Roy T Robinette - Realty Executives

Jones Boys Market is a time capsule treasure in Ashland

BY JULIANNE GLATZ

Want to take a trip back in time? To a place that's close by? To a place that's the real deal, that's utterly unpretentious rather than a kitschy, faux old-timey wannabe? If so, go to the Jones Boys Market in Ashland. Go, and take your kids and grandkids. Go now, because bits of genuine Americana like this are vanishing from our landscape quicker than you can blink.

I wasn't expecting to find a time-capsule treasure when I headed to Ashland, following a tip from IT reader Clark Olson. (Many thanks, Clark!) Re-reading Olson's e-mail after returning home from Jones Boys Market, I realized he'd said, "...the shop is like the grocery stores my mother sent me and brother to."

On the way there, though, I was focusing on the first part of Olson's message - that the owner of the Old Country Brat Shop at Jones Boys Market made a variety of fresh sausages, and especially that he made Swedish potato sausage in winter. I'd first enjoyed potato sausage years ago while in Sweden when my husband, Peter, went there to work with the doctors who'd developed titanium dental implants. Since then, I'd found them in towns with Swedish communities, such as Galesburg, or in Swedish neighborhoods in Chicago. But I'd never seen them in this area. I thought Jones Boys would be a typical small town locker plant, probably with an owner of Swedish background using family recipes.

As I approached the Jones Boys market, the streets were completely deserted, still colorful leaves filtering the afternoon sunlight with golden highlights. The only hints it was the 21st century were the two soda machines hugging the building's side.

The store windows sported posters for local events and a larger "Fish Bait" sign in one corner. I pulled open the wooden screen door with an ancient metal Holsum Bread advertising placket cinching its middle. I'd heard the sound of that door clacking shut behind me countless times before - but I certainly hadn't heard it recently.

Inside the store, I immediately inhaled a warm, rich, delicious aroma. "Wow, that smells wonderful," I exclaimed to the smiling woman behind the counter.

She chuckled: "He's making pulled pork back there; it always smells so good!"

To my right a shelf held a single galvanized aluminum bucket and a few other non-food items. On the left was a cardboard display with corncob pipes inserted through slots. Underneath were glass jars with a small assortment of penny candy. (Inflation has come to the Jones Boys Market: the candies are now two cents each.)

As I walked to the back, I passed shelves of canned goods, as well as baskets of apples and other produce. They were undeniably paltry in both variety and volume compared to the mega-displays at mega-groceries in "big-city" Springfield. I won't deny I enjoy having access to that wide variety; even so, it was a treat to see some unusual brands and to not have a plethora of products shouting at me to buy them, their voices calculated for maximum impact by advertisers and focus groups.

I didn't spend much time looking at what was on the shelves, though, because that smell drew me towards its source. As I approached, a man came around from behind the old-fashioned shoulder-high refrigerated meat case and greeted me with a shy smile.

John Jones, 61, has been at the store, one way or another, for most of his life. "I grew up in the store," Jones says. The Jones Boys Market has always been a family affair. Started by his great-aunt, Trudy Blank, 76 years ago, "It was called Blank's Groceries back then," Jones tells me. "Her dad had the first hardware store in Ashland."

During World War II Jones' uncle, Russ, had served as a supply sergeant in Britain, working with meats, and his father, Buzz, had been a cook. When they returned home, they put to use the expertise they'd acquired in wartime, taking over the business and renaming it.

They weren't the ones who started making sausages, though. Jones was lucky to have been drafted for service in South Korea instead of Vietnam; even so, in 1971, when his tour of duty was over, he was more than happy to return to Ashland and his beloved store. When a customer told Jones that he should try making his own breakfast links, he began reading about sausages. He got a cookbook with sausage recipes and began to experiment, adjusting the spices and flavorings.

"People talk about not wanting to know what goes into sausage," he tells me. "But they don't have to worry about what's in mine. I grind the meat - pork butts - myself. There's nothing in these sausages but the meat and the spices. No chemicals. I figure ‘garbage in, garbage out.'"

Jones makes only fresh sausages - none that are cured or smoked. When he wants smoke flavor, he uses liquid smoke, a product that's naturally obtained. The tar is removed in the process and, with it, any carcinogens. He also uses it in that pulled pork, and for the baby back ribs he prepares.

The "Old Country Brat Shop" turns out to be a waist-high, open-top freezer about the size of a card table. My only disappointment is that it doesn't contain any Swedish potato sausages, which Jones tells me he makes only by special order. Even so, it's an interesting assortment: bratwurst, which, Jones tells me, is untraditionally flavored with caraway; apple brats that contain a touch of sweetness and "pie spices;" Hungarian brats flavored with paprika and a whiff of cayenne; and currywurst, made with 14 spices. I'm surprised - and happy - to see the currywurst, which is a classic favorite in Germany that's rarely found in the U.S. But I'm almost stunned to see packages of English bangers.

"How'd you come to make bangers?" I ask. Jones explains that the recipe came from his uncle Russ' English wartime bride. "Sometime people who've had 'em over there say they wouldn't touch 'em. But these are really good - they're flavored with a little ginger."

I know what he's talking about. I've eaten some really awful bangers - greasy and with a rubber band texture. (Yes, they're named "bangers" for exactly the reason you're thinking. The supposedly stuffy Brits can come up with some pretty risqué food names; a sausage-shaped steamed pudding that's studded with currants is called "spotted dick.") On the other hand, I've had great bangers, too, and will happily try Jones' version. (Stop snickering!)

Jones says the sausages will all turn out differently, depending on how they're cooked. He suggested using different liquids in which to simmer them: chicken broth, or beer - "I tried putting a little molasses in the skillet last week and it was really good. And a customer told me that he'd used cran-apple juice to cook the apple brats in, and they turned out great!"

