Facebook | Home

Quoted from http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=278580&id=1578267305#/home.php?ref=home:

Facebook | Home

facebook.com/buck.hales.

Carbon-Dale

There's an old joke on me, that if I were a (fill in the blank) I would be (fill in the blank)-Dale. Basketball player-- Airedale, wooddale, springdale etc. So, if I were an element I would be, you guessed it, Carbon-Dale. And so, here I am, in my element. And it really does seem to be so. It's not that I can't tell that I am here, its just hard to believe! Pinch me I must be dreaming. Ouch, no, that's not me pinching myself, its one of the innumerable flying, stinging biting insects that thrive in this sultry climate. With in my first 24 hours of living here my legs were covered with bites, and I have been lathering my legs with Bendryl lotion prior to liberal application of DEET. I have a new fondness for Backwoods Off.

After the movers had departed and we were alone in our new house, Ryder and I put on our gym shoes and socks and headed out in to the woods with Mirabel leading the charge. The woods behind our house and extending for 100s of acres beyond our property are dense with oak, hickory, sweet gum, dogwood-- all very tall and straight, reaching well over 75 feet by my estimation. We went as far as we could working our way around the fallen trees and soon found ourselves lost and disoriented. It took about 30 minutes bashing through the stinging nettles, wild roses, raspberries and fallen trees to catch sight of the house. We found the old fence lines that mark the property and navigated our way back to the house, our legs scratched and bitten. Fortunately we did not encounter poison ivy which is reported to be prevalent in these parts.

The terrible inland hurricane, now referred to as the derecho, causes huge damage to the woods and hundreds of these old tall trees were felled. The ground had been saturated by the very wet spring and when the straight line 100+ mph winds blew through here on May 8, the ground was not able to hold the roots and the trees toppled, one onto the other, literally like dominoes, and the line of fallen trees cut a narrow swath tens of miles long through the woods, bisecting Carbondale, causing millions of dollars of damage. Power was out for nearly a week and many homes suffered extensive damage. Our house was sparred any direct hits, though our immediate neighbors took a tree to the garage. One of our colleagues lost their rear deck to a fallen tree. The lovely path around Campus Lake is still impassable due to the carnage, if you could call it that. Huge oaks lay on their sides with only the limbs that blocked roads or knocked down power lines having been cut off and dragged out of the way. An inadvertent stimulus to the local economy, providing more work to laborers than has been available in these parts in years. The cleanup will go on for months, if not years. Until I go into the woods on Hales Acres with a chain saw, the fallen trees and tangle of broken limbs will remain. We will have enough firewood forever by the looks of it.

We left our empty Oak Park home at 2 PM on June 11th with Karen and Ryder in the Subaru with three cats and me driving the Mazda with two dogs. The cars were packed to the windows with all the stuff that didn't make it onto the moving van. Our caravan pulled into the drive way on Hunt Road at about 9 PM, in the gathering darkness. Our first delightful discovery was that we could pull both cars into the garage even with the Thule rack on top of Mister House. We closed the garage and opened the car doors and came into our new empty, clean house. Like a dream, only this time, this trip to Carbondale is the big move. We now live here. Really? Can it be true? Do we now really live in this fantastic house on this secluded beautiful wooded lot? Zowee.

We pitched out air mattresses and sleeping bags in the rose room and slept well until 7 the next morning when the movers called to say they were here but couldn't figure out how to get the truck to the house. The neighbors and the sellers both had expressed their doubts about a 54 foot tractor-trailer being able to make it to the house. When they had moved they had to shuttle between the house and the van parked in the Walmart lot. But our movers were determined and also talented and backed the moving truck over a half mile all the way down Hunt Road from old hiway 13. These guys were great. It took them all day, and half the next to unload the truck and move our vast possessions into the house-- and then move the stuff around to where we thought it should go. Then we went to SIU and they moved all the stuff into the lab. It only took a few hours to unload the lab, having a loading dock and elevators made short work of my 20 year collection of labware. The big New Brunswick environmental shaker was that last to come off the truck. So far only one causality was the nice Ikea floor lamp we bought to stage our OP house for showing (argggg) which was snapped in half. We did find one beer mug that was cracked when we unpacked the glasses, but who knows if it was that way before we packed it. Insurance will replace the lamp, but first we have to unpack the lab and the rest of our stuff to see if there is anything else that didn't make it. Considering that our stuff completely filled the van, all 31,000 pounds of it, one broken lamp is pretty insignificant.

