My Grandfather, Sam Fox had a stand, and a store on Maxwell Street. I worked there on weekends, selling coveralls, baby dresses and bundles of socks. Great memories of colorful characters. Jaymar jewelers (Marvin) shared space with us, so we had a variety of customers and visitors. I would love to find pictures of the … Read More
My father, a WWII vet and mortician from the small town of Ottawa, west of Chicago, would visit a tailor shop on Maxwell street once a year to purchase 2 new black suits. At some time after my birth in ’56 he began to take me on this annual spring trip. We would park under … Read More
Chapter 8 in the 2017 book: Being and Homelessness: Notes from an Underground Artist: “The Lost Culture of Maxwell Street” by John H. Sibley It was an icy-cold Sunday afternoon in January as I devoured one of Jim’s Original Polish Sausages. The pungent open-air odor of grilled food wafted past my nostrils as hot onions, … Read More
Central to my mother’s endless quest for adventure, nothing more stimulated her adrenal glands than the great American hunt for bargains. If there was not a bargain at the end of her rainbow, life lost its color and its spirit of adventure. For my sister Rosalyn and me, the adage, “I can get it for … Read More