This month’s header is a picture of Illinois’ capitol building which is mostly at the center of Springfield, IL, the place where my family moved to 40 years ago in March. There was another, smaller place that the state government resided in and believe me, I’ve seen it, unimpressive. Heck, it’s tiny. I’m not sure how long it took to be replaced or how they got anything done. We have bigger McMansions in Austin.
As for the view you see above, I don’t know the city’s history well enough to say if Springfield was rebuilt around the capitol to make it the center, they chose what was the center or it happily panned out in everybody’s favor. I can say with certainty, I often saw the famous dome from my front yard because it was within a mile.
My relationship with Springfield began near the end of 1978 when Dad accepted a position with Nixdorf, the fourth-largest computer company in the world then. Before we could move, the house we loved in Champaign had to be sold and for reasons I can’t recall, we made multiple commutes between the two places. One major memory I have is hearing Kenny Rogers’ “The Gambler” being played to death on those 90-minute, one-way drives.
Brian and I were sad to be leaving all the friends we had at St. Matthew but several things ameliorated the transition:
- The new house we were moving to was way cooler. We would have our own bedrooms, a swing on the porch and two bathrooms!
- Springfield had a new mall named White Oaks which was impressive. It had two stories unlike Eastland, Lincoln Square and Market Place! This mall was a constant destination, even after the initial visits.
- The new house’s street had more kids our age living on it.
We finally moved into our only Springfield digs around March 1979 and lived there until August 1982. The day we moved in was spectacular despite the cold, miserable weather. We didn’t have to go to school, hooray! Brian’s birthday was happening and Mom got him some bitchin’ Star Wars toys. After the movers finished (one guy drank all of our parents’ hard liquor; they barely drink so they felt the guy did them a favor), I could set up my very own bedroom. Springfield had cable television with this new channel called HBO; it showed movies without commercials and the boobies/swearing scenes were intact!
Overall, my several years in Springfield were eventful. Many great days walking to/from St. Agnes. Some with Dad in tow after he got a job with the government building across the street from our school. Numerous days and afternoons were occupied by pick-up games of touch football, war/guns, baseball, jail/football tag and ghost in the graveyard. Our porch’s size often made it the base. Crappy days happened too. Fights with bullies (one pulled a knife on Brian), disagreements/feuds with neighboring kids occurred and Aunt Helen passed away in her sleep during the Summer of 1981.
Near the end of our residency, I was becoming a teenager which led to my increased interest in D&D, music and girls. Thusly, I consider Springfield, IL my hometown because it’s where my formative years began. How so? It’s when I first realized how boring the Midwest really was and I started to think about the larger world around me through music, TV and magazines. Oddly, I had to be removed from the place for a year to realize how most of my St. Agnes classmates were on the fast track to White Trash futures via booze, drugs and teen pregnancy. I would throw in their tastes for crappy Hair Metal as a factor but I’m being a snob now.
It was a great place to be a kid. I have no idea with teenagers. Adulthood? I could never go back. Besides the terrible Midwestern winters, Houston got me addicted on metropolitan cities and Austin became my new home of 25 years. I could never give up Austin’s perks.
Still, I look fondly on Springfield. It took me a couple decades to get to such a mental state. I was embarrassed to be from such a pedestrian town compared to the more fascinating locations my Marquette friends originated from. Now it’s OK. The Simpsons helped and given how loud the NeoConfederates are in the outskirts of Austin, it’s nice to remind them I’m from Abraham Lincoln’s hometown and we kicked their asses before…and we’ll do it again should the time arise.