It was a beautiful adoption more than a dozen years ago and I was proud to have set the whole thing in motion. I found the City of Chicago Adopt-a-Street program, did the paperwork, followed up--and the next thing I knew, we neighbors had formally adopted our street.
There was an adoption ceremony, the placing of two very good looking signs on South State Street poles just south of Roosevelt--and a lot of smiles. That's about all we ever got out of it--although the city promised they'd be our partners in this very open adoption. Helping us to beautify, clean, plant, etc. As long as we did that stuff, too. We did our share. They didn't.
But I always felt my beloved signs were enough of a payoff. The recent loss of which totally breaks my heart.
One of the prideful placards got knocked down several years ago by an errant auto--and sadly disposed of without my knowledge. Otherwise, I would have run out and saved it for posterity. The other sign was just taken down by the city. By Rahm's cossacks. I presume Rahm has ordered them to rid the city of anything that smacks of Daley, that says Daley, that's sponsored by Daley, anything that smells of the City's past. Of the time before Rahm: The Era.
A few years ago, I had worried that our one remaining sign was crooked a lot of the time. And that it could fall off and blow away or be discarded by street cleaners. But for whatever reason, it had straightened out as time went by--I thought maybe because Rahm wanted a neat city. And I felt secure that it would live to a ripe old age.
But now I know what Rahm really thinks. Neat city, meh! He wants a Rahm City. Full of stupid blue bikes going every which way knocking people down, snarling traffic on streets and sidewalks alike. He wants a city full of bike lanes. And borrowed help from elsewhere, none of which has worked out. (Read: Brizard, Ahmad, Klein, for starters. And after seeing Garry McCarthy down one beer after another--out of the bottle, no less--at Petterino's bar at Dearborn and Randolph on a Monday evening recently, after a huge and publicity-laden weekend crime spree in our fair city, I wonder what's going to happen with him.)
So, as our Tiny Dancer gears up for his reelection, let my sign be your sign. Get his signs off our poles.
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