents resorted to sending them to the local public school.
Despite its changing fortunes, SAS has endured, and Sister Finnegan is still the principal.
Today, SAS's enrollment, from 3-year-old preschoolers to young-teenage eighth-graders, stands at about 250.
In recent years, more than one friend of mine from elsewhere in the United States has expressed amazement at the number of old childhood classmates from Chicago Catholic parishes who stay in touch, keeping each other connected to the place they went to grade school.
And it's very much a Class-Of kind of thing. Not that we exclude people from other class levels from our group of friends, but that special bond of being a classmate remains. We had the same teachers in the same grades at the same time. We have mutual, grade-exclusive memories.
Just like some people remain close to a few classmates from high school and college, many Catholic Chicagoans instead – or also, and often more so – retain friendships from their parish grammar school.
In "Surviving the Death of a Sibling" – a 2003 book that my sister-in-law Maureen Jordan sent me six weeks after the accidental August 1, 2009, death of her husband, my 45-year-old younger brother – author T. J. Wray says your sibling is unique in knowing you from childhood to old age. While I get her point that no one knows you like a brother or sister – and, indeed, Marty was so very near and dear to me – I think Wray is not entirely accurate, especially when I consider my – unrelated – St. Angela classmates.
Sure, there were divisions among SAS classmates, cliques that, kids being kids, formed, sometimes at the cruel exclusion of others. But it seems that the lines tend to fade away over time. And, though we may not see each other for many years, we retain a special mutual remembrance. We are still classmates, and the school's continued existence means lifelong friendships can continue to form among students at St. Angela.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Passion for 2nd Amendment not needed
Yes, I do understand and respect – but reject as founded on needless worries – the argument that citizens need to be armed in case they need to protect themselves from thugs or from the government.
And, despite my sometime irreverence, I do appreciate the passionate belief, which many have, in gun rights and in the 2nd Amendment.
But some seem to believe that the constitution is a sacred document. I don't.
… Not that a gun in my hands wouldn't make me dangerous to myself and innocent bystanders, anyway, but for the sake of argument let's pretend that I'm fully physically coordinated….
And not that I'm brave – but, I am willing to risk requiring myself (hypothetically able-bodied) and others to be unarmed, because I believe that we have enough political rights that we would remain free and be safer if we enacted two measures that I concede are unlikely even to be considered any time soon: a repeal of the 2nd Amendment and a national handgun ban….
I'm more afraid of crazy citizens with guns than I am of American cops, soldiers and politicians.
Many would argue that guns need to be legally available to ward off potential dictators and so that the good folks could protect themselves from the bad ones who would and do carry guns legally or not. I believe that the proliferation of guns is the more dangerous threat, and that we should have a strict national handgun ban on possession, sale and manufacture.
I believe that enough enforcement could control handguns.
And I don't think it remotely probable that any group of righteous (or riotous) armed people could successfully oppose the police or the overwhelmingly mighty U.S. military (anyone who tried could create a bloody mess), and I'd be justifiably very afraid if it could.
Basically, I believe the power of Americans comes from ballots, not bullets.
And, despite my sometime irreverence, I do appreciate the passionate belief, which many have, in gun rights and in the 2nd Amendment.
But some seem to believe that the constitution is a sacred document. I don't.
… Not that a gun in my hands wouldn't make me dangerous to myself and innocent bystanders, anyway, but for the sake of argument let's pretend that I'm fully physically coordinated….
And not that I'm brave – but, I am willing to risk requiring myself (hypothetically able-bodied) and others to be unarmed, because I believe that we have enough political rights that we would remain free and be safer if we enacted two measures that I concede are unlikely even to be considered any time soon: a repeal of the 2nd Amendment and a national handgun ban….
I'm more afraid of crazy citizens with guns than I am of American cops, soldiers and politicians.
Many would argue that guns need to be legally available to ward off potential dictators and so that the good folks could protect themselves from the bad ones who would and do carry guns legally or not. I believe that the proliferation of guns is the more dangerous threat, and that we should have a strict national handgun ban on possession, sale and manufacture.
I believe that enough enforcement could control handguns.
And I don't think it remotely probable that any group of righteous (or riotous) armed people could successfully oppose the police or the overwhelmingly mighty U.S. military (anyone who tried could create a bloody mess), and I'd be justifiably very afraid if it could.
Basically, I believe the power of Americans comes from ballots, not bullets.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
The 2nd Amendment should be repealed
Yes, Right 2 is confusingly worded, but, much more importantly, we Americans simply don’t need it and shouldn’t have it.