We spent the better part of the time since we've lived here unpacking. The movers packed all our glassware and after we took it all out of the boxes we had a pile of paper up to the ceiling and a pile of flattened boxes 1/4 as high. Our new trash service is happy to haul all these recycleables away in stages. We rolled the paper and bundled the boxes and will feed them to the trash men over the next few weeks. The move gave us the opportunity to collect our various things into one collection of each. It is quite the collection of glasses we have. Some from my father's bar, some from Karen's mom, many from different purchases we've made through the years. Gads, we have enough glasses to equip a tavern! I suppose one of our near future purchases will be a dinning room set with table, hutch and buffet. This house has a formal dining room in addition to the kitchen dining area where the "distressed" old table I made over 30 years now resides. We were tempted to get a new dining room table to stage our house for sale, but our real estate agent convinced us that this old thing I built is tres chic, distressed is in. And this is the trusty and very firm surface this computer rests on while I type this. Glad to be inside on this Father's Day enjoying the A/C. Its well over 90 already and rather humid. This part of being in my element is questionable. I grew up in the dry Colorado air and living in the tropics is going to be the biggest adjustment to living here, as far as I can tell so far. We just love the pace of life of a college town in the summer, and sure don't miss the traffic and crush of people in far off Chicago. We all miss our friends but are so happy to be together, all us here in this paradise. As we took possession of the house, the night of our closing, our new neighbor, also the head of department at SIU, greeted us with "welcome to paradise." I am beginning to appreciate what he meant.

One last ride through the Big Ugly

At long last its come to this. My last day at UIC, my last bike ride commuting through the west side, one last look at the Big Ugly. We had a great group ride in this morning-- the Oak Park Bike Gang, missing only Cliff, the originator of the phrase "Big Ugly", and of course Moe Sullivan, who was with us in spirit, as he always is on these rides. As I rode slowly across Oak Park I was nearly overwhelmed with emotion, missing this amazing town I've lived in for 20 years, even before we've finished packing and moved away. The quiet streets at 6:20 AM, the air thick with moisture from the big rains last night, it was a wonderful glimpse of Oak Park at its best, early morning in the late spring. Eight of us gathered at the west end of Columbus park, and as we prepared to ride, the early morning walkers came by and we got them to shoot a group photo. I think we've seen them nearly every morning for the last several years. As we posed for the photo instead of saying cheese, we were instructed to say "Je-sus!" Blessed be. We rounded the park avoiding Lake Columbus and made our way down Harrison to Laramie where we were greeted by the paper vendors "where everybody at" and "my favorite Caucasians" their standard greetings. After we breezed through the deserted streets of K town, not a gansta in sight, or good old Lucky, we crossed I290 at Kostner and found Mr. Icecream selling his papers, waiting to greet us. Only this time all 8 of us stopped in the median, shook his hand, bid him farewell, and Paul gave him the gift card to Baskin Robins. Years ago he started calling us "ice cream" because of Bob Hake's bike bell. Lately he's been wearing a bike bell around his neck to greet us. He calls Elissa "Lady Icecream" and her son when he rode with us "Junior Icecream". Today we learned that his name is Gregory Pierre and he is a musician. Maybe we've heard him at the Monroe stop on the blue line? Photos were taken and we bid him farewell. One last stop along the way-- the welder at Latham Industries. He has given us the fist in the air salute for the last several years. He is as constant as the morning dew, all these sentinels along the way are-- this time we stopped and chatted with Travis, learning his name for the first time. I told him that I admired his work ethic, and he said, everyday for 21 years. Salt of the earth. People who think of the west side as some great abyss, the dark unknown on either side of the express way just don't know- these good honest hard working folks who have looked out for us as we ride through their neighborhood. It has been a humbling and enlightening experience, one I will cherish. But not miss. Not the glass on the road, the traffic, having to touch down at 40 intersections on the way in. The few gansta teens who terrorized me last fall. I am off to greener rides, in the hills of southern Illinois. The Big Ugly is a beautiful thing, not the land, not the decrepit abandoned buildings, not the concertina wire-- but the people. Thank you for watching over us. And thank you Paul, Elissa, Bob, Bob, Bill, Sue and Scott for giving me such a memorable last ride through the Big Ugly, and a great breakfast too. Now if I make it home safe, I got it made.....

