What I wanted most for my daughter
was that she be able to soar confidently in her own sky,
whatever that may be.
— Helen Claes

Tina Valentino is the Editor/Publisher

Cinderella. If only I had the nerve to print the picture of me in my cowgirl  Halloween costume, complete with red hat, red boots, holster and six-shooter at about age 6, you might imagine that I wasn’t much of a Cinderella fan. And you would be right. I probably watched more episodes of Bonanza than anyone in my first grade class. Over the years, I had been Tweety bird, a bunny, a scarecrow, a hobo and a dozen other impersonators at Halloween but never once a princess.

Until I was in high school. Prom was one of the first teenage stress tests, along with getting a driver’s license, my first dent and taking the ACT. In today’s world, however, sexting, bullying, drugs, peer pressure, date rape, unemployment and social networking, to name a few, give the average teen—and their parents—a lot more to worry about than the color of the corsage. While well-off teens will charge their expensive dresses and be chauffeured in Hummer limos, what about the girl whose parents work two jobs just to get by? Or aren’t working at all? True, it’s not the worst thing in the world to miss your Prom. There are poor, lonely, sick people, homeless veterans and numerous other causes that deserve our attention. But “The Cinderella Project” isn’t asking for much. Just a little self-esteem for the average girl.

I had never even heard of it before until the director of the Forest Park Community Center brought it to my attention. After Googling it, I see it’s been accomplished with great success around the country from New Hampshire to Los Angeles. The local idea came from Kiwanis member Jerry Lordan who inspired Mary Win Conner and Karen Dylewski to run with it and do their best to give some area girls a chance to find their inner princess. It’s not a charity. “It’s a way to make it a fabulous experience for proud young teens who simply can’t afford the dress, accessories, beauty salon costs that are all a part of going to Prom,” explained Dylewski, the mother of two girls. “Many of us know what it’s like to be that girl who simply cannot afford to spend a lot of money but every girl should be able to attend her Prom if she wants to.” So, the fairy godmothers have been busy and continue to welcome donations of dresses, shoes, purses, jewelry, hair and makeup services so that any girl, no matter her financial status, can find her inner princess on this special night. “I am just hoping that we can show some girls that they can be anything they want to be,” added Dylewski, who currently has 22 dresses in her office. Wardrobe donations are being accepted by Karen at the Howard Mohr Community Center at Desplaines and Jackson Boulevard in Forest Park and by Rachell Entler at the Park District of Forest Park. If anyone wishes to contribute makeup, hair or nail services, contact Mary Win Connor at winbaldy@aol.com or Karen at kdylewski@forestpark.net.

I was one of the lucky ones. I had an awesome dress. My friend did my hair and makeup. And my date, the only person I wanted to go with, said yes. I remember it like yesterday and I commend these neighbors for trying to make some simple wishes come true.

Everyone has inside of him a piece of good news.
The good news is that you don’t know how great
you can be! How much you can love! What you can
accomplish! And what your potential is!
— Anne Frank

Tina Valentino is the Editor/Publisher

What’s in a domain name? That which we call local by any other name would smell as sweet…

Actually, I think it stinks. My Oak Park friend Matt Baron, who contributes great local stories to Neighbors magazine, gave me my first whiff of the landfill-like odor in his blog “Chicago Tribune’s Hyper-Hyper-Local Push” at www.insideedgepr.com a few weeks before Christmas. Despite decades of raking in obscene amounts of revenue from sections upon sections of display advertising, classified and the lottery of legal notices, the Tribune still filed for bankruptcy in 2008. A few years later, they launched TribLocal to gain a better foothold in the suburbs, which they have essentially ignored, with the exception of obituaries. Where do tyrants and dictators go when their coffers dry up? Into the little villages to pillage and plunder, to take and to charge and to expand their kingdoms.

The “Honey, I shrunk the newspaper” Chicago Sun-Times and its 39 suburban tag-alongs gave readers a swell Christmas gift by charging newbies and current subscribers to read all Sun-Times Media websites. And, with AOL’s Patch.com webpages of local news steadily encroaching what TribLocal imagined would be its own dynasty, a new year is as good a time as any to test fire an internet missile. On November 28, the Tribune Company bought up over 300 (334 to be exact) domain names such as RiverGroveTribune.com, BellwoodTribune.com, MelroseParkTribune.com, HillsideTribune.com. Somehow they missed Westchester, Northlake and North Riverside as this issue goes to press. For a company not even close to emerging from bankruptcy protection, this is quite a zealous, expensive—and pathetically predictable—venture. The Chicago well has run dry so let’s pretend 1) that we really care about what’s happening in the suburbs while 2) we start tapping into suburban businesses while promising them a phenomenal internet “circulation.” Smells like the perfume of a rotten egg, alright. Armed with a pen and paper in one hand and my camera in the other, I have covered people and progress in the suburbs since 1982. So many times I’ve said to myself, “This is such an extraordinary event”—to listen to astronaut Lee Archambault in Bellwood, to meet Dr. Percy Julian’s daughter in Maywood, to tour the Borsato Museum in Northlake, to celebrate the centennial in Forest Park, to participate in Veterans Day in Franklin Park, to experience the Feast of Our Lady of Mount Carmel in Melrose Park—and, yet, where were the Trib and Sun-Times? Nowhere to be found.

