#michigan avenue bridge

[kodachrome-net]

Michigan Avenue Bridge, Chicago, October 1989

[rabbitcruiser]

The Michigan Avenue Bridge (officially DuSable Bridge) opened to traffic on May 14, 1920.

[ms-nesbit]

Sweet home chicago (jason todd x afab!reader)

chapter one

Rating: 18+

Warnings: eventual smut, swearing, father figure dick grayson, skater tim drake, sad jason todd :(

Summary: dick and tim trick jason into taking a vacation in chicago. There, he meets someone he hopes to never forget.

Note: im sorry for dipping, yall. I really had some important things to take care of.

ao3

Amber and rose peeked through the hedge between the array of buildings on Michigan Avenue. Jason blended himself with the sea of tourists and chic aristocrats. He didn’t necessarily stick out like a sore thumb, as there were a few Chicagoans dressed casually like him; even in the late-November evening, he sported his signature red hoodie and straight fit jeans, tattered and dirty near the hem. No matter what, he wanted to appear mildly stressed, only mildly, so as to not draw more attention to himself than his six-foot-four frame already did.

He wondered how he got here. Was it the phone call from Dick, or the two dozen from Tim? Could it have been neither, and he perhaps wanted to rush the plane during the busiest season, nudged in a lousy middle seat between an obnoxious preteen and a middle-aged woman watching poorly edited, extremist conservative media? To be fair, Jason treated himself to Portillo’s once he left the airport - a well-earned reward for not lashing out at the self-absorbed individuals beside him.

He stepped briskly, moving in sync with the less-anxious of the crowd toward the shopping district notoriously named Magnificent Mile. On his left ear, he heard the excitement in the tune of indistinguishable conversations and the season’s final water taxis boarding; in his right, a wireless earbud, softly playing his childhood favorite, Diana Ross and the Supremes.

Once he reached the other end of the bridge, he strolled to the sidewalk in front of Tribune Tower, pulling his phone out and indiscreetly sending a message of his coordinates to-

A call. “As much as I love the smell of fish, garbage, and the crooked CPD, why did you and Tim want me here?” Jason was more curious than upset, but he’d rather not disclose his true feelings to his brothers.

“C’mon, Jay, it’s the Windy City! You ever been to Chicago?” Dick asked. “Beautiful everything here. Tim’s at the Van store up the street, and I’m grabbing a slice of pizza across from ya. You wanna come over and get a slice, grumpy? You get a little hangry sometimes.”

Jason sighed, and his stomach grumbled in response to the offer. “Alright, but I’m not goin’ outside. I sat next to some wackjob on the flight who sounded like she needed to be in the looney bin, and I’m not lookin’ to make friends.” As he spoke, he quickly turned his head before dashing across the busy street, waving off a car blaring its horn at him. “What’do’ey have?”

“How about you see?” Dick approached Jason, smiling mischievously. Jason ended the call, moving his eyes to Dick’s hands behind his back. “Guess what I got?”

“Dick, I’m not in the mood for games-”

“Ta-da!” Dick shifted in his coat, revealing a white box with a drawn pizza and the name Lou Malnati’s on it. Jason pretended like his mouth didn’t water at the smell of grease and garlic. “I had ‘em make a classic cheese with those square slices. How about we sit down on the riverfront and talk?”

And talk. No matter the temptation, be it a buttery, gooey pizza right under Jason’s nose, he still believed it wasn’t worth the compromise of having to make more than small talk with others. “Listen, Dickie, as much as I appreciate the offer, I don’t think I’m ready to talk about-”

“Dude, this isn’t about Artemis, if that’s what you’re about to say.” Dick shrugged in his beige peacoat, a piece of his thick, navy, knitted cardigan spilling from his waist. “I just want to, y’know, see if you want to go to this thing tonight.”

Jason cocked a brow in his theatrical manner. “So you and Tim badgered me, had me fly all the way to goddamn Chicago, all to just talk over some overpriced pizza?” Around him, he felt the glare of customers, but he doubled down, giving them knowing looks. “I’ve been here. Want a real place? Go to the goddamn place off Clark and Dickens. You’ll thank me later.”

Dick rolled his eyes, already tired by Jason’s heels in the sand. “Always gotta be a drama queen. Just…come with me. I’ll explain once we’re out of earshot.” His voice was hushed, signaling Jason to follow suit. They walked together to the riverwalk, sitting on the cold high-risen edging. Dick delicately opened the lid of the box, revealing the savory American delicacy and motioning for Jason to take the first slice.

Once Jason reached for the slice, taking his first bite and stretching the rosemary-seasoned cheese from its bed atop the crust, Dick began. “Tim and I were thinking that the three of us could use a break.” Jason grumbled indistinctly into his pizza slice, swirling the string of cheese around his tongue in a tight noose. “Bruce has been a handful lately - I mean, he always is - and I think it would be a good lesson for him to finally be on his own instead of taking us for granted, y’know?”

Jason nodded, rearranging his food to one side of his mouth so he could speak with the other. “You do know that Bruce is probably better off without me, right? Since I-” he swallowed the food, kissing the excess sauce and garlic from his teeth, “leave a ‘pretty big mess’, as he says.”

“You also help. Gang-related crime decreased about 37 percent when Red Hood regularly patrolled, and the Gotham Gazette did a poll, based on before and after Red: thanks to Red Hood, 6 out of 10 female Gothamites feel safe walking home at night, compared to the 3 out of 10 prior to Red Hood’s introduction.”

The statistic surprised Jason. He was used to the smearing from Justice League’s best, so it was nice to hear a compliment for a change. “And Timmy’s on board with this?” He didn’t hesitate to take a second slice, while Dick left the pizza untouched.

“He was the one who coined it.” Dick looked out at the river, mildly put off by Jason’s shameless eating habits. “We were patrolling one night and he just said it out of the blue. I get it, though.” He pursed his lips, staring wistfully. “I couldn’t tell you before because then you wouldn’t agree to it.”

Dick was right: when he’d offer to take Jason in after they reconciled, Jason refused. Though not Bruce’s blood son, Jason was comparably stubborn, sometimes surpassing the Dark Knight. “And where are we gonna stay?”

“That’s the best part.” Dick finally reached for a slice, folding it in half and dipping a chunk into his mouth to cut from the slice. “Tim hacked into Bruce’s business travel account and used some of his points to book a stay at some fancy place called Waldalf…lemme check.” Dick reached into his peacoat pocket and pulled out his phone, checking the reservation. He continued to chew, as did Jason, and Dick leaned over to show Jason the reservation email. “Astoria. It’s a couple of blocks here, I think. Worst case, we can just use a taxi or Uber there or something.”

