Massive school debt: It's Chicago's problem today, but it will likely be our trouble before too long

 

Chicago's public schools are in a serious financial situation, according to Macquline King, the school system's interim superintendent.

The school system is facing a budget short fall of nearly $734M, or more than $201M in debt than previously reported, King announced June 26. In addition to that debt, the school district is carrying more than $8.6B in long-term debt, in the form of bonds, mostly for building construction and improvements. And there's more.

The school system also has a significantly under-funded pension program. As of late 2024, the pension system was funded at 47.2%.

In announcing the new numbers, King promised to make addressing the debt a top priority, but offered no details. The Chicago Public School Board approved a four-year, $1.5B contract with the Chicago Teachers Union in May. The union represents more than 25,000 teachers.

There's significant debt before the school board and firm commitments on the table. The school board needs to address both.

The state's 2026 fiscal year begins July 1. The state's new $55B budget includes $11.2B for the Illinois State Board of Education (up from $10.8B), according to Chalkbeat.org, which covers public education in Illinois. 

Illinois Gov. JB Pritzker just announced that he intends to seek election to a third term next year, but he's also made it clear that he's considering a run for president in 2028. As a Democrat, JB thinks taxpayers throughout Illinois should help Chicago residents address their financial challenges - which not only the school system, but the city's transit system, the city's pension system for the police and fire departments, and the city's government. In other words, the pain must be shared, and "we're all in this together," as elected officials often say just before they screw the taxpayers. 

And while the budget shortfall facing the Chicago school board appears at first glance to be a Chicago problem, it is in reality an Illinois problem, and possibly, in time, a national problem, one requiring federal tax dollars. 

That's how I see it. 

-- Thank you for reading. Your comments and questions are always welcome.

Riding the rails still fascinates me

 

My adult daughter reminded this week that traveling by railroad remains a fascinating means of transportation.

She works with developmentally challenged adults. She and a few of her coworkers are leading a group of the adults they work with on a summer vacation that includes travel by Amtrak from Chicago to Colorado and then to Utah, before returning back to Chicago. My daughter emails me regular updates and photos from the journey, and these reports indicate everyone is enjoying a wonderful time.

Amtrak, I know, has its critics and much of their criticism of the rail service is accurate and well-founded, I think, but none of that is important to my daughter and the individuals she is supervising on the trip. 

They're too busy enjoying the views from Amtrak's touring cars, the unique experience of dining on a train, and the deep sleep they enjoy from being rocked to sleep by the motions of a moving train. That's what my daughter reports, and her pictures capture images that support every detail.

Her email reports make me happy. I've always enjoyed trains, and everything about them. I grew up near multiple rail lines that carried both commuter and freight traffic. 

My dad frequently took me and my younger siblings to sit and watch the trains travel through town. It always interested me to see the passing trains and wonder where they were headed, what freight they carried, and who were the people riding in those commuter cars? 

Several of my neighbors at that time were businessmen who rode the commuter trains to Chicago during the business week, and their routine fascinated me as I child. Going back and forth to the big city by train seemed exciting, and I thought each day must have held the promise of thrilling new adventure on the rails.

I can still recall my first ride on that commuter train, and my first ride on Chicago subway. I've always enjoyed reading the history of railroads in this country and elsewhere. 

I suppose Hollywood's depiction of railroads and what is widely considered the "golden era" of rail travel (the late 19^th century through the mid-1950s) fuels some of my interest. Wouldn't it be nice to travel in the luxury of the Orient Express or something similar, particularly after enduring modern air travel? 

I seldom need to ride a commuter train today, but still try to enjoy the experience when I do. It's been more than 40 years since I've traveled by Amtrak. What I recall most is that the seating was comfortable, the train departed on time, arrived on time, and delivered us all safely. All of that was important to be me then, and remains a top priority to me today. 

In her most recent note to me, my daughter encouraged me to plan a trip by Amtrak. I'll discuss that with Mrs. B. We might look at that for next summer. In the meantime, I'm glad my daughter and her travel companions are enjoying their time riding the rails across America.

And that's the way I see it. 