“We cannot make good news out of bad practice.” Edward R. Murrow should know. In 2012, Neighbors Magazine will continue its proven practice of delivering good, local news—in print for free, online for free and networking through Facebook. Because I believe, like Anne Frank, that everyone has inside of him or her a piece of good news, a story to tell, a goal to accomplish and I try to help it along even though we have only one lackluster local domain name. Happy New Year, neighbors. How great can we be, how much can we love and accomplish in 2012?

Tina Valentino is the Editor and Publisher of Neighbors, a FREE publication that spotlights the western suburbs and partners advertisers with award-winning stories.  Neighbors Magazine – “Everyone has one” is distributed each month via high-traffic retail and/or commercial outlets throughout Bellwood, Berkeley, Elmwood Park, Forest Park, Franklin Park, Hillside, Maywood, Melrose Park, Northlake, North Riverside, Oak Park, River Forest, River Grove, Schiller Park, Stone Park and Westchester.  www.neighborsmagazine.com

I am not alone at all, I thought.
I was never alone at all.
And that, of course, is the message of Christmas.
We are never alone.
Not when the night is darkest, the wind is coldest,
the world seemingly most indifferent.
For this is still the time God chooses.
— Novelist Taylor Caldwell

Tina Valentino is the Editor/Publisher

lue Christmas. I’ve never understood blue lights at Christmas. To me, they’re depressing. But it never fails, every year there are people who will haul the tangled boxes of blue strands out of their attics, drag the ladder from the garages and go through the trouble of lighting up a house somewhere or a tree or a front yard with those big, blue downer bulbs. I can’t seem to equate those blue lights with cheer or holiday spirit—only with an Elvis song, which I also dislike.

Then again, blue lights serve to remind me that everyone is not inflated with cheer like a Santa riding a Harley on the front lawn. There’s the pressure that begin with Black Friday shopping, marked this year by the peace and good will of a woman who pepper sprayed fellow shoppers in order to clear her path to the Xboxes. The expense of cards, postage, portraits, long-winded letters about vacations and the kids and jobs received by friends who can’t afford a vacation (or kids) and may not even have a job this year. Parties and what to wear, presents that will exceed all expectations and credit card limits…oh, what fun.

In two thousand years, we still have not managed to learn that Christmas is not a three-week cram session, full of bogus cheer, smiles, eggnog and a few dollars tossed into the Salvation Army kettle, just because it makes us feel better. Soon, it will be 200 years since the birth of Charles Dickens, whose cold Scrooge character may be more prevalent today than when Bob Cratchit had frozen finger tips. Dickens wrote, “Darkness is cheap, and Scrooge liked it.”

Like many readers, I know people who will experience a different kind of darkness this Christmas: a grief-stricken heart, an empty place at the table, an ornament that evokes memories and tears. Too many other friends are hoping for miracles this year—a plasma TV and jewelry are not even remotely on their minds and our prayers are the simplest, best gifts we can give.

More than ever, there is need around us. Whether it be: sickness, loneliness, unemployment, abuse, neglect, hunger or sadness, if we cannot rally support for these neighbors, what is Christmas? A few cans of soup for a food pantry, a scarf and some mittens in a donation box, an unwrapped toy, a care package for a senior, a few extra dollars to a cause in our own community—not halfway around the world—a few extra moments to listen and not talk is not a lot to ask. For your convenience, there are suggestions in this issue. “After all,” wrote Dickens, “I have always thought of Christmas as a good time; a kind, forgiving, generous, pleasant time when men and women seem to open their hearts freely, and so I say, God bless Christmas!” So true. But what about the rest of the year? I say, God bless Dale Evans, who remarked, “Every time we love, every time we give, it’s Christmas.” Saddle up, partners. We can make a difference in someone’s life.

There are places I’ll remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some forever, not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life, I’ve loved them all…
— John Lennon and Paul McCartney, In My Life lyrics, 1965

Tina Valentino is the Editor/Publisher

The inside straight. It’s a gamble and I fall for it, especially if I’m playing online for free. But that’s nothing compared to the hand Norman K. Winston played in a game with a few other gentlemen in the early 1950s. Oh, they may have looked at it a bit differently, like a business opportunity or a sizeable investment, but it was a gamble if there ever was one. Winston and a few of his peers rolled the dice on 38 acres of “nothing” when they broke ground at 9th and North Avenue in Melrose Park in 1958. Just because more and more cars were hitting the road and people were branching out from the corner store certainly didn’t mean the shopping center concept was a sure bet. But, like poker, it was a little talent and a lot of luck that made Winston Plaza a bonanza for developers, shoppers and job-seekers alike.