“I’m banned from using Uber.” Jason said nonchalantly, squinting at the details on Dick’s pristine phone screen before looking the name up for himself. “I can walk as long as I can have another slice.”

Dick blinked at Jason blankly before glancing at the remnants of the pizza. “Take the small one right there.” Removing a wrinkled, discolored restaurant napkin from his back pocket, Jason snatched the slice with an asymmetrical, genuine smile, now holding a slice in each hand. Dick bit his tongue in his mouth to keep himself from laughing. If he hadn’t held a slice in his, he would have snapped a photo to send to the family group chat. “We’re already checked in, so just bring whatever luggage you have with you.”

Jason looked up from his slices like a deer in the headlights. “Sorry, I didn’t think to bring anything other than the usual.” With a slice, he vaguely gestured to his dirty clothes.

“I was…expecting that.” Dick chuckled lightly. “I brought you some clothes so you could go out and enjoy yourself for a change.” He spotted Jason’s eye roll. “You’re in your twenties, for crying out loud. Enjoy yourself! Make a friend. Would it kill you to just live?”

As Jason shook his head, a few strands of grey fell from his messily combed back hair and onto his forehead. “What, is coming back from the dead and seeking vengeance to blood-thirsty psychopaths not living?”

“No, it’s not.” a voice came from the other side of the riverwalk, by the bustling street: a lanky-built male, wearing a beige Santa Cruz sweatshirt and dark jeans, strolled on his skateboard toward the brothers. “And by the way, Jason, you look no different than the bourgeoisie skimming the racks at Urban Outfitters over there.” Jason’s frown dropped at Tim, already bugged by him. “Me and Dick were basically wanting you to, y’know, socialize like a normal human being. I know you’re an introvert, I get that, but you’ve gotta, y’know…converse.”

 Jason stood from the platform, brushing the suggestion from his broad shoulders. “Jesus, and you wonder why I don’t want to hang out with you guys.” he made an excuse and walked back toward Michigan Ave, finishing his slices along the way.

“By the way, Dick.” Tim nudged Dick with his elbow, showing him a photo of zoomed-in Jason, a few minutes earlier, smiling goofily with his two slices of pizza pie.

Dick erupted into laughter, doubling over and nearly knocking over the box.

-

“You got the terrace suite?” Jason muttered in blustering shock. “Bruce is going to be so pissed.” His lips stretched into a wide smile.

He plopped onto the sleeper sofa, sprawling his limbs out to relax. Dick assigned Jason to the couch (“Finder’s keepers!”), while Dick and Tim each slept in their separate rooms. “We already received a warning about how you’re dressed, Jason, so if you could please promptly change into something more appropriate, I’m sure this stay would be more enjoyable for all of us.” Dick managed to remain calm while conveying, despite the fatherly-level of disappointment underneath his skin.

Heeding Dick’s advice, Jason made his way to Dick’s room, where he opened up the luggage Dick neatly packed for him: a pair of dress shoes, two pairs of socks and boxer briefs (all red, for continuity’s sake), along with a lightweight, tightly knitted sweater, t-shirt, long-sleeve undershirts, and two pairs of slacks (one beige, one black). Jason sighed halfheartedly, bummed by the array chosen for him. He knew, of course, it was his responsibility to select his own attire, but of course he’d forgotten it, lost in the chaos of his everyday life; Dick anticipated Jason’s reaction, and packed something nonetheless, and although grateful, Jason still hesitated to express it.

While Tim and Dick explored the depths of downtown, Jason immersed himself into the room, quietly exploring the channels that Astoria offered.

Knock, knock. “Housekeeping!”

Jason yelled back, “Come in.” while munching on a bag of corn chips on the couch, eyes lasered on the television screen.

The housekeeper, wearing a black and sky blue uniform, pushed his trolley in. “Are you enjoying your stay, Sir?”

Jason shrugged. “My ma was a housekeeper for a bit. Don’t worry about the ‘sir’ stuff, it’s all good.” The response was new to the employee, who stood for a moment before excusing himself to clean the bathroom and bedrooms.

“Sir,” the housekeeper returned, gripping the trolley behind him with a single hand. “Would you mind vacating the room while I clean, or should I return if you are…busy?”

Jason looked at the chip crumbs on his hoodie before looking back at the housekeeper. “I’ve no problem leaving. I’ve gotta change, so I’ll go the other room. Could you just lock the door when you leave?”

“Absolutely, Sir.” the housekeeper said before Jason shut the bathroom door, slacks and sweater in hand.

—

Stepping out from the courtyard of the hotel premises, Jason wandered down the corner, unable to prevent himself from making grotesque faces at the high-end stores nearby. The breeze chilled the skin on his face to the point where it eventually felt like he was kissed by needles, and he unlocked his phone to find a place to settle down and (hopefully) eat. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed an approaching blotch of yellow and blue, to which he immediately hailed down. A taxi parked along the curb, and Jason hopped in. “Could you please take me away from here? Some place with some good food?”

The driver gave Jason a look of uncertainty, pondering before nodding and starting the meter.

Jason sat back and relaxed as giant metallic letters standing proudly on top of clear, godliness glass storefronts began to disappear, one by one, until they were replaced with bulletins and signs, and tented storefronts matched with painted, worn down brickwork.

He exhaled in relief. Despite living with Bruce and his luxurious lifestyle, the unspoken language of wealth was still foreign to Jason. He didn’t understand why the affluent would whisper, and why evil would poison their tongue and burn away at their heart once their financial wealth accrued.

After slipping the taxi driver a couple of hundred dollar bills, Jason abruptly left the vehicle, reading the name of the restaurant to himself. “Like the song…?” he asked the driver, who nodded.

“Different spelling, different things.”

Jason inhaled nasily, chest rising. “Alrighty, thanks, man.”

The driver nodded once again before waving and merging back into traffic. Jason entered the restaurant and was instantly greeted with sweet and savory notes, causing Jason’s stomach to cramp in pain. He walked up to the counter, so clean that he could almost make his reflection out, and waited for an employee to serve him. While he waited, he studied the menu: sandwiches, soups, and more appetizers to choose from. He chewed on his bottom lip, distressed when deciding between pasteles (mix of plantain mix and meat, wrapped in a banana leaf) or mofongo (stuffed plantain).

“When you’re ready, I can take you.” A voice notified him as he stood like a bronze statue before the menu.