Listen to the thunder shout I am I am

What shall we say, shall we call it by a name
As well to count the angels dancing on a pin
Water bright as the sky from which it came
And the name is on the earth that takes it in
We will not speak but stand inside the rain
And listen to the thunder shout
I am, I am, I am, I am

Weather Report Suite, May 5, 2009, Allstate Arena, last song, first set. Resonating, vibrating, the music sings in me still. I was transported through the time-space continuim, 1983, Red Rocks, the Grateful Dead, the storm gathering over the eastern Colorado plains.... Phil Lesh's booming bass crashing off the rocks encompassing the amphitheater, the thunder gathering, the lightening, the looming rain-- and listen to the thunder shout-- I am, I am, I am, I am..... Fist clenched, jumping up and down, arms raised exultantly into the air, the whole crowd throbbing, jumping, shouting in unison.... I am, I am.... May 2009. Sitting in the banker's corner office, Carbondale, completing the mortgage application. Fish bowl view of the storm... "we will not speak but stand inside the rain....." thunder crahses, the wind howls, the power goes off. Like the scene in the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy's house is spinning and trees are flying by.... I saw a guy on a bicycle trying to ride into the wind, telephone poles snapping off and blowing by like tooth picks. We watch the storm, then the banker completes the computations on his hand held calculator. Everyone else in the bank is hunkered down, ready to retreat to the bank vault. The rain and wind stop and the sun comes out. I shake hands, excited about the purchase of our new home, pleased to be so well treated and highly regarded as a new Carbondale resident. Out side the extent of the damage from the 100 mph straight line winds is barely comprehensible. Branches broken and trees strewn everywhere. Power lines dangling across every street. Everyone out looking around, amazed. Grateful. Just the power out, just some wind damage, no death, no injury. No movement of traffic. As I attempted to drive my rental car back to the Ford dealer, I became increasingly aware of just what a mess the storm had made of my soon to be new home town. It took an hour to drive 1.5 miles. The poor little Focus sustained cracked windshield and it looked like someone pounded it with a hammer. The night before at the Holiday Inn over 20 cars in the parking lot had their windshields broken from the hail and wind. Two storms in 12 hours, the first golf ball size hail and winds. The second, like a tornado with out the rotation. I was really worried about being able to leave Carbondale to get back to Oak Park. Due to track work, amazingly poorly timed by the rail road to coincide with graduation weekend at Southern the biggest egress of people all year, the train stopped in Effingham and finished the last 100 miles via motorcoach, a.k.a. bus. It was a deluxe bus with DVD players, but a bus none the less. The buses had just arrived when the Ford rental guy dropped me at the station. They were caught in the storm, navigating their way around the downed limbs and power lines. I noticed the drivers head to Boobies, so I got my first meal in 8 hours sitting next to them in the ambient light, now well recognized by Joy, the shift manager who makes a mean sandwich. I knew I wouldn't be left behind, sitting at the bar eating next to the drivers. We boarded the bus and headed straight up 51, avoiding the disaster on highway 13. The drive through southern Illinois' back roads all the way north to I64 was beautiful, bucolic, pastoral-- not like the terrain around Chicago. In fact, north of I-70/Effingham is when the topography changes, from flat to hills. It is going to be quite a nice change, being in a more natural world. No longer in the flight path of Ohare. We won't hear the traffic on the Eisenhower or the El thundering past. Or helicopters hovering over the highway reporting on the 20 mile long traffic jams. In stead, we will hear the thunder shouting-- I am, I am.... I am.....

Dead bookends: Tennessee Jed

It was November 1978 and I had flown to Chicago, my first visit to the Windy City, to see the Grateful Dead for a 3 night stand at the Uptown Theater with my old pal Casey. Due to rather unfortunate events and harrowing circumstances, we did not make it to the first show, and recovering from the *events* caused us to miss the 2nd show. Determined to see at least one show, I ventured on my own via the CTA from 85th and Kedzie to the Uptown-- which unto itself for a Colorado boy was quite an adventure. I scored a ticket outside the the theater and found my seat in the cavernous old movie palace. It was a tremendous show, especially enjoyable after all the trouble we'd endured in the past few days. The first set ended with a rousing version of Tennessee Jed, the first time I'd heard it performed in concert. I remember queuing up for the bathroom and talking with a Chicago dead head who had a very different look from the out west heads. A white shirt, black pants and wild long curly black hair. He had an edge to him relative to the mellow fellow deads I knew in Boulder. We agreed enthusiastically about how stellar the rendition of Jed was that we had just experienced. That was my first Chicago Dead show, probably one of the first 20 or so shows I'd seen. Quite an amazing venue. It was so amazingly hot in the Uptown despite being November in Chicago. All that took place during that fateful visit to Chicago is another story.