We have many much more relevant and important rights than the crazily outdated right to form militias, or, if you will, to pistol pack: Freedom to eat French fries. Freedom from slavery. Freedom of speech. Freedom to cry like a baby. Freedom to live life largely as we want. Freedom to protest against the government. Freedom to call the president a pig fucker. Freedom to be a complete asshole. Separation of church and state. Freedom of religion. Freedom from religion. Freedom to be out. Fair housing. Freedom to fair elections. Freedom to vote, or not. Freedom to have our vote even matter sometimes. Freedom to call a lawyer or somebody. The right to a fair trial. Freedom to be represented by a very expensive shark, a lowly zero-cost public defender or any lawyer in between that we can almost afford. Freedom to confront our accusers. Freedom not to incriminate ourselves. Freedom to sue the pants off those who have negligently hurt us. Freedom to go on worker’s comp, unemployment, Food Stamps, welfare, Medicare. Freedom to approve of universal, socialized, government-run health care. Freedom to buy way more than we can afford on credit at 13.9 APR. Freedom to accumulate wealth greedily way beyond any family or personal need. Freedom to give absolutely nothing to charity. Freedom to be a wingnut on either side of the aisle. Freedom to rant. Freedom to think. Freedom to drink. Freedom to wear pink. Freedom to stink (within reason).
We have many much more relevant and important rights than the crazily outdated right to form militias, or, if you will, to pistol pack: Freedom to eat French fries. Freedom from slavery. Freedom of speech. Freedom to cry like a baby. Freedom to live life largely as we want. Freedom to protest against the government. Freedom to call the president a pig fucker. Freedom to be a complete asshole. Separation of church and state. Freedom of religion. Freedom from religion. Freedom to be out. Fair housing. Freedom to fair elections. Freedom to vote, or not. Freedom to have our vote even matter sometimes. Freedom to call a lawyer or somebody. The right to a fair trial. Freedom to be represented by a very expensive shark, a lowly zero-cost public defender or any lawyer in between that we can almost afford. Freedom to confront our accusers. Freedom not to incriminate ourselves. Freedom to sue the pants off those who have negligently hurt us. Freedom to go on worker’s comp, unemployment, Food Stamps, welfare, Medicare. Freedom to approve of universal, socialized, government-run health care. Freedom to buy way more than we can afford on credit at 13.9 APR. Freedom to accumulate wealth greedily way beyond any family or personal need. Freedom to give absolutely nothing to charity. Freedom to be a wingnut on either side of the aisle. Freedom to rant. Freedom to think. Freedom to drink. Freedom to wear pink. Freedom to stink (within reason).
Monday, June 22, 2009
Announcement
Some people – hopefully not you – might stop reading this at the end of this paragraph. If you're offended, I'm sorry, but honesty overrides other concerns, as, nervously, I announce my gayness.
You might think my sexuality is a private matter, but I think that, because it's an elemental part of me, it needs to be out there, which it largely already is. (I told my then-wife, my mother, siblings and others close to me almost five years ago and have told others close to me since.)
Many people would probably assume from my actions – long giving the impression (often successfully) that I'm straight (heterosexual like "normal" people), dating only women, fathering a child, marrying her mother, etc. – that I am indeed straight. (My divorce, finalized in December of 2006, was a catalyst in forcing me out.)
When someone is not out, society largely assumes he's straight. I don't want to perpetuate the falsehood.
Many childhood friends and others saw my gayness, though virtually no one even hinted it to me then, and only a few old friends (Dean, Peter, Noreen) – many years into my adulthood – told me the truth before 2004, which is when I first came out, to most of those closest to me. But many, including family members, had thought I was straight.
I repressed my gayness; I still do, out of habit or societal pressure or … whatever.
I'm still not completely sure of my personality (I think I might be bisexual, which is something I want to discuss with my therapist), but I know that it contains gay and effeminate traits and that I repressed those traits.
In my youth, I was confused, frightened and disgusted about my sexuality and seemingly unable to acknowledge it. In my young adulthood, I convinced – or deluded – myself that I could choose to be straight. In the 1980s, I began to justify to myself my rejection of my gayness as valid given my fear of AIDS.
Now, as the first decade of the new millennium draws to a close and I draw near to age 50, it seems that I have cemented my personality to fit more comfortably – more straightly – into society. Maybe – probably? – slowly I can melt the cement.
It seems some people – both heterosexuals and homosexuals – have scorned me because they saw my hiding behavior as unforgivable dishonesty. Are "scorn" and "unforgivable" too strong? Perhaps. Hopefully.
A few old friends seem homophobic.
Some straight people seem to shun me simply because I'm gay.
For virtually everyone, especially friends, I wish to present a fully honest face.
As society continues to become much more open about sexuality, I want to follow that positive trend, to be more alive, human, myself.
Thank you for reading all 460 words of this.
You might think my sexuality is a private matter, but I think that, because it's an elemental part of me, it needs to be out there, which it largely already is. (I told my then-wife, my mother, siblings and others close to me almost five years ago and have told others close to me since.)