He didn’t take his eyes off the photos above the counter. “Sorry about this, I’m a first timer - what are your pasteles filled with?”

“Usually pork or chicken, but we make them with cheese now since there are some vegetarians.”

“Could I have just pasteles, one with cheese filling and one with chicken?” Jason asked.

The clerk pressed a button on the register, which was a tablet with a brightly lit screen. “Sure thing. Anything else?”

“Yeah, and…pastellitos de guayaba? Can I have that, too? And water.”

The clerk pressed the screen a few times, noting down Jason’s order. “Of course. For here or to go?”

Jason finally tore his eyes from the menu to look at the clerk, and his mouth fell open at the sight of the clerk: hair was tightly curled, coiled from their roots; lips plump and glossy, appearing much more enticing to Jason than the food he ogled at.

“Here.” he stuttered, feeling heat rise up to his neck. The clerk smiled at him, and they placed their hand on their wide hip, bringing Jason’s eye to it.

“It’ll be ready in a bit. We’ll bring it to your seat, yeah? Sientate.” They motioned with their nose at the dining area, a selection of polished wooden chairs and tables to choose from.

Before he could ask for their name, the clerk rushed to the kitchen of the restaurant, repeating his order to the rest of the staff. Jason watched them walk away, their bottom half swaying in the leggings they wore, before he realized his leering and chose an empty seat and table near the colorful mural.

Thoughts rushed to the tall man’s head, some impure ones welcoming themselves for the first time since he and Artemis parted. Their relationship was, in short, complicated, and neither of them were fully transparent toward another, leading to the inevitable diffusion of the once-kindled fire; it didn’t break Jason’s heart, but rather disappointed him, and he felt that his fate of inescapable loneliness was encapsulated.

The clerk reappeared from the kitchen, holding two plates of food. They walked past Jason, ignoring whatever eye contact he attempted to make at them, and attended to the table diagonally from his. “Y te quedas a tu mama, ok?” They spoke warmly but sternly to the couple, before leaving with a grin. “And you,” they pointed at Jason, “your pastellios should be ready in one to two minutes, okay?”

Jason nodded frantically, popping an optimistic grin. “Can’t wait.”

“I know.” they winked at Jason before turning back around and walking through the revolving door leading to the kitchen. Jason felt something distant in his stomach. Perhaps hunger?

In a few minutes, the mysterious clerk returned, holding what Jason hoped was his food. When they arrived at his table, settling the plates down delicately before handing him cutlery and a glass, he beamed first at the food, then at the beautiful clerk. He didn’t know which he was more excited for. “Thank you!”

“Not a problem.” they returned his smile, eyes glistening at him. “Our chef is working on something else for you to carry out, free of charge. Can’t let you starve out on us, right, big guy?” their eyes briefly scanned Jason’s figure, which caused Jason’s cheeks to flush a bright pink.

They’re hitting on me, the fuck. “Thanks! I was hoping maybe I can come back, get your name?”

“Oooh, I like the sound of that.” their voice dipped an octave, and Jason swore he felt his pants tighten under the table. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “How about I save you the trouble and tell ya now, that way next time you can take me out for dessert?”

Jason smirked at them, slowly checking their figure out before focusing his attention back on their eyes. “Sure.”

“It’s y/n.” they purred, reaching their hand to rest on Jason’s bicep. Their skin was soft, yet calloused. “And you are…?”

“Jason.” he grinned. “Sorry, I’m new at this.”

“Don’t worry.” they assured. “I’m here if you need anything. And if you decide to take me on that offer, my number is in the check right there.” they pointed to the black checkbook beside the plates of food. Jason’s skin was burning under their touch, and when y/n had to leave, Jason felt a twinge of sadness when they retracted their hand.

Unraveling his cutlery from the napkin, Jason made sure to make an important phone call before his vacation ended.

[contremineur]

I thought, when I was twenty, that when I turned fifty, I’d be immune to love’s vicissitudes, and here I am at fifty, indoors, peeling the skin of a beet, my fingers bloody seeming, and I’m watching you outside with our grown daughter, her back’s to me, she could be me, something about how she leans forward from her shoulders. All those years ago, what was it we argued about so fiercely I crossed the Michigan Avenue bridge, the Wrigley Building white and tranquil behind us, but we couldn’t let it go, couldn’t walk away, we hollered across the traffic. Even now I can feel my spine lengthen, my shoulders square back, a little ferocity hardening me. I finish the beets and lean toward the screen, as if to hear what you and she say to one another, how you work it out.

Athena Kildegaard, Untitled

from here – thank you, poem-locker (across the bridge since December 2015)

[hometownhistorychicago]

Aerial taken over the river at Michigan Ave Chicago (1950)

In 1950, an aerial view over the Chicago River at Michigan Avenue captured the dynamic heart of the city. The intersection of Michigan Avenue and the river was a key gateway to downtown Chicago, with the iconic Wrigley Building and Tribune Tower prominently visible. The aerial perspective highlighted the bustling activity on the river, with boats navigating through the city, and the bridges connecting the north and south sides of the Loop. This area remains a central part of Chicago's urban landscape, known for its architectural landmarks and vibrant energy.

[railwayhistorical]

Chicago—as a Tourist A couple of shots of the Chicago River, the first showing the Wells Street Bridge, the Merchandise Mart (left), the Reid Murdoch Building (with clock), along with one of the two towers of Marina City and the St. Regis Chicago (by Jeanne Gang) in the distance. I'm mystified by all the L trains, and I believe the one pictured could be any one of several that make a trip around the loop—which is to the right in this image.

The second image has much the same but with the addition of the Linnea (architectural tours), and the La Salle Street Bridge.

The third image shows us the John Hancock Building, now known as 875 North Michigan Avenue (sure, whatever you say): a 100-story building finished in 1968. I was standing at the lake front at about Walton Place for that view.

Three images by Richard Koenig; taken March 29th 2024.

[beardedmrbean]

Aholiday party hosted by local Michigan politicians turned into a pro-Palestinian protest that reportedly led to a violent shoving match resulting in one Democratic activist being hospitalized.

The incident occurred December 16 during a private holiday party hosted by the 13th Congressional District Democratic Party at the Common Pub in Detroit. Things quickly became raucous when about 20 to 30 pro-Palestinian protesters, part of the Palestinian Youth Movement and Party for Socialism and Liberation, entered the bar and confronted Representative Shri Thanedar over his support for Israel.

The metropolitan Detroit area has become a hotbed since Hamas launched a surprise attack in Israel on October 7, leading to protests and tension-filled situations between local Jews and Palestinians.