Flash forward 30 years and 6 months later to May 5, 2009 to the Allstate Arena in Rosemont the Chicago suburb that surrounds Ohare. We have yet one more thing to thank Barack Obama for-- the Dead reunited to support his campaign, and had such a good experience this time around, they decided to go on tour. All four of the originals, plust Waren Haynes and Jeff Kimeti, and they go deep into their song book for this tour. This was my last Dead show in Chicago as a resident of Chicagoland. Now my shows number into the 150s. Grateful Dead shows stopped at #83, but int he 14 years since Jerry died, I have continued to go to Dead, Phil and Friends, Rat Dog, Further festivals to catch any reincarnation of the good old Grateful Dead. And the show was splendid! Ironically, this my *last* show, just like that first show at the Uptown, Casey was supposed to go and couldn't. The parking lot was spectacular, with several rows of tents and booths with the commerce of the dead heads thriving like the Marakesh market place. Food and tie-dye, beers and bongs, liquor and fajitas, hugs and kisses all around. No fear of swine flu here. In places the crowd was intense, in other islands where the flow ebbed, we could pause and soak it all in. Being among our tribe and thriving on the vibe, the prelude to the show that set the tone. I had Casey's ticket and wandered around looking for a potential buyer, but all of the ticket seekers, many of them rasta clad hairy underarmed young hippie girls were looking for a miracle. A delightful sight, and fun to consider gifting them, but watching for a few minutes revealed that these miracle seekers were lurking with their boy friends or clan mates, and were hawking the tickets they scored. So Zech and Mars and I wandered through the throng, enjoy the vibe and taking in the sights, while I awaited inspiration. And then she appeared. Alone, truly and genuinely seeking a ticket, despearately hoping for a miracle. I gave her the ticket and she was moved beyond words by her great fortune. She threw her arms around me and gave me a big lingering hug, then kissed me, and kept thanking me. It was gratifying to have found such a grateful and worthy recipient of the ticket, and it was not unpleasant to have been rewarded by her warm embrace. My two compadres enjoyed watching her response, and we all three sighed as she went skipping off ecstatic with her miracle.

We navigated our way into the venue, surviving search and seirzure with good humor and amusement. Zech's complicated concert approach garnered some additional scrutiny, and his painted face was smiling and beaming the whole while the Rosemont cop tossed his fanny pack. Many concert goers seemed to suffer through discovery at the hands of the cops, but we had nothing to hide and sailed to our seats. And outstanding seats they were! Getting tickets by mail order from GDTSTOO is a very good idea, and it seats you adjacent other knowing folks. And everyone was happy to be there. From teenagers to old farts like us, we were all there for the show. And what a show it was. As the boys starting tooling around, getting set for the opener, I thought I caught a hint of Tennessee Jed, but was surprised by Dancin' in the Streets-- dancing in Chicago! what a great way to open the show. And then--the 2nd song, Tennessee Jed. And a rousing rendition. Warren Haynes covering Jerry's vocals and guitar, quite admirably, but he has made it his own. I was transported to that show back through the years, and reminisced fondly about all the wonderful concert expereiences I've had since I've lived in Chicago. The band was great, the sound excellent and crowd enthused. Some real gems-- Unbroken Chain, a song I have only heard live 2 or 3 times and Phil was in good voice. Truckin! yes, what a long strange trip its been! And the closer was Know You Rider one of those special songs for me. The encore was perfect-- Broke Down Palace and the crowd sang along turning the Allstate Arena into a cathedral, a church filled with 10,000 voices in the choir. And there can be no other song after that one-- fare thee well as we are going home, gonna rest my bones, listen to the river sing this song. yes, mama, many roads I've known since I first left home. Thank you, I will be forever grateful.