Many people would probably assume from my actions – long giving the impression (often successfully) that I'm straight (heterosexual like "normal" people), dating only women, fathering a child, marrying her mother, etc. – that I am indeed straight. (My divorce, finalized in December of 2006, was a catalyst in forcing me out.)
When someone is not out, society largely assumes he's straight. I don't want to perpetuate the falsehood.
Many childhood friends and others saw my gayness, though virtually no one even hinted it to me then, and only a few old friends (Dean, Peter, Noreen) – many years into my adulthood – told me the truth before 2004, which is when I first came out, to most of those closest to me. But many, including family members, had thought I was straight.
I repressed my gayness; I still do, out of habit or societal pressure or … whatever.
I'm still not completely sure of my personality (I think I might be bisexual, which is something I want to discuss with my therapist), but I know that it contains gay and effeminate traits and that I repressed those traits.
In my youth, I was confused, frightened and disgusted about my sexuality and seemingly unable to acknowledge it. In my young adulthood, I convinced – or deluded – myself that I could choose to be straight. In the 1980s, I began to justify to myself my rejection of my gayness as valid given my fear of AIDS.
Now, as the first decade of the new millennium draws to a close and I draw near to age 50, it seems that I have cemented my personality to fit more comfortably – more straightly – into society. Maybe – probably? – slowly I can melt the cement.
It seems some people – both heterosexuals and homosexuals – have scorned me because they saw my hiding behavior as unforgivable dishonesty. Are "scorn" and "unforgivable" too strong? Perhaps. Hopefully.
A few old friends seem homophobic.
Some straight people seem to shun me simply because I'm gay.
For virtually everyone, especially friends, I wish to present a fully honest face.
As society continues to become much more open about sexuality, I want to follow that positive trend, to be more alive, human, myself.
Thank you for reading all 460 words of this.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Encyclopedia of Chicago
Probably the most comprehensive source on Chicago history, the Encyclopedia of Chicago was created by the Chicago History Museum, the Newberry Library and Northwestern University.
To go to the online version, click on the encyclopedia.chicagohistory.org link.
To go to the online version, click on the encyclopedia.chicagohistory.org link.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
My original intention for Chicago Hub was to create a site about Chicago neighborhoods, but I never got beyond the first post, on the subject of the West Side neighborhood where I grew up in the city, on this blog.
My goal was to write historical and current information about each of the numerous neighborhoods in Chicago and in some suburbs, but I haven’t yet taken on more than a fitful start at that task and a reading of history books about the city.
I’m still at such reading and at otherwise researching Chicago’s history, as well as its present.
But my priorities have changed.
I want to use my blog as a site for my mother’s huge extended family, the Dayers, the Swiss and the Swiss-Americans, for genealogical research about the family and about their fellow Swiss and Valaisans (from the Swiss canton Valais), in particular, and as an interactive site, where relatives and other people can leave messages, post photos, blog entries/responses, whatever.
So, I need to learn how to upgrade this blog, and I then need to spread the word so I’m not just talking to myself.
I want to do this as a productive way to spend time.
At age 48, I am no longer working or even looking for a job. I’m on disability, with neurological damage stemming from a brain tumor I had in the early 1990s, and I don’t walk, see or hear well, though I can write just fine using a keyboard.
For a dozen years, until about four years ago (October 2004), when I lost my job to downsizing by the new company (Pioneer Press) that took over, I was a journalist (reporter, then copy editor) at a now-defunct chain of weekly community papers (Lerner Newspapers) on the North and Northwest sides of Chicago and in nearby suburbs.
Now, I live at my mother’s house on the Far Northwest Side of Chicago, where I have been living since I moved out of my brother Jake’s apartment, in suburban Berwyn, where I lived for a year, starting in September 2005, as my divorce was in process….
My goal was to write historical and current information about each of the numerous neighborhoods in Chicago and in some suburbs, but I haven’t yet taken on more than a fitful start at that task and a reading of history books about the city.
I’m still at such reading and at otherwise researching Chicago’s history, as well as its present.
But my priorities have changed.
I want to use my blog as a site for my mother’s huge extended family, the Dayers, the Swiss and the Swiss-Americans, for genealogical research about the family and about their fellow Swiss and Valaisans (from the Swiss canton Valais), in particular, and as an interactive site, where relatives and other people can leave messages, post photos, blog entries/responses, whatever.
So, I need to learn how to upgrade this blog, and I then need to spread the word so I’m not just talking to myself.
I want to do this as a productive way to spend time.
At age 48, I am no longer working or even looking for a job. I’m on disability, with neurological damage stemming from a brain tumor I had in the early 1990s, and I don’t walk, see or hear well, though I can write just fine using a keyboard.