Thomas Becker, a spokesperson for Thanedar, told Newsweek via email that some 200 people were in attendance. No security was present, and the only people there before the situation escalated were party goers and venue staff. He had no further comment.

Wayne County Commissioner Jonathan Kinloch, who represents District 2, posted a 45-second video clip from the event on X, formerly Twitter. Pushing, shoving and yelling can be seen and heard in the footage, all taking place over gospel music in the background.

Kinloch said the pro-Palestinian supporters "caused chaos and mayhem," badly injuring local Black activist Bobbie Avington-Smith, a Democrat. She suffered two black eyes and was admitted to a local hospital for medical attention, according to Bridge Detroit.

Newsweek reached out to Kinloch via phone and email for comment.

Detroit Police Department spokesman Jordan Hall told Newsweek on Wednesday that the incident is still under investigation and that no arrests have been made.

"It was something we never expected," 91-year-old party attendee Bernice Smith told local ABC affiliate WXYZ.

One attendee told Deadline Detroit that protesters chanted, "Shri, you can't hide, we charge you with genocide," in reference to the thousands of Palestinian deaths in Gaza in relation to the ongoing Israel-Hamas conflict.

A video posted on Instagram by the account "detroit2palestine" shows former Detroit Police Commissioner Bernice Smith using her cane to defend herself against protesters.

Smith's son, Sterling Jackson, told Bridge Detroit's Malachi Barrett that he was the first person to jump into the fray because he feared for his mother's well-being.

"I started it because I couldn't believe they are doing this and nobody was doing anything," Jackson said.

On Monday, a joint press conference was held by Thanedar, Kinloch and other Democrats representing the 13th district who referred to the protesters as rioters.

"They didn't have a right to be there, first and foremost," Kinloch said, according to video from the press conference posted on X by Barrett. "It's not about whether or not they were being violent, whether or not they were being disruptive. They were not supposed to be there.

"The owner asked them to leave, I asked them to leave. They refused to leave so they were removed from a place where they had no business and no legal right to be in."

Kinloch added that there was no security because it was a holiday party aimed to be a celebration and nobody expected any protests or violence, adding that they put the safety and security of senior attendees at risk.

Any concerns about Thanedar's position on the war in Gaza could have been accomplished via other avenues, Kinloch added.

"This is not going to give you support for your cause," Thanedar said on Monday. "I welcome them to come to my office. I welcome them to invite me to town halls where I could come and we can have a dialogue."

Wayne State University, located near the pub, and Detroit police responded to the scene.

Last year, the city of Dearborn drew national attention when its residents elected Abdullah Hammoud as its first Muslim and Arab American mayor. Hammoud has been outspoken in support of the Palestinian cause the past two months, leading a city of about 110,000 residents composed more than half of citizens of Middle Eastern or North African (MENA) ancestry and mostly Arab.

Michigan, one of a handful of states expected to decide the 2024 presidential election, is home to about 90,000 Jewish residents and more than 300,000 residents of Middle Eastern descent.

A recent Newsweek poll of eligible Michigan voters found that about 46 percent of respondents disapprove of President Joe Biden's handling of the conflict.

In contrast, while Republican front-runner Donald Trump has led Biden in recent polls in Michigan, a statewide poll conducted in November found that Trump's various legal battles could determine his fate in next year's election should he be the GOP nominee.

Newsweek reached out to the Michigan Democratic Party via email for comment.

[lovesongbracket]

Reminder: Vote based on the song, not the artist or specific recording! The tracks referenced are the original artist, aside from a few rare cases where a cover is the most widely known.

Lyrics, videos, info, and notable covers under the cut. (Spotify playlist available in pinned post)

Electric Love

Written By: Dark Waves, Tommy English, Josh Moran & BØRNS

Artist: BØRNS

Released: 2014

After one year in Los Angeles, West Michigan native Børns landed a record deal with Interscope, and the album Candy was released to much critical acclaim. “Electric Love” followed up the single “10,000 Emerald Pools.” The floaty, guitar-driven instrumental and melodically mature melody offsets the double entendre of the lover as heroin theme. The song was eventually certified Platinum by the RIAA on Feb. 26, 2017.

[Verse 1] Candy, she's sweet like candy in my veins Baby, I'm dying for another taste [Pre-Chorus] And every night my mind is running around her Thunder's getting louder and louder [Chorus] Baby, you're like lightning in a bottle I can't let you go now that I got it And all I need is to be struck By your electric love (Ohh) Baby, your electric love (Ahh) Electric love [Verse 2] Drown me (Drown me), you make my heart beat like the rain Surround me, hold me deep beneath your waves (Oh) [Pre-Chorus] And every night my mind is running around her Thunder's getting louder and louder and louder [Chorus] Baby, you're like lightning in a bottle I can't let you go now that I got it And all I need is to be struck By your electric love (Ohh) Baby, your electric love (Ahh) Electric love [Bridge] (Ohh) Rushing through me Feel your energy rushing through me I feel your energy rushing through me [Chorus] Baby, you're like lightning in a bottle I can't let you go now that I got it And all I need is to be struck by your electric love (Ohh) Baby, your electric love (Ahh) Baby, you're electric

Mary on a Cross

Written By: Vincent Pontare, Salem Al Fakir & Tobias Forge

Artist: Ghost

Released: 2019

“Mary on a Cross” is the second song on Ghost’s “re-release” EP from the late ‘60s, Seven Inches of Satanic Panic. The track, just like “Kiss the Go-Goat,” is sung by Papa Nihil and it talks about the love relationship with Sister Imperator. The whole song can be interpreted as an ode to experimenting with either drugs or sex.

[Verse 1] We were speeding together down the dark avenues But besides all the stardom, all we got was blues But through all the sorrow, we've been riding high And the truth of the matter is I never let you go, let you go We were scanning the cities, rocking to pay their dues But besides all the glamour, all we got was bruised But through all the sorrow, we've been riding high And the truth of the matter is I never let you go, let you go [Chorus] You go down just like Holy Mary, Mary on a, Mary on a cross Not just another bloody Mary, Mary on a, Mary on a cross If you choose to run away with me, I will tickle you internally And I see nothing wrong with that [Verse 2] We were searching for reasons to play by the rules But we quickly found out it was just for fools Now through all the sorrow, we'll be riding high And the truth of the matter is I never let you go, let you go [Pre-Chorus] You go down just like Holy Mary, Mary on a, Mary on a cross Not just another bloody Mary, Mary on a, Mary on a… [Chorus] You go down just like Holy Mary, Mary on a, Mary on a cross Your beauty never ever scared me, Mary on a, Mary on a cross If you choose to run away with me, I will tickle you internally And I see nothing wrong with that [Outro] (Mary on a, Mary on a cross) Nothing wrong with that (Mary on a, Mary on a cross) Nothing wrong with that (Mary on a, Mary on a cross) (Mary on a) Mary on a cross

[buzzwiremedia]

BuzzWire Media: Website Designer Near Me, Graphic Design Near Me, Video Production Near Me.