Winston Plaza and I were born a year apart (I’m the younger one) and there’s a lot of history between us. Back in the day, the Plaza was pivotal—playing a part in so many suburban lives. Last month at the grand re-opening celebration, as I stood in the corner where the computer resource center is now, my mind wandered—I was a stone’s throw from Lorraine’s Record Store, our own Hallmark, Newberry’s, Baker’s Shoe Store and Dr. Mirsky’s office, my first eye doctor. Walgreens was in the Plaza (in two different locations); so were Jewel and the Millionaire’s Club. My grandfather patiently watched me bowl one gutter ball after another “under” the Plaza at Super Bowl and, like it was yesterday, I can remember having a Lime Freeze with my aunt while having a quick lunch at Neisner’s and we got to keep the green, frosty glasses. We rode our bikes to the Plaza to meet White Sox players and get their autographs; we all had Chicken Bowl for special occasions; and Santa had his own little branch office, a free-standing workshop, right here in Melrose Park. There was Penney’s, Holloway House, even a Gap outlet for a short time, but few stores compared to Madigans, the Nordstrom/Von Maur of its day. It was my job at Madigans, not the federal government, that helped me pay off my three payment books of college student loans. Madigans had it all—cards, candy, a baby department, shoes, coats, cosmetics, even Other Brother and Madigans Junior. Thanks to Norman Winston’s crap shoot, the Plaza is a place I’ll remember all my life. When NewMark Merrill bought the Plaza in 2009, they bet on a real long shot. Clearly, though, it was a lot of expertise and a little luck that has revived the lackluster shopping center—and its rapport with the community. For the first time in decades, Winston Plaza is reaching out to the people it serves with car shows and contests, kids crafts, the Easter Bunny, Santa Claus and more. Melrose Park hit the jackpot twice, you could say. Before you head out to a monster mall somewhere, think locally and with a grateful heart for the jobs and the investment made right here.

To go fishing is the chance to wash one’s soul with pure air,
with the rush of the brook or with the shimmer of sun on blue water. It
brings meekness and inspiration from the decency of nature, charity toward
tackle-makers, patience toward fish, a mockery of profits and egos, a quieting
of hate, a rejoicing that you do not have to decide a darned thing until next week.
And it is discipline in the equality of men—for all men are equal before fish.
~ Herbert Hoover

Tina Valentino is the Editor/Publisher

Gone fishing. My grandfather used to tell me to put that sign up every time he thought I had been working harder than anyone else on the planet — which was just about every week. And, while he didn’t leave me stocks and bonds to worry about in today’s market, he left me with a treasure trove of exceptional memories. And I still have my fishing pole. I have it where I can see it every day, not because we caught a marlin together or because we spent hours together communing with Nature out on a lake somewhere because we didn’t.

Just seeing it reminds me of his unconditional love; and, it reminds me of Sr. Jeanne Crapo’s 17th Century English Literature class at Rosary College, where I first met Izaak Walton, author of The Compleat Angler, first published in 1653.  In it, Walton wrote, “God never did make a more calm, quiet, innocent recreation than angling.”

I hadn’t thought about fishing in quite some time until I was asked to take some photos very early (too early, to be honest) on an overcast Saturday morning; rain and storms were predicted for the rest of the day and I was hoping the photo op would be cancelled but it wasn’t. Beneath gloomy skies, an upbeat, hell-bent Maywood Village Trustee and avid fisherman Melvin Lightford was unloading his car, piling water, juice boxes, grills, tents, snacks and equipment on the curb in front of the Maywood Village Hall in anticipation of at least 50 children he had promised to take fishing.

With help and support from fellow Trustee Ron Rivers, the two men took it upon themselves — without grants, subsidies or corporate sponsors —to pool their own funds and the few meager donations they reeled in—and hoped young Maywood-area children, never before exposed to the world of fishing, would bite.

Bite? The last three fishing trips averaged more than 50 girls and boys and this trip was no different. Fifty-five children, a few with parents and grandparents, plus volunteers from Maywood’s Youth Mentoring program were out there with me at the crack of dawn. “Did you know college fishing scholarships are available?” Trustee Lightford asked. “Not everyone can be a Michael Jordan or a Mean Joe Green, but all I need is a waiver and I can teach kids how to fish and give them somewhere to go. Some of these kids don’t stand a chance. I’ve been getting kids out of trouble all of my life and I’m not stoppin’ now,” Lightford said seriously. As Mayor Yarbrough boarded the two buses headed for Monee and wished everyone a safe, fun trip, I choked up when a few kids gave him the thumbs up. There were no news channels or newspapers that morning. Just me, witnessing what politics should be about, what these neighbors are about and something else that Hoover once said: Lots of people committed crimes during the year who would not have done so if they had been fishing. Here’s hoping you snag some scholarships, little fishermen.