For a dozen years, until about four years ago (October 2004), when I lost my job to downsizing by the new company (Pioneer Press) that took over, I was a journalist (reporter, then copy editor) at a now-defunct chain of weekly community papers (Lerner Newspapers) on the North and Northwest sides of Chicago and in nearby suburbs.
Now, I live at my mother’s house on the Far Northwest Side of Chicago, where I have been living since I moved out of my brother Jake’s apartment, in suburban Berwyn, where I lived for a year, starting in September 2005, as my divorce was in process….
Friday, May 9, 2008
Swiss and gay in Chicago
by David Jordan
I'm a Swissy.
My mother's future father, teenage Joseph Dayer, immigrated in 1896 to rural Arkansas from Hérémence, a small village in the Pennine Alps in the Swiss canton Valais. And I'm gay.
Can I link my nationality and my homosexuality (Swiss + sissy = Swissy)?
That I'm a Swiss-American and a gay man are both in my DNA?
In Chicago, my Irish-American father, who died in 1993, made it clear that half my nationality was his, while my Swiss-American mother's true nationality was long obscured. As a child, I thought I was French, because my mother's parents, both of whom died when I was a toddler, had spoken French.
For an extremely (perhaps ridiculously) long time, I lived as a heterosexual, to the point of dating only women, getting married and having a quarter-Swiss daughter.
Now, in the spring of 2008 as I write, as a divorced, 48-year-old, celibate, unemployed journalist, living, on U.S. Social Security disability income, at my elderly, widowed mother's Chicago home, I'm looking to extend my sexual-orientation coming out, which I initiated in 2004 with my then-wife, then quickly furthered with close family and friends.
So, though it's doubtlessly dubious, I'm using the Swissy linking.
But enough about me already.
In the 19th century, several hundred Swiss settled in the U.S. state of Arkansas, which remains sparsely populated in the 21st century. Today, about 51 people per square mile occupy the approximately 53,000-square-mile state, which, according to a 2007 estimate by the U.S Census Bureau, has a total population of 2.8 million. By comparison, the tiny, 2,020-square-mile, Swiss state (canton) of Valais, with several of the highest peaks in Switzerland and a population under 300,000, has roughly thrice the population density of Arkansas.
Particularly, the Swiss immigrants, less numerous in the gently sloping farmland of central Arkansas than the Germans, settled there after the U.S. Civil War, 1861-1865, near the Arkansas River, which flows east from the Rocky Mountains for 1,450 miles, cutting across Colorado, Kansas, Oklahoma and the breadth of central Arkansas, through the state capital, Little Rock, which is some 30 miles away from Conway, to the south, and on to the mighty Mississippi.
More particularly, having come from the Val d'Hérens region, where the powerful Rhône River cuts through the cantonal capital, Sion, Valais farmers settled in and near the small town of Conway, near Cadron Creek, an Arkansas River tributary.
Around Conway, the seat of Faulkner County, near the geographical center of Arkansas, the Mississippi Valley soil grew rich in cotton.
Among the Valaisans seeking abundant arable land in the Jim Crow former Confederate state of Arkansas was, in 1896, the family of Jean-Antoine Dayer, my great-grandfather, Joseph's father. It was around three-quarters of a century after the native inhabitants of the neighborhood, the Osage, had been removed to the Indian Territory (later called Oklahoma) after the tribe had, in the early 1800s, ceded the area, then part of the Louisiana Territory, to the United States.
Jean-Antoine Dayer moved from Hérémence, elevation 4,058 feet, to near Conway, elevation 321 feet, with his wife, two daughters and three sons, including my grandfather Joseph, who would have 19 Arkansas children by two Hérémence wives, and Nicolas, who, at age 20, after 10 years in Arkansas, returned permanently to Hérémence, where he married, had 11 children and spent half a century as guardian of a cabin for mountain climbers high in the Valais Alps.
Jean-Antoine's friend Jean-Baptiste Moix had immigrated to Arkansas in 1895 from a tiny village, St.-Martin, neighboring Hérémence. Moix, married with four children, was following in the footsteps of others from Val d'Hérens, including friends of his in the Luyet and Mayor families, and he apparently convinced two other Moix families to also settle in the Conway area after they had first immigrated to South America, one to Brazil, one to Argentina.
Jean-Baptiste Moix co-signed, in January of 1896, for the $350 purchase of 80 acres of wild, swampy land near Conway to be Jean-Antoine's farm, according to a document found at the Faulkner County courthouse in genealogical research a century later by his granddaughter, my aunt, Rose Daugherty, the matriarch of the large Dayer clan in Conway, her lifetime home, and even in other U.S. regions to which Jean-Antoine's ancesters had scattered. Rose, who died in 2006, left behind her grandchildren, daughters and longtime husband, Jim Daugherty, whose farm remains a relic from a more rural time.