WebDesign, Graphics, Videography, Photography, Logos, Seo, Social Media and Branding

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At BuzzWire Media, a seasoned Michigan media agency nestled in Westland, Michigan, we’re not just cartographers; we’re your trusted architects, engineers, and interior designers crafting your digital dominion. Just a stone’s throw from the bustling DTW Metro Airport, minutes from the vibrant energy of Novi and Detroit, and within driving distance of Ann Arbor’s intellectual spark, we understand the ever-evolving digital terrain and have the expertise to navigate it with success.

Think of Google as the sprawling kingdom of this digital landscape, where countless businesses vie for attention. Ranking high in search results is akin to having a magnificent castle positioned on a prominent hilltop, visible to all approaching travelers. But simply building a castle isn’t enough. You need to optimize it, fortify it, and make it known throughout the land. This is where the magic of SEO unfolds.

Beyond Keywords: The Multifaceted SEO Approach

While keyword research remains a cornerstone of SEO, it’s only the first step in our comprehensive strategy. We delve deeper, understanding the intricate interplay of various factors that influence your search ranking:

Reviews: Imagine your castle adorned with glowing testimonials from satisfied guests. Online reviews on platforms like Google My Business, Yelp, and Facebook act as powerful social proof, influencing potential customers’ decisions and boosting your credibility.

Backlinks: Think of backlinks as bridges connecting your castle to other prominent landmarks in the kingdom. Earning backlinks from high-authority websites signals trust and relevance to search engines, elevating your castle’s stature in the digital landscape.

Citations: Just like accurate maps need precise location markers, consistent citations with your business address and contact information across online directories are crucial for local SEO. Think of them as signposts guiding search engines directly to your virtual castle.

Video Content: In today’s visually driven world, captivating video content like YouTube videos are invaluable treasures within your castle walls. They engage visitors, improve dwell time, and even directly influence search rankings, making your castle a must-see destination.

BuzzWire Media: Crafting Your Digital Masterpiece

Beyond understanding these SEO elements, we excel at integrating them seamlessly into your overall online presence:

SEO-friendly Web Design: Your castle’s architecture matters. We design websites optimized for search engines, ensuring efficient crawling and indexing, while prioritizing a user-friendly experience that keeps visitors engaged.

Mobile-Responsive Design: In a world constantly on the move, your castle must be accessible from any device. We create mobile-friendly websites, ensuring your virtual doors are always open to smartphone and tablet users.

Compelling Content: Fill your castle with informative blog posts, articles, and captivating videos that educate, entertain, and establish your brand as an industry leader. High-quality content is the drawbridge attracting visitors and transforming them into loyal subjects.

Social Media Management: Leverage the power of social media to further amplify your presence and engage with your target audience. We craft engaging content and manage your social media channels, turning them into bustling marketplaces within your digital kingdom.

Location, Location, Digital Domination:

Being situated in Westland, MI, grants us a unique perspective on the local digital landscape. We understand the specific needs and opportunities for businesses in the region, and our proximity to key cities like:

Ann Arbor: Home to the University of Michigan and a hub for innovation and technology.

Detroit: The Motor City, rich in history and undergoing a cultural renaissance.

Novi: A center for commerce and retail, boasting a diverse business landscape.

Dearborn: Home to Ford Motor Company and a symbol of American manufacturing prowess.

Allows us to tailor our SEO strategies to the specific local digital ecosystem, ensuring your castle stands out amongst the competition.

Don’t navigate the digital labyrinth alone. Partner with BuzzWire Media and unlock the powerful potential of SEO. We’ll guide you through the intricate paths, build your digital castle with a sturdy SEO foundation, and ensure your brand shines brightly in the online landscape. Contact us today and let’s embark on your journey to digital dominion!

BuzzWire Media – 6528 Commerce Dr Westland, MI 48185 (820) 280-2828

[angstics]

transcript of sufjan steven's writing at the back of the michigan vinyl (transcribed by u/cynicalis):

Welcome to Michigan! The waterways and waterfalls! Soo locks, state parks and Walloon Lake. The apple farms and cherry blossoms and two striking peninsulas bordering four Great Lakes! The sandy shore-lines, the spring-fed rivers, the Mackinac Bridge! Blissfest! Henry Ford! Tulip Time! Motown music! Bring a set of clubs, try your swing at Harbour Point. Wear the tan pants with pockets on the hips. Carry the things in them that matter most: the paper matchbook from Petoskey, your sister's postcards from Marquette, a turkey feather, a rabbit's foot. Sip lemonade and listen for the biplanes overhead making figure eights in the sky. Carry a canoe around St. Mary's Rapid, like the Ojibway. Overhead, sixteen geese cast their shadow V over the straits of Mackinac. There is the smell of leaves burning, wood stoves, cigar smoke and compost.

The people are generous, warm, outgoing, helpful, industrious, always willing to lend a hand. They give clear directions to the interstate. Have you been to Frankenmuth? Christmas in July? The Renaissance Festival? The Renaissance Center? Have you harvested baby's breath in abandoned lots? Have you been on a three-wheeler, a snowmobile, a ferry to Beaver Island? There are rainbow trout and catfish, beaver dams, curious raccoons, and mourning doves moaning overhead, balanced on power lines.

Follow 1-75 downstate to Detroit. Listen for the lonely echo in Tiger Stadium, traffic on Grand River Avenue, the empty aisles of Hudson's, long abandoned. Look around and spend the day in mourning. Oh Detroit, you complicated old man, nearly dead, with your shoulders arched over the river, polluted and gray, the threads of your shirt worn down with disease and car exhaust. You have grown thin with industry, car factories, riots, raids, transportation nightmares. You have eaten Coney dogs with relish and onion. You have built magnificent buildings only to burn them. Your children's children have squandered their dowry. They strut on the streets. They throw trash in the trees and hang their laundry on ropes fit for hanging.