-- Thank you for reading, You comments and questions are always welcome.

Midwest Summers: Only the strong survive

 

Most of the nation is in the fifth day of an early summer heat wave. Daily temperatures where I live are in the mid-90s, about 15 degrees above normal for late June, and humidity readings are high, making life uncomfortable for most. It's clear that many people simply don't know how to cope with these conditions.

Media news reports include advice and tips for staying safe and alive. These include staying indoors, drinking lots of water, avoiding alcohol, and strenuous work, or prolonged periods outdoors. I can usually follow the advice.  My circumstances permit me to mostly stay indoors and to dress appropriately for the weather when I must be outdoors. 

But I'm also in my mid-60s and have lived in the Midwest all my life. I've experienced extreme temperatures at both ends of the thermometer and learned valuable lessons at a young age. 

I always think of my childhood during these periods of high heat and humidity, back during the 1960s and '70s, before my parents could afford to install central air conditioning in their home. It was hot inside the house, particularly on the second floor, where most of my siblings and I shared bedrooms. We relied on floor and window fans to move air around the rooms and provide some relief. 

Mostly we learned to adapt and endure the uncomfortable heat. It was just the way it was, and most everyone else in the area lived as we did. As a child and later as a young adult I could easily dress for the weather. During the late '70s and in the years that followed, society relaxed its standards regarding personal attire in public, and before long nearly everyone dressed as though they were in their teen years and ready to spend the day in front of the TV. Visit a grocery store today, and you'll see exactly what I mean. 

Yet I recall thinking even back during my teen years about those who had come before, those in the 1950s and earlier, who endured challenging summer weather and were expected to dress for set social standards that called for dresses for females, and attire for males of nearly ages that we today would call business formal - dress pants, shirt, a tie and most likely a suit coat to complete the look. 

In addition, men were expected to wear a hat in public. My dad preferred a fedora. He wore one during the work week all the way through the mid-1970s. He had a Homburg hat for formal occasions. 

It amazes me even to this day when I think that he and nearly every other male dressed to this standard in hot weather simply because the manners of the day and good social comportment expected it. What's more is that they did so without the media telling them to stay hydrated and indoors. They drank when they were thirsty, and they sat down to cool off when they felt it was necessary. 

I'm all for dressing for weather conditions, particularly when temperatures reach 90-degrees, but I also miss the days when individuals put an effort toward appearance and style when stepping out in public. 

I also miss the days when newscasters simply reported the news and didn't act like nannies to us all. I might be wrong, but I think most people will figure out how to survive a heat wave on their own, one way or another. 

And that's the way I see it.

- Thank you for reading. Your comment and questions are always welcome. 

Joe Digby aims to get one thing right

 Joe Digby, an old friend from an earlier business life, recently connected with me while passing through town. We haven't seen each other in years, and it was good to visit for a few hours that passed much too quickly.

Joe is still working, but is preparing to retire at the end of the year. He says he's looking forward to retirement, but insists he still enjoys working, not only his job, but on improving himself, even at his age.

"It took me a long time to figure it out," Joe said. "But I learned years ago to focus on doing one thing right each day. I'd write a note to myself in the morning of what I wanted to focus on, and then I'd do it. It would be one thing that I could control, and if I could do that one thing right, then I could go home happy at the end of my day." 

Oftentimes Joe focused on small things - being patient and kind to everyone he encountered at work. And he often focused on the same things day after day or several different days in a month, Joe said. He found that by repeating these little things over time they became regular habits. 

His favorite habits, the ones he enjoyed most and the ones that make his job satisfying are the habits that involve him serving his clients and coworkers. 

"I like to end my day by taking a quick count of how many times I was able to help one of my coworkers, or assist a client with a problem they were trying to resolve. It's always a nice way to end my work day," Joe said. 

I think Joe made a good point. My daily work agenda is usually full of ongoing projects and multiple tasks. It's important stuff in its own way, but Joe offered a good reminder that I need to also remember to make time to focus on performing one thing each day that is all mine, something that I alone can control. 

I'm like Joe. I'm nearing the end of my working career, and I'd like to give Joe's strategy a try during the time I have left in the workplace. Maybe you'd like to give it a try, too. 