The Dayers apparently didn't occupy the property that Jean-Baptiste Moix had signed for, but swapped it for another wild parcel nearby.
In "The story of Valaisans who emigrated to the U.S.A.," a 1976 Valais newspaper article by Camille Dayer, who had married Nicolas Dayer's daughter Alexandrine, the son-in-law wrote that in early 1896 Jean-Antoine Dayer, with his wife, Marie-Catherine (née Tournier), and their five children, had traveled two weeks by ship from Le Havre, France, to New York, then three days by train to Conway.
"But after the difficulties of the sea voyage," Camille Dayer wrote, "they, who had come from the dry Valais, suffered terribly from the damp climate in the Plains of Arkansas. Their cotton fields were often flooded. (Three) years after their arrival, mother Catherine (age 49) and her son Charles (10) died of fever."
Around 1900, Jean-Baptiste's eldest son and daughter married Jean-Antoine's eldest daughter and son. John Moix married Mary Dayer, and they had six children. Marie-Victoire Moix married Joseph Dayer, and they had eight surviving children.
In 1900, the U.S. Census counted 679 Swiss-born residents among Arkansas' 1.3 million population. (In all of the United States, which had a total population of more than 76 million in 1900, there were 10.5 million foreign-born residents, 116,000 of them from Switzerland.)
In Faulkner County, only 130 people were Swiss immigrants – 0.63 percent of its 1900 population of 20,780. That 130, however, represented Faulkner's largest population of foreign-born residents (Germans were second at 124), and it was more Swiss-born folks than in any of Arkansas' 75 counties. The second most, 104 Swiss in 1900, lived in bordering Pulaski County, home of Little Rock. (In Pulaski, the Swiss were outnumbered by the Germans at 1,287, the Irish at 259 and the English at 207.)
Immigration to the United States spiked hugely during the second half of the 19th century – a period when an estimated 5,000 Valaisans settled in North and South America – and spilled into the early 20th century.
One Valaisan, Philomene Dayer, 22, traveled to Arkansas from her Hérémence home in about 1920 with Joseph Dayer, 39, no relation, and in Conway she became his new wife in the spring of 1921.
Joseph's first wife, Marie-Victoire, had died in 1918 at age 41, and the depressed widower had gone back to Hérémence, where he met Philomene, who bore him 11 Arkansas children, including, in 1925, my mother, Anne-Marie Dayer.
It seems that for many years there was little or no contact between the Dayer clans on either side of the Atlantic Ocean. Then, in 1969 Emil Dayer, one of Joseph's 14 sons, traveled to Hérémence to meet relatives.
In 1976, the first ancestral kin to visit America from Valais were Nicolas Dayer's daughter Alexandrine, who died in 1977, and her husband, Camille Dayer, of Martigny.
In the newspaper article he wrote shortly after that 1976 trip, Camille Dayer recalled meeting "the families Moix, Mayor, Masserey, Germanier, Troillet, Favre, Dussex, Rudaz and Dayer, who are descended from Valaisans who emigrated to the States between 1800 and 1900. They live in big farms in the vast Plains of Arkansas."
Since Camille's first visit, and his second, in the 1980s, there has been much cross-Atlantic communication and visiting. Today, there are many warm cross-Atlantic friendships between descendants of Jean-Antoine Dayer in Valais and in many American locales, including Illinois, California, Oklahoma and Arkansas.
It has been a long time since many Western Europeans immigrated to the United States, or to anywhere for that matter.
For the 2000 census, the U.S. Census Bureau said that of Faulkner County's estimated 86,014 population, 588 people claimed Swiss ancestry, or 0.68 percent, which was more than twice the percentage of Swiss living among the 300 million Americans nationwide.
All of Faulkner's 588 Swiss were born in the United States. Their median age was 33, and only 26 of them spoke a language other than English at home.
In Conway, population 43,199 in 2000, those claiming Swiss ancestry totaled 414, or 0.96 percent of the total.
In Little Rock, 429 of the 183,558 total claimed Swiss ancestry, or 0.23 percent.In the city of Chicago, where I'm a native resident among the total population of about 3 million, only about 3,000 people, or 0.1 percent, identified themselves as having Swiss heritage, an even smaller minority than gays.
I'm a Swissy.
My mother's future father, teenage Joseph Dayer, immigrated in 1896 to rural Arkansas from Hérémence, a small village in the Pennine Alps in the Swiss canton Valais. And I'm gay.
Can I link my nationality and my homosexuality (Swiss + sissy = Swissy)?
That I'm a Swiss-American and a gay man are both in my DNA?
In Chicago, my Irish-American father, who died in 1993, made it clear that half my nationality was his, while my Swiss-American mother's true nationality was long obscured. As a child, I thought I was French, because my mother's parents, both of whom died when I was a toddler, had spoken French.