Oh Detroit, what have you done to man, his wife and kids, his cousins, his music, his hairstyles, his shoes with white tips, his pleated pants, his elbow slung out the car window, his basketball courts, his officers downtown, his nightclubs, his shirtsleeve tucked over a pack of cigarettes, his imagination, his industry, his sense of humor, his home? Oh Detroit, what have you done to city hall, the public trains, the workers' union, the Eastern Market, Boblo Island, the Ambassador Bridge? Where have you put your riches, where have you hid your treasure? Your concrete over-passes, your avenues as wide as rivers, your suburbs bloated with brick homes and strip malls and discount liquor stores and resale shops. When you are dead and gone, who will care for your children's children. They have run wild with the bastard boys around the streets, reckless car rides downtown, rigorous dancing, drug taking, knife-stabbing, pillow-stuffing, tail wagging restlessness. They have been drunk with this for years. They have been out of their minds. They have been left with nothing.

Even still, here and now, there is a renaissance of hope. The streets will take up horns and play free jazz, the buses will clang their bells in time, the buildings once burned out will be home to the homeless. Living rooms will be filled with furniture. Broken families will reconcile. Women will be honored with lilac wreaths. Men will begin to lower their voices. Children will fill playgrounds and parks with the sounds of their playing.

Who can call us father, or who can call us son? If we have regarded ourselves abandoned by whatever thing (a person, a lover, a parent, a false prophet, ourselves), then we have lost touch with the great family, ourselves, all of us together, in this great place called Michigan. Who is your neighbor? He is your brother. Who is that stranger? She is your mother. The man downstairs hammering on the wall, the woman blow-drying her hair in the bathroom-these people are your family. Have you lost your mother to death? Have you lost your father to disease, to war, alcohol, drugs, a car accident? Nothing can replace them. They have been made known completely in death, to whatever supernatural landscape (who can say for sure?). Until then, it is our hard task to welcome the widows, the children, the orphans, the fatherless into our family. What little effort it takes -- a friendly nod at the stranger on the street, giving change to the man who asks, saying hello or goodbye, opening doors, keeping our mouths shut. In the small things, the day-to-day gestures, the normal business of the day, we do the great work of the kingdom, which is to welcome each unlikely individual into the fold, one person at a time.

We do these things, not because we are Michiganders, but because we have been called to participate in the world’s creation from the very beginning. Making music. Baking cakes. Sewing curtains. These things mean something greater: that we have been known from the very start. Our eye color, our hairline, our jawline, the shape of our big toe, the tone of our voice. These things have been designed from the very beginning. What kind of music we listen to. The sort of skirt that looks good. The baseball cap, the tennis shoe, the orange bandana. We have been made to find these things for ourselves and take them in as ours, like adopted children: habits, hobbies, idiosyncrasies, gestures, moods, tastes, tendencies, worries. They have been put in us for good measure.

Perhaps we don’t like what we see: our hips, our loss of hair, our shoe size, our dimples, our knuckles too big, our eating habits, our disposition. We have disclosed these things in secret, likes and dislikes, behind doors with locks, our lonely rooms, our messy desks, our empty hearts, our sudden bursts of energy, our sudden bouts of depression. Don’t worry. Put away your mirrors and your beauty magazines and your books on tape. There is someone right here who knows you more than you do, who is making room on the couch, who is fixing a meal, who is putting on your favorite record, who is listening intently to what you have to say, who is standing there with you, face to face, hand to hand, eye to eye, mouth to mouth. There is no space left uncovered. This is where you belong.

[rabbitcruiser]

On September 30, 1861, the chewing gum king William Wrigley Jr. was born in Philadelphia.

[noman-007]

Iconic Chicago Wedding Photography Locations

Chicago is full of iconic spots that make for stunning wedding photography. Here are some of the best locations in the city for capturing memorable wedding moments:

Perfect Blue Maternity Dress

Millennium Park

Millennium Park is a favorite spot for wedding photos. The famous “Bean” (Cloud Gate) sculpture offers a modern and unique backdrop. The park also has beautiful gardens and fountains, combining urban and nature shots.

Chicago Riverwalk

With stunning views of the Chicago skyline and river, the Riverwalk offers a perfect blend of city life and water. Couples can capture romantic moments on the bridges or along the scenic pathways.

Lincoln Park Zoo and Nature Boardwalk

For couples who want nature in the heart of the city, Lincoln Park Zoo and the nearby Nature Boardwalk offer beautiful greenery, a pond, and skyline views. The pavilion at the Nature Boardwalk is a popular spot for its unique architecture.

North Avenue Beach

This location provides breathtaking views of the Chicago skyline with Lake Michigan as the backdrop. North Avenue Beach is ideal for couples looking for urban and natural scenery.

Art Institute of Chicago

The historic steps and stunning architecture of the Art Institute are perfect for a classy and timeless wedding photo shoot. The lush gardens behind the museum also provide a peaceful, romantic setting.

Navy Pier

Navy Pier is an excellent option for couples looking for a fun and lively setting. The Ferris wheel, boardwalk, and lake views offer fun and scenic shots.

Wrigley Building

The Wrigley Building, a Chicago icon with classic architecture along the Magnificent Mile, is perfect for sophisticated wedding photos. Its grand staircase and riverside location make it ideal for photo shoots.

Adler Planetarium

The Adler Planetarium has one of the best views of the Chicago skyline. Couples can capture breathtaking shots with the city and Lake Michigan in the background, especially during sunset.

Lurie Garden

Hidden in Millennium Park, Lurie Garden is a peaceful and picturesque location with blooming flowers and a sense of privacy. It’s a perfect spot for intimate, nature-inspired wedding photos.

The Chicago Cultural Center

For an indoor option, the Chicago Cultural Center is a stunning choice. Its grand staircase, Tiffany dome, and ornate architecture make it a timeless and elegant location for wedding photography.

These locations offer diverse backdrops, making Chicago a top city for wedding photography.

Final Words about Iconic Photoshoots In Fashion

Iconic fashion photoshoots are more than just pictures. They capture moments that change how we see beauty and style. A simple photo with a suitable model, clothes, and photographer can become legendary. These shoots often create new trends and leave a lasting impact on fashion and culture.

Some of the most famous photoshoots, like Kate Moss for Calvin Klein, stick in our minds because they show something fresh and bold. These images inspire people, making us think differently about what fashion can be. In the end, iconic photoshoots are like works of art, reminding us that fashion is more than clothes. It is a way to tell stories and express ideas.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Collapses In Court," Border Cities Star. April 14, 1934. Page 11. ---- Young Wife Swoons As Husband Hears His Sentence ---- For Old Crime ---- Henry Schacht Gets 2 Years For Hijacking And Assault in 1930

Two years in the Portsmouth Penitentiary at Kingston was the sentence meted out to Alex Schacht in Windsor Court today for an offence committed three years ago. As Magistrate Brodie pronounced the term, Schacht's beautiful young wife collapsed in her seat in the court-room. She was revived in ten minutes by first aid measures.

