Karl Klockars

I love the Uptown theater.  I’ve never been inside it. I don’t even know if it’s ever been open within the span of my lifetime. And I’m never ever going to own it.  Unless I come up with a few million dollars by later on this afternoon, that is.  Apparently, since they don’t know who really owns the thing (which I’m sure is an awesome story in and of itself) they’re throwing it up for auction, and whoever shows up with the biggest check is the winner.

The Tribune says all you need to bring it back into former glories is about 40 million dollars.  And a heck of a drywaller.  I don’t have 40 million dollars – but I’ve got a hammer and one of those multi-headed screwdrivers.  Oh, and a power drill.  But it doesn’t matter.  Because if I bought the place, you know what I’d do with it?  Not a damn thing.

What?  Huh?  You’d let it sit, let it rot into nothingness and have it nicely vacant at the corner of Lawrence and Broadway?  Yeah.  At least for a little while, that is.  I’ve tried to get in touch with the people who “own” the thing to get a sneak peek inside (in the interest of journalism, of course) to no avail.  I’ve tried to get a hold of the group that is all about saving the joint.  Who runs the thing?  I don’t know – they don’t call me back.

So were I in the financial means to buy the damn thing, I’d sit on it.  Not forever.  Just long enough to learn how to skateboard in there.  I’m sure any of the seats that were left in there could be ripped out pretty easily.  Throw down some pieces of plywood and you’ve got yourself a skate park.

Or maybe I’d start another band.  All the great artists that played on that stage – Springsteen, Bob Marley, and more – and then my shitty punk rock covers.  Or maybe I’d have a big shadow puppet competition.  Show old movies with a digital projector for all my friends.  Bust out the Star Wars DVDs and see how far we could get into Empire.  Maybe we can hang out on the roof and just stare at the skyline from a perspective that no one else gets to have.  A decadent use of a historic joint, you think?

I’ve always been fascinated by abandoned buildings.  When I was a kid, I would wander through old empty barns and shacks on farmland on vacation.  Don’t tell my mom.  I would find old “artifacts” like rusted out old rifles laying in years of dirt, and feel like an adventurer, like someone who was discovering new and interesting things – like an 8 year old Indiana Jones.

From there, I remember going to the old Ovaltine factory that was long abandoned by the late 90′s.  Full of graffiti, gang symbols and so-called satanic pictures.  We always heard the rumors that there were devil worshippers who had their Black Masses in the basement, and that the sublevels of the place were so murky and flooded that the Mob had dumped a bunch of bodies down there, knowing full well they’d never be fished out.

Did that stop us from wandering around in there?  Hell no.  It was a fantastic place for young, teenage metalheads to take band photos.  The machinery alone is good enough for at least three album covers – as long as everyone in the photo is scowling and wearing plenty of black.  Regardless of rockstar aspirations, it was an awesome place to go wandering around in.  Empty save for the garbage and years of dust, falling apart around us and full of beauty.

Since then, I’ve found that there are others who are entertained by the same style of things – old schools, old factories, old railroad depots and just old near-gone places.  Just imagine how awesome it would be if someone wandered through all the old leftover unoccupied buildings that constitute the seeming majority of Detroit.  Oh wait, someone has, and documented the whole thing.  You can’t do that in this city.

It seems that everywhere, they’re putting things up, not taking things down.  Maybe I’m just not looking, but there’s no good old empty joints around here.  I like the idea that the ghost of the Uptown still looms over the intersection where the Green Mill still lives and breathes.  Where the Riviera and the Aragon are still packing in people for mid-level rock bands and Mexican boxing matches.  (At least, I think that’s what they do there.  I can never tell.)

Sometimes I flip through an old book called “Lost Chicago” or “Forgotten Chicago” or something along those lines.  The landscape was completely different – and a lot of it is gone.  The photographs of the destruction of a lot of the West Loop, of Maxwell Street, of all the places that had to be destroyed for undeniable progress, are haunting.  Because they represent centuries of Chicago life – and a crane done gone knocked ‘em down.

That’s why I kinda like an empty Uptown.  I’m sure at some point if the new buyer wants, the crane will come for it as well.  I can’t imagine what kind of place would fill that spot – the building that holds the Green Mill would be an island on the corner of that intersection, alone with the sports bar and the taco place and the greasy spoon.  It’d be lonely there.  I like it empty, and I hope I can get into see it and all its forgotten majesty before someone knocks it down – or shines it up.