For an extremely (perhaps ridiculously) long time, I lived as a heterosexual, to the point of dating only women, getting married and having a quarter-Swiss daughter.
Now, in the spring of 2008 as I write, as a divorced, 48-year-old, celibate, unemployed journalist, living, on U.S. Social Security disability income, at my elderly, widowed mother's Chicago home, I'm looking to extend my sexual-orientation coming out, which I initiated in 2004 with my then-wife, then quickly furthered with close family and friends.
So, though it's doubtlessly dubious, I'm using the Swissy linking.
But enough about me already.
In the 19th century, several hundred Swiss settled in the U.S. state of Arkansas, which remains sparsely populated in the 21st century. Today, about 51 people per square mile occupy the approximately 53,000-square-mile state, which, according to a 2007 estimate by the U.S Census Bureau, has a total population of 2.8 million. By comparison, the tiny, 2,020-square-mile, Swiss state (canton) of Valais, with several of the highest peaks in Switzerland and a population under 300,000, has roughly thrice the population density of Arkansas.
Particularly, the Swiss immigrants, less numerous in the gently sloping farmland of central Arkansas than the Germans, settled there after the U.S. Civil War, 1861-1865, near the Arkansas River, which flows east from the Rocky Mountains for 1,450 miles, cutting across Colorado, Kansas, Oklahoma and the breadth of central Arkansas, through the state capital, Little Rock, which is some 30 miles away from Conway, to the south, and on to the mighty Mississippi.
More particularly, having come from the Val d'Hérens region, where the powerful Rhône River cuts through the cantonal capital, Sion, Valais farmers settled in and near the small town of Conway, near Cadron Creek, an Arkansas River tributary.
Around Conway, the seat of Faulkner County, near the geographical center of Arkansas, the Mississippi Valley soil grew rich in cotton.
Among the Valaisans seeking abundant arable land in the Jim Crow former Confederate state of Arkansas was, in 1896, the family of Jean-Antoine Dayer, my great-grandfather, Joseph's father. It was around three-quarters of a century after the native inhabitants of the neighborhood, the Osage, had been removed to the Indian Territory (later called Oklahoma) after the tribe had, in the early 1800s, ceded the area, then part of the Louisiana Territory, to the United States.
Jean-Antoine Dayer moved from Hérémence, elevation 4,058 feet, to near Conway, elevation 321 feet, with his wife, two daughters and three sons, including my grandfather Joseph, who would have 19 Arkansas children by two Hérémence wives, and Nicolas, who, at age 20, after 10 years in Arkansas, returned permanently to Hérémence, where he married, had 11 children and spent half a century as guardian of a cabin for mountain climbers high in the Valais Alps.
Jean-Antoine's friend Jean-Baptiste Moix had immigrated to Arkansas in 1895 from a tiny village, St.-Martin, neighboring Hérémence. Moix, married with four children, was following in the footsteps of others from Val d'Hérens, including friends of his in the Luyet and Mayor families, and he apparently convinced two other Moix families to also settle in the Conway area after they had first immigrated to South America, one to Brazil, one to Argentina.
Jean-Baptiste Moix co-signed, in January of 1896, for the $350 purchase of 80 acres of wild, swampy land near Conway to be Jean-Antoine's farm, according to a document found at the Faulkner County courthouse in genealogical research a century later by his granddaughter, my aunt, Rose Daugherty, the matriarch of the large Dayer clan in Conway, her lifetime home, and even in other U.S. regions to which Jean-Antoine's ancesters had scattered. Rose, who died in 2006, left behind her grandchildren, daughters and longtime husband, Jim Daugherty, whose farm remains a relic from a more rural time.
The Dayers apparently didn't occupy the property that Jean-Baptiste Moix had signed for, but swapped it for another wild parcel nearby.
In "The story of Valaisans who emigrated to the U.S.A.," a 1976 Valais newspaper article by Camille Dayer, who had married Nicolas Dayer's daughter Alexandrine, the son-in-law wrote that in early 1896 Jean-Antoine Dayer, with his wife, Marie-Catherine (née Tournier), and their five children, had traveled two weeks by ship from Le Havre, France, to New York, then three days by train to Conway.
"But after the difficulties of the sea voyage," Camille Dayer wrote, "they, who had come from the dry Valais, suffered terribly from the damp climate in the Plains of Arkansas. Their cotton fields were often flooded. (Three) years after their arrival, mother Catherine (age 49) and her son Charles (10) died of fever."
Around 1900, Jean-Baptiste's eldest son and daughter married Jean-Antoine's eldest daughter and son. John Moix married Mary Dayer, and they had six children. Marie-Victoire Moix married Joseph Dayer, and they had eight surviving children.