LAW DOESN'T FORGET Schacht, now 28, and a former resident of East Windsor, returned to the Border Cities three weeks ago to find the law had not forgotten him. He was promptly arrested and charged with robbery by violence on the complaint of Arsene Emery of Belle River. On trial Monday, he was found guilty of hijacking a load of liquor and administering a beating to Emery that left the man with a triple jaw fracture. That was the night of November 17, 1930, when Schacht, with four recruits, pursued Emery and caught up with him in Memorial Park.

When Emery found he had made a wrong turn off Tecumseh road and could drive his car no farther through the park, he leaped out and attempted to escape on foot. Evidence was to the effect that Schacht followed him and knocked him down, while Roy Formigan assisted in beating the man up. Emery declared that in addition to bearing away the liquor sold him originally by William "Bull" Fielding. $79 in cash was removed from one of his pockets.

FORMIGAN SENTENCED Formigan was sentenced to two years in penitentiary February 25, 1931, for his share in the assault, Schacht declared in his evidence that Formigan was responsible for breaking Emery's jaw, but Magistrate Brodie held the accused equally guilty.

Alfred Turner, 343 Oak avenue, who had pleaded guilty to trespass and theft of packing paper from Canadian Pacific Railway cars, was sentenced to 30 days in county jail on the latter charge. On the trespass count, a fine of $10 and costs, or seven days, to run concurrently, was ordered.

Melvin Rupert, 516 Bridge avenue, and Gordon Robinson, 231 Bridge, both 16, were found guilty on similar charges, preferred by Inspector MacTavish and Constable Wilson, of the C. P. R. police. The two officers testified to catching both in the act of stealing paper, and emphasized the danger of accidents consequent on thieves leaving the doors of refrigerator cars open. The two accused were ordered released on suspended sentence for one year. Rupert had already been on suspended sentence for theft of Christmas trees, the term having expired on March 1.

Edward Kearney, 18, of Ridgetown, charged with reckless driving in consequence of an accident at the Wyandotte-Pelissier street intersection last night, was remanded to April 21. Kearney's car, proceeding south on Pelissier, ran through the stop sign and crashed into another auto in charge of Richard Lilly, 221 Partington avenue, who was driving east on Wyandotte street. Lilly and his wife suffered minor shock and the car was badly damaged.

BIRTHPLACE PUZZLE Despite information supplied by Detective Sergeant John Burns that Ray Forbes was born in Wiarton, Ontario, Ray still persists in the belief that a place in Northern Michigan is the town of his nativity. The court is still puzzled about this case because Ray is very emphatic in his assertions and his statement seems strange in view of the fact that he has been deported from the United States four times as an alien.

Ray, who is charged as a vagrant, was released in Salvation Army custody and is to report back in one week. In the meantime further research as to his birthplace will continue.

ADMITS ILLEGAL PURCHASE Fred Yankovitch, of 1587 Pierre avenue, pleaded guilty to purchasing liquor illegally. He was fine $27.50. Remainder of the docket was devoted to discussions of marital relations.

Two wives, living apart from their husbands, appeared seeking increases in their allowances.

[Schacht was 28, born in Russia to 'Volga Germans', married, had a chest tattoo of monument, and was a motor mechanic. He had only a single short jail term of 30 days to his name. He was convict #3441 and worked in the motor shop at Kingston penitentiary. He was reported a number of times and transferred to a hard labour department. He was released October 1935.]

[unpretty]

Posted on August 8, 2004 at three minutes to midnight:

Today was one of the worst days I've ever had at work. Allow me to explain.

I work as deck crew for a sightseeing boat company in Chicago that does architecture tours on the river downtown. I had already worked two 15 hour days Friday and Saturday and intentionally showed up a half hour late this morning to try and squeeze another half hour of sleep in (I knew what had to be done in the morning on the boat that I was on, because I left it eight hours previous, and knew how long setup would take). Needless to say, I was already ready to go home.

Then came the 1 o'clock architecture ride. 117 ticketed passengers on board plus an extra four who showed up on Michigan Avenue for a boat ride that actually launches out of Navy-fucking-Pier, whom we were nice enough to let on for free.

We're puttering down the river, we turn north at the junction and proceed, as we do on every tour, beneath the Kinzie Street bridge. Now, the bridges all have grated decking. You can look up and see the sky through them. In the Captain's pre-tour safety announcements it's usually mentioned one should not look up with your mouth open in wonder, since a car might go by and you might get an unpleasant "Taste of Chicago" ha ha ha. (The Taste of Chicago is an annual summer food festival held in Grant Park.)

Now, that really never actually ever happens. Not that I've ever seen. Today, of course, had to be different.

I'm relaxed in the pilot house with a crossword (since during the rides themselves I just sit while the people get their tour from the volunteer docent, and the crossword kept me awake) when I hear this splattering noise, like a heavy rain, and a few scattered yelps. I get up, go outside, and look out over the passengers seated on the deck.

The passengers on the left side are all wet, and appear horrified. Something behind the boat is raining through the bridge into the river.

"Shit," I think, "some idiot Streets & San employee just went over with a street sweeper and soaked our passengers."

Then I notice the passengers appear a lot more horrified than that.

"Oh my god!"

"It got in my mouth!"

"It's urine!"

The smell hits me. It's old urine.

Ah, shit.

I look up onto the bridge and see a black coach bus, like the kinds old ladies take group vacations on, disappearing past the buildings. They had gone over the bridge, and being ignorant fucks probably decided they could skip a pisstank pumpout by just opening it into the river, through the bridge. Talk about the wrong place at the wrong time.

I said to the captain, "Turn the boat around. Now."

Now, being the assigned deck crew on this ride, I have to handle this. The captain has to drive. Needless to say, I'm not entirely sure how to handle 60 people who all need to be sanitized and given antibiotic shots at once. We train to handle people falling into the water, heat stroke, shit like that, not a torrential downpour of human waste beneath Kinzie street.

All I can do at this point is hold my breath and give away every paper towel and work rag on the boat, and wait until I have a clear idea of exactly what to tell them as a whole. Some passengers are of course visibly distressed. Women have hair matted to their face, peoples clothing is sticking to them, babies are crying. I'm close to being sick all over the deck, and really worried that someone else is going to, because I know as soon as someone does it's just going to be a domino wave of barfing that will sweep across the boat like a sickly sweet stomach shockwave.

