Illinois Memories.

What does Illinois mean to me? That's a question I've wrestled with as my family prepares to move to Tampa in a couple weeks. Illinois - to me - means so many things. Illinois is countless people and places, thoughts and memories...

It's the sunny laugh and wacky antics of Wally Philips and Mancow Muller; It's Uncle Lar's "Animal Stories" broadcast far and wide every morning on WLS. It's flipping a shiny new nickel to the corner paperboy for the day's Sun-Times. It's the Pavlovian chimes of street carts offering goulash and pickled beets to neighborhood children. This is the Illinois I remember.

It's the warm, intoxicating fumes from Dr. McGillicuddy's homegrown Bessemer process; Thursday evening sock-hops at the drive-thru; the unmistakable aroma of fried cheese from the hobo camp near the old covered-bridge; it's the laughter of children. This is the Illinois I remember.

It's the showy spot lights and gilded theaters from the golden age of Vaudeville...It's the timeless memories of frat house hazing and coroner's inquests....The smell of bleach and lime in an otherwise dank and dreary crawl space; It's the view of Camp Chippewa from night vision goggles; it's the sound of streetcars and trolleys clanging their bells and greeting a new day; it's the aroma of rotting horse meat sold at black market street bazaars. This is the Illinois I remember.

Illinois is the tender song of the Blackpoll Warbler nesting in a weeping willow on a foul summer's day; it's Mickey Mantle hitting another round-tripper and bringing everyone home; it's the peaks of the majestic Bear River Mountains poking through early morning clouds; herds of migrating musk oxen making their annual pilgrimage to the mighty Mississippi; kicking cans down an alley on a hot summer's night. This is the Illinois I remember.

It's Samba street musicians entertaining young and old alike - oh how my granddad could make those castanets sing!! It's the rhythmic wail of the winds whipping across Lake Winnetka, setting our sails for a new destination. Clean-cut college kids belting out "Honeysuckle Rose" along sorority row; the White-necked Heron scanning the western skies for an elusive mate. This is the Illinois I remember.

It's Uncle Brucie reaching into the cookie jar for another gingersnap; blood-stained walls in a cavernous underground dungeon; the steady earth jolted awake by a stampede of 10,000 head of cattle on the ranch; And don't forget that infectious laugh of Wally Philips reminding us all how good it is to be alive. This is the Illinois I remember.

It's my dad brewing moonshine from the back of his Econoline and selling it to street urchins for a nickel; the endless questions from investigators for a crime you didn't commit; hopping a train to good old New Orleans with your best girl. This is the Illinois I remember....