Forty Years Ago
One of the oldest persons in the country, Dr. Katheryn Hagge Schwartz, died here in March 1968. An Altenheim Home resident her last 10 years, she was believed to be the oldest woman doctor in the nation, dying at 106. On arriving at the home in 1958 she almost immediately took an open position on the board. She graduated from the University of Illinois Medical School in 1888, marrying Dr. Lothar Schwartz shortly afterward. They practiced medicine in Chicago together and separately for more than 40 years. Her prescription for a long, quality life was, “Drink a glass of port wine before dinner, follow a sensible diet and keep your mind engaged and alert.”
Just about the time this good doctor died the Madden Zone Health Center came into being. Located at 1200 Roosevelt Road, it is affiliated with the Loyola University Medical Center-one of eight such zone hospitals in Illinois. It offers mental health treatment, services and rehabilitation to the following counties: south Cook, south DuPage, Kendall, Grundy and Will. (Sounds like tornado alley). The facility was named after John J. Madden, M.D., 1902-1962, a pioneer in the Illinois mental health movement. Like other zone hospitals, the Madden was created to provide care and treatment without embarrassment or undue delay.
From the March 7, and May 8, 1968, Forest Park Review
Thirty Years Ago
Letters … we get letters. Including this one in which the writer admits to loneliness: “I am an extremely lonely, intelligent and good-looking white male prisoner. You [the editor] can help me by printing this sincere request for letters and friendship in your paper. Please write to Kenneth Hugh Evans #143512, Box 45699, Lucasville, Ohio, 45699.”
Here’s a 30-year-old article on “little strokes” that may be more up to date than you think: “Little strokes can take place in a person in their 30s or 40s, striking silently at night, passing unnoticed as a fleeting dizzy spell, a momentary blackout or a simple moment of confusion. They’re often not severe enough to see a physician but some brain damage can occur.
“A kind, gentle person may become irritable, his judgment often impaired. An emotionally strong person may become weak, maybe prone to tears. Odd behavior, in general, can-or not-signal a little stroke. They’re pretty common, but an awareness of their symptoms might be worth your attention.”
From the April 26, 1978, Forest Park Review
Twenty Years Ago
A semi-sickening incident that totally didn’t have to happen was included in our police reports. See it from the victim’s point of view, like it was happening to you. You’re a 15-year-old Oak Park girl obeying the rules as you steer your mo-ped eastbound on Harrison Street. You drive with extra care because you carry a 3-year-old passenger. As you approach Elgin Avenue, you’re jolted forward by some force. It takes a second to realize you’ve been rear-ended by a 49-year-old drunk unable to control his ’83 Chevy. Turns out the small one is okay, but you’re atop the drunk’s hood, and it takes him about 100 feet to stop. He claims he never saw the stop sign. You claim to your insurance company that you have multiple fractures, internal injuries and abrasions. Shortly after, police claim our man blew a woozy .16 on the ol’ Breathalyzer.
From the May 18, 1988, Forest Park Review
Ten Years Ago
Yes, there’s a caretaker family still living in that well-kept, neat, Tudor style home on the grounds of Concordia Cemetery. The place has been there since 1931, and the fifth set of on-premise cemetery managers has been the Gary Neubeister family-there since 1988. Himself, now 62; wife, Tina; daughter, Heather, 27; son, Grant, 15, and-since the Review ran on article on them in 1998-Eric, 9, not yet accounted for anywhere in ’98. Gary, a Forest Park native, has been a Concordia employee for more than 40 years, starting as a groundskeeper, earning a bachelor’s degree at Elmhurst College before overseeing the management of the grounds.
Yes, thank you, the family’s heard all those clever remarks from “Are your neighbors noisy?” to “Who you having over for Halloween?”
From the March 25, 1998, Forest Park Review
Bob wasn’t so much born, as harvested, in a dirt lot in Yonkers, N.Y., in 1932. His family encouraged him to join the Air Force (ours) during the Korean War. There, he fell into the clutches of Barbara Miles. They still have two world-class daughters, Jill and Cara. “Each of the four of us likes the other three of us,” says Bob.