Nobody did. Thank God for small favors (you know, the ones He thinks make up for shit like this).

These people, to put it bluntly, were very pissed off. Now I also get to be the company PR face, so like a good little worker bee I try and balance being as helpful and understanding and apologetic as I can, with helping to maintain the balance of the Bureaucratic Tower of Shit looming above me.

The captain's already on the cell phone doing damage control. I'm to tell everyone they are, of course, granted full refunds, and anybody that needs anything extra on top of it because of what happened will get it. I'm specifically told to mention that while we can't call ten ambulances down because the situation is not life threatening, a lot of them are going to want to visit a hospital sometime soon. What I don't mention is some of the shit these people will now have to worry about, ranging from tetanus to hepatitis. The best we can do for them is pay for a cab to Northwestern Hospital for anyone who needs it.

Then come the usual asshats.

"We want a representative on the dock, to take names of everyone involved in this."

"How is all this stuff of mine going to be replaced? There's no way I'm going to pay for this."

"You coming out here and telling us that we can have refunds and cab fare to a hospital is downright fucking insulting. I want a bus for these people."

( You want a bus? Excuse me, then, Spartacus, while I pull one out of my ass. )

"Refunds? A lot of us have jewelry on that's now soaked in urine."

( I wasn't aware gold could be used to soak up liquids. )

"I have a flight to catch at five, and now I've got urine in my phone, in my clothes."

You have three fucking dots on your sleeve, and let me remind you this is not our fault. It's not as if the captian saw that shit pouring down and drove under it anyway.

The problem, of course, was that little bridge joke. It's funny only if it doesn't happen. Now that they've all got that "Taste of Chicago", people have the idea in their heads this shit happens all the time and that we know about it, and are therefore to be held accountable for what is in reality a rather fucked up act of God (see above).

We're back at the dock, and an army of urine-soaked people march on the ticket office. Great, they're gone and now they're Diane's problem.

"Well," I thought, "The dock guys are gonna help clean up the boat, and I get to go home early."

Nope. No such luck. As the five of us, including the bartender on the boat, are scrubbing off all 104 chairs and the deck, The captain reappears.

"Who's been telling people there's no 3 o'clock?"

"Not I," says I, then I stop in mid scrub. "Wait ... there's a 3 o'clock?"

"Yeah, they want to send us back out on the 3, and then the 5 after it."

Ah, shit.

"Are you kidding me? My shoes and pants legs are soaked in piss and boat soap and they want us to turn the boat around in a half hour for another god damned ride?"

"Yep, 'fraid so."

The Bureaucratic Tower of Shit, I think, is defined as people at the top having no idea what's actually going on at the bottom, and vice versa.

A call is placed to my father, who now has to make a forty minute drive into the city with a change of clothes for me. (He didn't make it by 3, and I had to spend the next 90 minutes trapped on the boat in fucking nasty clothes thanks to the main office and their money.)

Meantime, though, as I scrub my way to the back end (stern), I'm basically running the hose directly into the all-weather speaker to try and get rid of the smell back there. It won't go away. I then look up at the American flag flying off the pole on the stern.

Ah, shit. It's soaked too.

We cut it down, I take it and make sure I fold it proper, with the triangles and shit, and then of course we smuggle it around past the pilot house where the passengers won't see us placing it into a trash bag to deal with later. :ninja:

Cleanup continues, until a guy on the dock wants to talk to me. I've had people coming up constantly and asking things, what do I do about this, where do I go for that, and I just point at the ticket office and say "Talk to them."

Before I can do that to him he says, "Hi. I'm a photographer for the Chicago Tribune."

Ah, shit.

Company policy is that all press stuff has to be directed to our main office. The main office is out in Palatine and nobody there knows a god damned thing about what goes on on the dock anyway besides how much money we make them.

He adds, "I've been getting some good shots of you all cleaning up the boat, and I thought it was touching the way you still folded the flag properly. :911: Can I get your name?"

:what:

A 3 o'clock, huh? Yeah, you can get my name. I'll spell the son of a bitch.

So now at least it's over, I'm showered, and I may be in the paper tomorrow.

Any Chicagoons have any ideas as to who might have shat on our boat? Black coach bus, gold letters (nobody got a chance to read them). A few people independently described it as a "Rock and Roll bus," which I can't really explain the meaning behind but it seems important.

I finished the crossword except for 7 letters too. :cool:

Twenty years ago today, a tour bus belonging to the Dave Matthews Band crossed the Kinzie Street Bridge in Chicago and dumped an estimated 800 pounds of waste onto unsuspecting tourists below.

This is that story.

[hometownhistorychicago]

June 26, 1954: Nearing the end of its strange, 13-year journey from the Deutsche Werft shipyard in Hamburg on the shores of the Baltic to the Palace of Fine Arts on the shores of Lake Michigan, the U-505 arrives in Chicago under tow and is docked in the river near the Michigan Avenue bridge with veterans of the action aboard. The only enemy warship captured by the US Navy on the high seas since the War of 1812, U-505 was seized by Task Force 22.3 under the command of native Chicagoan Captain Daniel V. Gallery.

Gallery was raised in a well-to-do family in the West Side Irish neighborhood just south of where the University of Illinois-Chicago is located today. Gallery attended St. Ignatius Prep, but his father was infatuated with the Navy and planned for Daniel to go to Annapolis; Gallery dropped out of St. Ignatius to cram for the Naval Academy entrance exam, which he took and passed at age 16, becoming a midshipman.

Originally intended to be destroyed as a target, Gallery got the idea of saving her as a monument to US Navy veterans. He contacted his younger brother, Father John Ireland Gallery, who knew Lenox Lohr, the President of the Museum of Science and Industry and asked if MSI would be interested — which, of course, it was. The Chicago Tribune led a fundraising campaign to get the boat to Chicago, and the boat was towed from Portsmouth through the Great Lakes to the city — the Trib following her every movement (even volunteering McCormick’s own vessel).

Once U-505 arrived at MSI, the question remained what to do with her. The Navy had completely stripped bare all the interior compartments, so Gallery, by then a Rear Admiral, suggested Lohr contact the German companies that manufactured U-boats during the war to ask if they could provide some assistance. Every one of them agreed, writing to Lohr, “We are sorry you have our U-boat, but since you do we want her to be a credit to German technology,” and provided all the parts free of charge.

Other than the holes cut in the hull to allow visitors to move in and out of the boat, U-505 could put to sea again to this day. She is one of only four surviving U-boats in the world.