In 1900, the U.S. Census counted 679 Swiss-born residents among Arkansas' 1.3 million population. (In all of the United States, which had a total population of more than 76 million in 1900, there were 10.5 million foreign-born residents, 116,000 of them from Switzerland.)
In Faulkner County, only 130 people were Swiss immigrants – 0.63 percent of its 1900 population of 20,780. That 130, however, represented Faulkner's largest population of foreign-born residents (Germans were second at 124), and it was more Swiss-born folks than in any of Arkansas' 75 counties. The second most, 104 Swiss in 1900, lived in bordering Pulaski County, home of Little Rock. (In Pulaski, the Swiss were outnumbered by the Germans at 1,287, the Irish at 259 and the English at 207.)
Immigration to the United States spiked hugely during the second half of the 19th century – a period when an estimated 5,000 Valaisans settled in North and South America – and spilled into the early 20th century.
One Valaisan, Philomene Dayer, 22, traveled to Arkansas from her Hérémence home in about 1920 with Joseph Dayer, 39, no relation, and in Conway she became his new wife in the spring of 1921.
Joseph's first wife, Marie-Victoire, had died in 1918 at age 41, and the depressed widower had gone back to Hérémence, where he met Philomene, who bore him 11 Arkansas children, including, in 1925, my mother, Anne-Marie Dayer.
It seems that for many years there was little or no contact between the Dayer clans on either side of the Atlantic Ocean. Then, in 1969 Emil Dayer, one of Joseph's 14 sons, traveled to Hérémence to meet relatives.
In 1976, the first ancestral kin to visit America from Valais were Nicolas Dayer's daughter Alexandrine, who died in 1977, and her husband, Camille Dayer, of Martigny.
In the newspaper article he wrote shortly after that 1976 trip, Camille Dayer recalled meeting "the families Moix, Mayor, Masserey, Germanier, Troillet, Favre, Dussex, Rudaz and Dayer, who are descended from Valaisans who emigrated to the States between 1800 and 1900. They live in big farms in the vast Plains of Arkansas."
Since Camille's first visit, and his second, in the 1980s, there has been much cross-Atlantic communication and visiting. Today, there are many warm cross-Atlantic friendships between descendants of Jean-Antoine Dayer in Valais and in many American locales, including Illinois, California, Oklahoma and Arkansas.
It has been a long time since many Western Europeans immigrated to the United States, or to anywhere for that matter.
For the 2000 census, the U.S. Census Bureau said that of Faulkner County's estimated 86,014 population, 588 people claimed Swiss ancestry, or 0.68 percent, which was more than twice the percentage of Swiss living among the 300 million Americans nationwide.
All of Faulkner's 588 Swiss were born in the United States. Their median age was 33, and only 26 of them spoke a language other than English at home.
In Conway, population 43,199 in 2000, those claiming Swiss ancestry totaled 414, or 0.96 percent of the total.
In Little Rock, 429 of the 183,558 total claimed Swiss ancestry, or 0.23 percent.In the city of Chicago, where I'm a native resident among the total population of about 3 million, only about 3,000 people, or 0.1 percent, identified themselves as having Swiss heritage, an even smaller minority than gays.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
I am starting this blog site largely with the intention of providing information about the past and present of Chicago communities. In addition to developing a place to find facts about Chicago and its communities, I want to serve as the Chicago connection for various endeavors….
By Chicago, I mean the city itself and its environs (including Elgin? Kankakee? Milwaukee?)
Hopefully with the help of knowledgeable and skilled contributors, I will show and tell about the history, geography, culture, development, current events and other information of the metropolitan area.
I have developed an interest in this project by growing up in the city and living the vast majority of my life in and near it; by having worked as a journalist – first as a reporter and editor in sixth grade (1971) for a newspaper published by Miss Lynch and her pupils at a Catholic school on Chicago’s West Side, then as a reporter and editor in college (1979 to 1983) for the student newspaper, The Phoenix, at Loyola University Chicago, then as a reporter in graduate school (1984 to 1985) for Medill School of Journalism professors at Northwestern University, then as a reporter and editor in a professional career for the LaSalle Street Chronicle (1986), Nadig Newspapers (1986 to 1988) on Chicago’s Northwest Side, and Lerner Newspapers (1988 till my job was eliminated in 2004) on the North and Northwest sides and in nearby suburbs; by reading in various sources of the circumstances that led to Chicago’s creation; by continuing to read from the vast production of and about Chicago and Chicagoans; and by wanting to do something productive with my time since going on Social Security Disability in March 2006.
I’ll start by writing about the Chicago place where I lived for the first quarter-century of my life, the Austin neighborhood on the West Side.
Other neighborhoods might be chosen for expanded study if they are seen to be likewise rich in history.
I do want to name and outline all the neighborhoods in the city, all those recognized by people who live and work there, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant.
