Chicago History Museum

Thanks Ben and Christine for taking me to the Chicago History Museum! I had a blast 🙂

This is Jean Baptiste Point Du Sable, the first permanent settler in Chicago. Of African descent, he married a Native American called Catherine. (1745 – 1818). He looks white in this picture but there is another pic of him that looks darker.

This is Me-Te-A, a Potawatimi chief who, together with Ottawa chief Blackbird, fought on the side of the British against the Americans in the War of 1812 for control over the fur trade. The fur trade ended around about 1690 due to overtrapping.The print I copied was printed by LT Prowon’s Lithographic Establishment, Estb. in No. 94, Walnut Street.

This is a nameless Anarchist who rioted in Chicago in 1886. A bunch of anarchists were hanged for sedition and terrorism. Print by Thure de Thulstrup, for Harper’s Weekly, May 15 1886. I think his hand gesture is like Lenin’s.

This is Abraham Lincoln, one of my two favourite American presidents. This bronze head was in the Lincoln Park part of the museum.

I cross Lincoln Park on a winter night when the snow is falling.

Lincoln in bronze stands among the white lines of snow,

his bronze forehead meeting soft echoes of the

newsies crying forty thousand men are dead along the Yser,

his bronze ears listening to the mumbled roar of the city at his bronze feet.

“Bronze”by Carl Sanburg (1878 – 1967) during WWI, Chicago Poems.

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I have a couple more sketches. But here’s this for now.

My Two Favourite Americans Ever

1)

(c) Gilbert Stuart Williamstown, from Wikipedia

2)

(c) Alexander Gardner (1821-1882) also from Wikipedia

Also, my favourite living American poet is:

Long-Term Memory

by James Tate

I was sitting in the park feeding pigeons

when a man came over to me and scrutinized my

face right up close. “There’s a statue of you

over there.” he said. “You should be dead. What

did you do to deserve a statue?” “I’ve never seen

a statue of me,” I said. “There can’t be a statue

of me. I’ve never done anything to deserve a

statue. And I’m definitely not dead.” “Well,

go look for yourself. It’s you alright, there’s

no mistaking that,” he said. I got up and walked

over where it was. It was me alright. I looked

like I was gazing off into the distance, or the

future, like those statues of pioneers. It didn’t

have my name on it or anything, but it was me.

A lady came up to me and said, “You’re looking

at your own statue. Isn’t that against the law, or

something?” “It should be. But this is

my first offence. Maybe they’ll let me off light.”

“It’s against nature, too,” she said, “and bad

manners, I think”. “I couldn’t agree with you

more,” I said, “I’m walking away right now, sorry.”

I went back to my bench. A man was sitting there.

“Maybe you’re a war hero. Maybe you died in the

war,” he said. “Never been a soldier,” I said.

“Maybe you founded this town three hundred years

ago,” he said. “Well, if I did, I don’t remember it

now,” I said. “That’s a long time ago, ” he

said, “You coulda forgot.” I went back to feeding the

pigeons. Oh yes, founding the town. It was coming

back to me now. It was on a Wednesday.

A light rain, my horse slowed…

from Return to the City of White Donkeys