A treasure trove of history, profiling many aspects of life in Northwest Indiana. There's the first trolley car to enter Crown Point; the 1954 blast at the Whiting Refinery; the efforts to create the Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore in 1966, and the years of effort that lead up to it. There's World War II, the Korean War, and the Cold War. And there's also people having fun, creating communities, making history on the local level. Savor this trip down memory lane!
Human history can change in the blink of an eye. The desire witness history-- to see photos of days gone by-- is constant. This book documents almost 125 years of history in Northwest Indiana. The photos it contains came from the archives at The Times Media Co., from area historical societies, and from readers of The Times.
History comes alive with this collection of photographs of people living, working and enjoying being a part of Northwest Indiana in the first half of the twentieth century. You'll view athletic gatherings, church picnics, and get a glimpse into the stables that were needed in Hammond if you had to ride your horse to work. From leveling the sand dunes on the south shoreline of Lake Michigan, to harvesting ice on Wolf Lake and Cedar Lake, you'll get flashes of how the region grew up.
This is a personal memoir of good times in Chicago back in the days when candy bars and White Castles cost a mere 5 cents. Chicago is a "city of neighborhoods," whether you are talking about Chinatown, Canaryville, Bridgeport, Beverly, South Chicago, Bronzeville, Hyde Park, Woodlawn or Englewood. This story takes place in the old South Shore neighborhood nestled on Lake Michigan between Jackson Park to the north and the booming steel mills to the south. My cousin, Dr. Bruce Hannon of the University of Illinois, used to say, "Good people make a good place good" and South Shore was one of those places...
An urban neighborhood remakes itself every day—and unmakes itself, too. Houses and stores and streets define it in one way. But it’s also people—the people who make it their home, some eagerly, others grudgingly. A neighborhood can thrive or it can decline, and neighbors move in and move out. Sometimes they stay but withdraw behind fences and burglar alarms. If a neighborhood becomes no longer a place of sociability and street life, but of privacy indoors and fearful distrust outdoors, is it still a neighborhood? In the late 1960s and 1970s Carlo Rotella grew up in Chicago’s South Shore neighborhood—a place of neat bungalow blocks and desolate commercial strips, and sharp, sometimes painful social contrasts. In the decades since, the hollowing out of the middle class has left residents confronting—or avoiding—each other across an expanding gap that makes it ever harder for them to recognize each other as neighbors. Rotella tells the stories that reveal how that happened—stories of deindustrialization and street life; stories of gorgeous apartments with vistas onto Lake Michigan and of Section 8 housing vouchers held by the poor. At every turn, South Shore is a study in contrasts, shaped and reshaped over the past half-century by individual stories and larger waves of change that make it an exemplar of many American urban neighborhoods. Talking with current and former residents and looking carefully at the interactions of race and class, persistence and change, Rotella explores the tension between residents’ deep investment of feeling and resources in the physical landscape of South Shore and their hesitation to make a similar commitment to the community of neighbors living there. Blending journalism, memoir, and archival research, The World Is Always Coming to an End uses the story of one American neighborhood to challenge our assumptions about what neighborhoods are, and to think anew about what they might be if we can bridge gaps and commit anew to the people who share them with us. Tomorrow is another ending.
In this deluxe, all color pictorial, Russ Porter chronicles his 50-year-old coverage of these two interurban stalwarts in more than 220 beautiful, previously-unpublished color photographs. The North Shore originated in 1894 as a single-track Waukegan street car line, eventually running from downtown Chicago to Milwaukee in 2 hours, 40 minutes, with 30 trains a day each way. Some of the more famous trains the line operated were the Electroliners. Introduced in 1941, they were considered some of the finest interurbans ever constructed in North America. The line was abandoned in 1963 for economic reasons. Russ covers the trains, facilities and terminals of both lines in four color photography. The South Shore, America’s last interurban, still operates between downtown Chicago and South Bend, Indiana, and continues to haul passengers as well as freight. Begun in 1908 as the Chicago, Lake Shore & South Bend Railway, the line was originally built to high engineering standards and later rebuilt by Samuel Insull. Over the years the South Shore has been noted for its street-running, its orange cars made by Niles, Standard, Kuhlman and Pullman, and its unique 273-ton Little Joes, among the largest electric locomotives ever made.
Few would imagine that the land currently occupied by the Nature Conservancy's Cape May Migratory Bird Refuge, or "the Meadows, "? was once the picturesque Jersey Shore town of South Cape May. By the early twentieth century, a striking hotel and homes designed by renowned Victorian-era architects dotted the landscape. Residents and visitors alike spotted rumrunners racing across the beachfront during Prohibition and endured World War II with German submarines lurking just offshore. But by 1954, barely a trace of the town remained except for about twenty of the original houses, which were moved a mile away. Join one of the town's last residents, Joseph Burcher, as he chronicles life in South Cape May before the angry Atlantic swallowed this serene town.
Nearly twenty years after it was first published, Along the Great South Bay continues to be the definitive source of Great South Bay history, recounting a century in which New York's most affluent families came to enjoy the cool summer breezes of the Atlantic Ocean and the boating, fishing, and bird shooting for which the area was renowned. Newly released in paperback as an illustrated edition, Along the Great South Bay now includes 182 photographs and maps, bringing back to life the tantalizing tale of an era long gone, but no longer forgotten.
This book explores the practice of traumatic storytelling that emerged out of the South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission and came to play a key role in the lives of the members of the Khulumani Support Group for victims of apartheid-era political violence. Group members found traumatic storytelling both frustrating and yet also an important form of memory work that shaped how they saw themselves in the post-apartheid era. Drawing on ethnographic fieldwork, the author examines how traumatic storytelling functioned not only as a kind of psychological healing and national political theatre, but also as a potent form of social relation, economic exchange, political activism, and expressive practice. With emphasis on the personal, social, and political significance of the act of traumatic storytelling, this volume asks why members of Khulumani, despite their many disappointments, continued to engage intensively in storying their experiences for themselves and others. Examining what powers storytelling held for both group members and their witnesses, and considering the ways in which storytelling enabled new senses of self and new understandings of what was possible in the years after the end of apartheid, this book considers what we might learn more broadly from the experiences of Khulumani about the possibilities—and limits—of traumatic-memory-making as an instrument of personal, social, and political repair. As such, it will appeal to scholars of sociology, anthropology, and criminology with interest in justice and post-conflict societies.