Hales Acres

For a year now we have been considering housing in Carbondale, certainly one of the recruiting devices employed by SIU was showing us the favorable housing options in the Carbondale area. It was just a year ago, for the second interview, when Karen and Ryder and I drove down, that we got our first tour of real estate with Marcia. I believe it was that very trip when we saw what became known as the Victorian Legend, and the focus of much thought and planning as the year unfolded. We even made an offer on the 40 acre farm with the grand old Victorian house. Meanwhile, we saw the housing market take a nose dive as the Bush fueld economic disaster dashed our hopes of cashing in on our prime real estate in Oak Park. Despite not having a clear prospect for selling our house, we threw our hat into the ring and offered the appraised amount for the farm. I think its safe to safe we never really felt completely comfortable with the prospect. The main problem being the house. Magnificent Victorian built in 1895 and "completely restored" with new wiring, heat/AC, kitchen etc. It was truly impressive, but it was still so very much like the house we own in Oak Park, a 1913 mini-Victorian, small rooms, no closets, in adequate bathrooms. When the sellers of Victorian wouldn't budge and we couldn't come closer that $70,000 on the deal, we just let it slide and recommenced our serious house hunting venture. This time with refined criteria: as new of a house as possible, with as much land as close to work as we could find. This actually revealed dozens of new options. We spent the last weekend of April in Carbondale, staying at the ever so quaint Pin Oak Motel on the out skirts of town, and toured 12 properties. We had our hopes on the 7 acre place in Blackhawk but it was a real disappointment. Great if we wanted to go into the horse business, but it was a tiny house. The second house we saw, on South Hunt Road, seemed to have just what we were looking for, it was built 1994, 4200 square feet, 5 bedrooms, 3 full baths on 1.5 acres on a secluded lot. As we continued to tour other properties, ranging from rustic to McMansion, we narrowed down our search to three properties. After visiting all three for the second time the house on South Hunt Road, not only emerged as our top choice for this trip, but in fact, was just exactly what we were looking for. I had hoped for more acreage, but this property backs up onto the woods and is just 2 miles west of Crab Orchard National Wildlife area, and though it has just 1.5 acres, the wooded lot goes on forever. It is secluded, but in an 8 property subdivision with lots of 1.5 to 18 acres. It is just 3.8 miles from SIU, so it is secluded, but not remote. We drove back to Oak Park and as soon as we got home called Marcia and made an offer. In marked contrast to the owners of the Victorian farm, the owners of the Hunt Road property do want to sell. We offered, they countered, meeting us half way, and accepted all of the contigencies. Having been preapproved for the loan for the Victorian and having navigated our way through the sales contract with the failed deal, makes doing this deal smooth as silk. I am returning to Carbondale this week for the home inpsection and mortgage application and on the 29th the three of us return for the closing. I think we will camp out in the house after the closing-- an empty nest, soon to be filled with all our stuff that has been stored away for these last months, and our pets who will love the new wilderness they will inhabit. Hales Acres, 724 South Hunt Road. Now, if we can only sell our *other* house....

The Last Lab Meeting

February 14, 1990, I did the first experiment in my new laboratory, the newly founded Hales Lab. On April 30, 2009, the last experiment was performed in this incarnation of the Hales Lab. Ironically, neither experiment worked. The first experiment, I recall clearly, was interuppted by some faculty business, a committee meeting I believe. The last was done amidst the chaos of closing down the lab. And so, it was a very poignent moment for me, when we sat at our weekly lab group meeting and discussed the real-time PCR analysis of the effect of flax diet on E-cadherin expression in the chicken ovary, an experiment done in tandem by Kristine and Amanda, and it was clear, that in order to get this asaay to work, we would have to purchase more sybr green, trouble shoot the primers, possibly make fresh cDNA from the chicken ovarian cancer samples.... meanwhile Cassie is busy packing up the lab. So, I called finis and said "let's pull the plug" and choked up, tears welling in my eyes. Now is the time of innumerable farewells, the going away parties, the last luncheons, the big college of medicine reception and it will be hard not to get emotional. But this moment, of stopping the active experimentation in my laboratory really hit me. It will be a few months before we have the new lab unpacked and ready to go. Fortunately Kristine's work will continue here in Joanne's lab, and we are working on the two manuscripts, with Yan's data now complete, the figure's made and the methods written. But no more experiments. It is rather unnerving. Not to say I am not busy. I am preparing a grant for the Department of Defense Ovarian Cancer Idea award, due June 2nd, submitted at SIU from here. And of course, packing up the lab and my office. I have jetisoned vast amounts of reprints and academic records which I have so fastidiously retained. Getting rid of all this stuff now should remind me not to save so much crap in the future. eh?