What is the gray shape over there on the right? Is it a barbell whose ends have been partially nibbled by square-mouthed rodents? Is it a glob of Silly Putty stretched within a fraction of an inch of breaking? A slightly decayed periscope? A Rorshach ink blot? Actually it’s Herb Schumann’s Cook County Board district. He’s not too thrilled about it, but it’s his, like it or not.
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“I have parts of 11 different townships plus the city of Chicago, and who knows how many post offices,” Schumann grumbled as he voted against the County Board map. He and Maria Pappas were the only board members to vote against the districts; Pappas makes it a rule to vote against anything favored by County Board president Richard Phelan.
Schumann probably doesn’t have time to tour his new bailiwick. But that’s all right, I do. It’s nine o’clock in the morning and I’m traveling along Willow Road. Pal-Waukee Airport, reportedly the world’s largest private airport, appears to my right. Schumann might want to keep Pal-Waukee’s number at hand. A helicopter might be useful in getting from one end of his district realm to the other.
Noon: Wolf Road, the eastern boudary of Schumann’s district along this stretch, continues to Lake Street in the industrial suburb of Stone Park, then stops. Memo to Herb Schumann: You can’t ride straight through your own district here. You can do one of two things. Either go right on Lake and, if you’re like me, get stuck on the expressway and forced miles out of your way, or turn left on Lake to Mannheim and double back. I recommend the latter.
2:30 P.M. Not even the repainted, refurbished storefronts on Main Street can hide the fact that Lemont was and is a river town. Docks and construction companies line the Des Plaines River just a few blocks from Main Street. A nearby bar sports an old-style horizontal Blatz sign. Inside, geezers in baseball caps are solving the world’s problems. This southwesternmost Cook County town seems to have as much in common with upscale Wheeling as Pittsburgh does with Beverly Hills.
5 P.M. I start driving north, past Orland Park (“World’s Golf Center”) and Worth (“The Friendly Village”), then I head west at Palos Hills, the heart of Herb Schumann country, where the commissioner lives.
Art accompanying story in printed newspaper (not available in this archive): photo/J. Alexander Newberry.