-- Thanks for reading. Your comments and questions are always welcome. 

My Gene Hackman Appreciation

 

I know I'm a little late posting my appreciation of Gene Hackman's film work, but I figured as long as so many people are still talking about the circumstances of his death, better late than never. 

I think Hackman's best work occurred during the early years of his career, the 1960s through the early 1980s, but he offered impressive performances, even when the productions didn't provide much to the cast.

 

Others have praised Hackman's skill at portraying the ordinary man, but I think his performances went well beyond that. I think it is better said that he was skilled at capturing the ordinary man who finds himself in extraordinary circumstances ("The Conversation," "The French Connection," and "Hoosiers").

Hackman is rightly praised for having been a solid leading man and reliable box-office star, but I think some of his best work was as a supporting actor ("Bonnie & Clyde," "Downhill Racer," and "Young Frankenstein"). 

With those points established, I submit my list of favorite Hackman performances.

1. "March or Die" (1977)

2. "The Conversation" (1974)

3. "Bonnie & Clyde" (1967)

4. "The French Connection" (1971)

5. "Under Fire" (1983) 

6. "Superman" (1978)

7. "Unforgiven" (1992) 

8. "Night Moves" (1975)

9. "Get Shorty" (1995)

10. "Downhill Racer" (1969)

11. "Hoosiers" (1986)

12. "Young Frankenstein" (1974)

That's my list.  I hope I offered something for you to think about. I welcome comments and questions. As always, thank you for reading. 

Stories that might be true: My post-operative nocturnal trolley rides through the hospital

 

My nightly post-operative activities in the hospital included late-night rides through the halls and departments, with my bed decked out as an old-time trolley car. I know it sounds unbelievable, but I think it happened.

I'm not sure how or when the staff managed to decorate and trick out my bed; I know for certain that they worked their magic some time after administering my evening medications. I recall that the travel and departure routines were nearly the same each night. 

It worked like this: Just as I was about to fall asleep, the room lights would flicker and go out. Then another set of lights would flash on. These were fixed to a framework fixed to my bed and resembled a trolley car, complete with window frames. I was propped up in the bed, which suddenly lurched forward, and we rolled toward the open door of the room and out onto the floor of the intensive care ward, where my hospital-wide journey would begin.

My bed moved at a steady pace, a train bell clang, lights flashed, and the O'Jays' "Love Train" blared from speakers as I rolled through the hall.

Nurses who cared for me and the doctors who had operated on me lined the hallways each night, cheering and waving to me. So did the women from the Physical Therapy Department, and the entire crew from the food service would turn out to wave and applaud. 

Why, even that tall, stunning blond in the knit dress from Radiology would stand provocatively in the doorway as I rolled passed her office. Each night she'd look at me and mouth the words, "Get on aboard the Love Train, the Love Train." 

Every night it was the same joyous ride. I would cruise Pediatrics, the Stroke Unit, Labor and Delivery, even the psych ward. Everyone was excited to see me, they gave me a warm reception, and it never got old for me. 

Then one day, my doctor told me he intended to discharge me that afternoon and send me home. My hospital stay was coming to an end. My wife provided wonderful care at home and I made steady progress in my recovery, but the nocturnal train rides ended with my hospital medication treatments. Imagine that.

-- Thank you for reading. Your comments and questions are always welcome. And feel free to email me at kbotterman@gmail.com.

A story that might be true: How I got old man hands

 I entered the hospital in late December for a quadruple-bypass following a heart attack. The seven-hour procedure went well, and I was sent home after nearly a week of post-operative hospital care. 

It was while recuperating at home one morning that I noticed I had old man hands. Just weeks before, prior to entering the hospital, my hands had been firm but warm. Now they were weathered, wrinkled, withered, even a bit shriveled, and cold, always cold; now that I thought about it. 

I held my hands up in front of my eyes and stared at them in disbelief. These are not my hands, I thought. These are not the hands I have carried with me through life thus far, I told myself. I was certain of it. The fingernails look familiar, and the knuckles, too. The skin, however, was definitely different. No question about that. 

