Forty Years Ago
Sometimes, new people here see things differently from established residents. Here’s a letter from a disenchanted voter with a valid point of view, whether you agree or not. It’s in response to the 2-to-1 defeat of a referendum calling for the repair of our park’s swimming pool:
“Forest Park voters have done it again on defeating the most recent pool bond issue. It is discouraging to us new residents who live in your beautiful apartments and condominiums to know that the ‘Good Old Forest Parkers’ would rather boast of 50 taverns than an aggressive recreation program for the youth of our village. You, Forest Park, have outdone yourself in shortsightedness. Look east, I’m looking west.”-Disappointed resident.
An unusual resume entry for Forest Park seaman/radioman William Andrews of 912 Marengo. He served aboard the nuclear powered fleet ballistic missile submarine USS Woodrow Wilson. Andrews entered the Navy after graduating from Proviso East in 1966. The Wilson was one of the Navy’s fleet of Polaris subs, and its home port was in Holy Loch, Scotland.
From the Oct. 26 and 19, 1967, Forest Park Review
Thirty Years Ago
There used to be a theater supper club on Harlem Avenue in Summit. It was called The Candlelight Dinner Playhouse, and it put on some remarkable musicals. Of these, three stand out. A little-revived work created by Anthony Newley called “The Roar of the Greasepaint, the Smell of the Crowd” … Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “Oklahoma!” and … “Fiddler on the Roof” with Tevye, the impoverished milkman, played by Lee Pelty, a favorite at the Candlelight.
Three other factors kept the place very popular for a couple of decades: the restaurant put out wonderful dinners, and the quality of the entertainment was as consistent as the food served. And the price was right.
Portrait of a couple of busy losers out to cash in on Madison Street on a Thursday evening: Two Forest Park policemen had the twosome, a man and woman, under surveillance following a disturbance report. The couple had left Famous Liquors for a TV repair and sales store, where the officer observed the woman in conversation with a counterman inside, while the man took a portable TV set and wrap his coat around it. When apprehended, the man gave up the set. Police then found narcotics and hypodermic syringes in the woman’s possession. Busy, but not very productive.
From the Oct. 26, 1977, Forest Park Review
Twenty Years Ago
Last week we singled out Officer Martin Moy as a specialist trained in the subtleties of police work–this in addition to his regular duties as a patrolman. With the recent advancement of micro-investigation and genetics as depicted on “CSI” dramatizations, police work here and elsewhere has gotten quite sophisticated. Even in the 1980s Moy was able to say, “Often, before I reached the accident, I knew what had happened. And the goriest aspect of the work, the extraction of victims, is handled by the fire department.”
With the accident scene sealed off and left untouched, Moy goes to work. He interviews involved parties and other witnesses. Often, contradictions lead to new lines of investigation. Tire marks, roadway damage, condition of vehicles–even the emotional state and, of course, any alcoholic intake are also measured factors; taken together, modern methods like these are more likely than ever to uncover causes.
From the Dec. 12, 1987, Forest Park Review
Ten Years Ago
This year there’s an application for a club on Industrial Drive (or is it Cemetery Road?) that would feature nude dancing. Ten years back there was a “cat house” on the 400 block of Elgin Avenue. And it was literally a house of cats–about 70. All kinds, all ages, all colors, all markings, all genders and all sizes. Their conspicuousness came to light when neighbors complained. The smell of cats outdid the sight of them.
Two brothers, they said, took in strays. Soon, kittens outnumbered cats, while the brothers kept taking in cats. Nearby homeowners got the brothers to work with the village. Gradually, the number of felines was reduced to nine. A tale of nine cats?
From the Oct. 29, 1997, Forest Park Review