How will I define a neighborhood? A place that has been noted by other publications? By city bureaucrats? Will I make my own arbitrary decisions or rely on self-appointed local historians? Real-estate agents? Community organizations? Custom?
How did a place “come to be” (as my young daughter would say), come to be defined and named?
When I was growing up, I wasn’t even aware, until my 20s, that my neighborhood was part of the West Side. My family were members of St. Angela parish, and we siblings went to SA’s school, like my father and his siblings had.
As a member of Chicago’s large population of Roman Catholics, I identified the parish as my neighborhood. My awareness of the neighborhood’s secular name, Austin, grew as I did. When I was 11 or 12, or both, I delivered the Austinitte (SP?), the neighborhood newspaper. My route included the 1800 block of North Mason Avenue, where I lived, the two blocks of Mason to the south -- up to the first busy street, North Avenue -- plus the same parallel three blocks on the first street to the east of Mason, Mayfield Avenue, and, as I recall, not much else.
The parish extended west of Austin Avenue into Oak Park, a suburb then as today, which, along with Cicero, originally was part of Austin, when Austin was a town separate from Chicago (see the online Encyclopedia of Chicago). Eastern Oak Park was part of my neighborhood, defined, as I suggest, along parish lines, not municipal.
There was a boys athletic club called North Austin, which as a young boy I hadn’t mentally connected to the neighborhood. Its main significance to me was that it was a rival to the St. Angela School sports teams, overseen by my father, SA’s volunteer athletic director, John “Jack” Jordan, who died in 1993. North Austin Boys Club was a rival not as an opponent on the field, my father rarely allowed that, but as a recruiter of young talent….
By Chicago, I mean the city itself and its environs (including Elgin? Kankakee? Milwaukee?)
Hopefully with the help of knowledgeable and skilled contributors, I will show and tell about the history, geography, culture, development, current events and other information of the metropolitan area.
I have developed an interest in this project by growing up in the city and living the vast majority of my life in and near it; by having worked as a journalist – first as a reporter and editor in sixth grade (1971) for a newspaper published by Miss Lynch and her pupils at a Catholic school on Chicago’s West Side, then as a reporter and editor in college (1979 to 1983) for the student newspaper, The Phoenix, at Loyola University Chicago, then as a reporter in graduate school (1984 to 1985) for Medill School of Journalism professors at Northwestern University, then as a reporter and editor in a professional career for the LaSalle Street Chronicle (1986), Nadig Newspapers (1986 to 1988) on Chicago’s Northwest Side, and Lerner Newspapers (1988 till my job was eliminated in 2004) on the North and Northwest sides and in nearby suburbs; by reading in various sources of the circumstances that led to Chicago’s creation; by continuing to read from the vast production of and about Chicago and Chicagoans; and by wanting to do something productive with my time since going on Social Security Disability in March 2006.
I’ll start by writing about the Chicago place where I lived for the first quarter-century of my life, the Austin neighborhood on the West Side.
Other neighborhoods might be chosen for expanded study if they are seen to be likewise rich in history.
I do want to name and outline all the neighborhoods in the city, all those recognized by people who live and work there, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant.
How will I define a neighborhood? A place that has been noted by other publications? By city bureaucrats? Will I make my own arbitrary decisions or rely on self-appointed local historians? Real-estate agents? Community organizations? Custom?
How did a place “come to be” (as my young daughter would say), come to be defined and named?
When I was growing up, I wasn’t even aware, until my 20s, that my neighborhood was part of the West Side. My family were members of St. Angela parish, and we siblings went to SA’s school, like my father and his siblings had.
As a member of Chicago’s large population of Roman Catholics, I identified the parish as my neighborhood. My awareness of the neighborhood’s secular name, Austin, grew as I did. When I was 11 or 12, or both, I delivered the Austinitte (SP?), the neighborhood newspaper. My route included the 1800 block of North Mason Avenue, where I lived, the two blocks of Mason to the south -- up to the first busy street, North Avenue -- plus the same parallel three blocks on the first street to the east of Mason, Mayfield Avenue, and, as I recall, not much else.
The parish extended west of Austin Avenue into Oak Park, a suburb then as today, which, along with Cicero, originally was part of Austin, when Austin was a town separate from Chicago (see the online Encyclopedia of Chicago). Eastern Oak Park was part of my neighborhood, defined, as I suggest, along parish lines, not municipal.
There was a boys athletic club called North Austin, which as a young boy I hadn’t mentally connected to the neighborhood. Its main significance to me was that it was a rival to the St. Angela School sports teams, overseen by my father, SA’s volunteer athletic director, John “Jack” Jordan, who died in 1993. North Austin Boys Club was a rival not as an opponent on the field, my father rarely allowed that, but as a recruiter of young talent….
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