These were not the same hands I had on hand when I entered the hospital, I declared. And that was when it occurred to me. The doctors. For some reason the doctors must have surgically removed my original hands during the heart procedure and replaced them with the old man's hands I now looked upon. 

Yes, that made complete sense. While they were harvesting arteries from legs to stitch around my heart they also took the time to remove my young and supple hands and replaced them with a pair of wrinkled and weathered hands, ones suited for a man well beyond my years. Why they would do this I could not explain, perhaps for their sick amusement, maybe to kill time in the operating room. A reasonable explanation escapes me to this time, but the fact remains that they clearly replaced my hands and managed to do so without leaving any sign of a surgical scar, none whatsoever. 

So here I sit, recuperating at home with a newly rewired heart, so to speak, and a set of old man hands. And I give thanks for both.

-- Thank you for reading. Your comments and questions are always welcome.

A story that might be true: My hospital visitors

 

This might have happened during my post-operative hours, but probably not. 

I woke up on a bed in a dimly lit room. There was much movement all around me. Voices spoke in hushed tones. I recognized that one or two of the individuals were medical staff, probably nurses. I couldn't identify the others in the room, but I understood that their voices sounded faintly familiar.

I could hear only pieces of the conversation. It seemed lighthearted, humorous, and even engaging. Suddenly, I recognized one of the voices. It belonged to Gomez Addams, a character portrayed by actor John Astin in the 1960s TV comedy "The Addams Family."  

Why was Gomez Addams in my hospital room? 

I had little time to ponder the question. I was due in the operating room for a procedure that was scheduled to take hours to complete. While prone on my back and with a limited field of vision, I searched for a nurse. I needed to remind her of my procedure.

My surroundings changed. The spacious room shifted and narrowed. It now resembled the interior of an airplane, with a narrow aisle to one side and a line of hospital beds on another. I could see a bed at the foot of my bed, but not the patient in it. The aisle was empty, but I could hear people moving around behind the head of my bed. I could now hear them talking in clear, distinct voices. A few even stood over me and looked down at me.

I saw Robert Conrad, the TV actor known for "The Wild, Wild West." And the character actors Paul Gleason and William Atherton, both of whom were popular in the 1980s (Paul was the school principal in "The Breakfast Club" and William played the EPA inspector in 1984's "Ghostbusters"). Each smiled at me as they passed, but none spoke directly to me. 

I noticed it was growing dark in my room. The sunlight was fading. The hour was growing late. How could the medical team possibly perform my procedure so late in the day, I thought? Would the doctors perform the surgery at night? Oh, where were the nurses, I wondered. 

Still, a parade of chatty character actors passed by bed, making eye contact with me, but offering nothing directly, not even a, "Good day to you, sir." 

I saw Dean Stockwell, Miguel Ferrer, and Judd Nelson. And the line of actors continued. It included both the living and those who are no longer with us.  

In frustration and desperation, I shouted out that someone needed to help me. Someone needed to move me to the operating room so that my doctor could perform my procedure. 

Abruptly it was quiet in the room. A figure pulled a chair up in the aisle near my head and sat down. It was Bradford Dillman, the award-winning character actor whose career spanned more than three decades and included work on Broadway, movies and TV.

"What's on your mind, old man?" Dillman asked in a voice long familiar to me. 

I explained I was scheduled for a surgical procedure, and I needed to get to the operating room as soon as possible, before the operating team went home for the day. 

"You must help me," I said.

"Relax. That procedure was completed hours ago. It was a success and you're now in a recovery room. You're doing fine," Dillman said.

I looked about me and realized I was in fact in my room in the intensive care unit. The door to my room was open and I could see nurses and other medical staff busy at work stations just outside my room. I turned to my visitor.

"So the operation is done, and I'm going to be OK, Bradford Dillman?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "They wouldn't allow me and my friends in here with you otherwise," he said, flashing a warm smile.

I looked again at the busy nurses outside my room, and then turned to thank Bradford Dillman, but he was gone, leaving only an empty chair near my bed. 

-- Thank you for reading. Please feel free to leave a question or comment.