Jones tells me that he makes a number of other varieties as well, depending on the season and what he's in the mood to make, including a French sausage made with beef and bacon. "Oh, that's soooo good!" exclaims the still-smiling woman who's wandered back to see how we're getting on. She is, of course, Jones' wife, Beth.

"I just got off the bus, and I'm here for the meat!" sings out a young voice behind us. "This is Grace," Jones tells me as a young girl skips towards us. "Her mom runs the café across the street." "Ooof, that's heavy," the five-year-old pixie says as Jones hands her a bag filled with white paper-wrapped bundles. She slumps her shoulders. "I don't think I can carry that." Jones solves the problem by putting the packages into two bags, so she can carry one in each hand, and Grace trudges out the door.

The Jones Boys Market is a serene place and these are clearly contented people. Looking at the two massive, pristinely scrubbed 18-inch thick butcher blocks behind the meat case and the white-enameled refrigerated locker with a sign on it that says, "Our Weighing Service Is Rendered By Toledo Scales. No Springs - Honest Weight," I wonder if the Jones' have any children who work in the store?

They have three boys and three girls, they tell me, but none are involved in the store. I buy packages of each variety of the sausages and say goodbye.

Crossing the street, I decide to check out Grace's mom's place, the Crockpot Café. Grace is busily showing her mother her brand-new package of school pictures. "You want one?" she asks me. The café is closed so I can't sample the food, but the interior alone is worth a visit - the décor, from the huge Regulator clock to the vintage booths and stools continue my feeling of being in a time warp. Grace's mom, Rachael Wilkerson, shows me the menu. It's classic diner fare, nothing fancy, but she makes the pies and breads the pork tenderloins herself - and gets her meat at Jones Boys, so I'm betting the food is good.

Driving home, I momentarily panicked. I really wanted to write about The Jones Boys Market. It was so special, but what if the sausage weren't? I needed have worried. They were all delicious.
 
The Jones Boys Market is at 201 W. Editor Street, Ashland, 217-476-3914. The Crockpot Café (200 W. Editor Street, Ashland, 217-476-8133) is open Tues-Sunday for breakfast and lunch and there's a fish fry on Friday nights.

Dance contests bring old school and new school together

BY PATRICE WORTHY

In Detroit, it's called the social. In Dallas, it's called the swing. But in the Land of Lincoln, it's called stepping. From 9 p.m.-3 a.m. on Nov. 22 at the American Legion #809, 1800 E. Capitol Ave., couples will compete for a $200 prize and bragging rights.

Stepping is a dance that builds off of six- or eight-count steps. Couples step to the front, back and side to side gliding around the dance floor to the soulful sounds of R&B music. The dance has its roots in northern African-American communities in cities like Chicago, considered the stepping capital, because that is where the dance originated in the 1950s. Now, with the help of R&B singer and Chicago native R. Kelly and his song "Step in the Name of Love," the dance has gained popularity and spread to smaller cities like Springfield. As a result, serious local steppers come out of the woodwork to show off their smooth moves and win money at the American Legion #809 stepping contests.

Clarence Stowe Jr., an old-school stepper and adjutant of the American Legion #809, held the first stepping contest in 2004 after two members insisted he needed to encourage people to start stepping. He didn't think he would get a big turnout that night, but he was in for a surprise.

"Everyone kept asking me, ‘What is stepping?' so I had a feeling people would come out," he said. "I left the Legion that night and no one was here. Well, I got a call at 8 p.m. from someone telling me I needed to come back because the place was packed."

Stowe puts on four stepping contests each year. They attract hundreds of people, some from Chicago, Peoria and Decatur who come to watch and judge the contests. Stowe said the Legion usually has standing room only, filled with 200-300 people who want to enjoy a night of skillful dancing. The contests are mainly old-school stepper sets, steppers 45 years of age or older, but new-school steppers, younger than 45, also come to watch.

"It's popular with everybody," he said. "There are a lot of elderly people who don't come to the Legion all month, but they come for the contests."

Stowe tries to have at least one contest judge from Chicago. He attributes the popularity of the dance to the large number of people in Springfield who have migrated from Chicago.

Hugh Taylor, an old-school stepper and member of American Legion #809, has judged and competed in several of the contests. He is considered to be one of the best steppers in town. Taylor is a former resident of Chicago and is well-versed in the different styles of the dance. Taylor considers himself to be a South Side Chicago stepper as opposed to a West Side Chicago stepper, which means he uses more footwork and a lot of turns when he performs. Taylor described his style as being more fluid.

"Both partners have to be in sync for it to look good," he said. "If you can glide across the floor and your feet are moving, but you can't really tell, that's stepping."

People take stepping very seriously and like to dance with someone who can move and move well.

"In Chicago, if a dude asks you to dance and you can't step he will dance you right back to your chair," Taylor said. "Men put on the show, but if the woman can follow it gives her credit."

Couples are judged on creativity, chemistry, style, technique and dress. They can receive a maximum of 10 points in each category and have a chance at taking home the first prize of $200, the second prize of $125, or the third-place prize of $75. There is also a best dressed contest with a $50 prize for both men and women. Barbara Miller, an old-school stepper and first-place winner in the contest held Aug. 4, said she thinks her team won because of the style and creativity that went into their performance.

"Creativity is where your show style comes in and you do an extra twist or spin," she said. "We did one move where I took his hat and put it on top of my head."

Miller's parents taught her how to step when she was just a little girl. She has been stepping for more than 30 years and spends a lot of her time watching stepping contests online and practicing at home. She judged contests at the American Legion #809 and believes you can tell a seasoned stepper by their appearance. "Real steppers lay it out," she said. "Part of being a good stepper is look and appearance."

When steppers step they want to do it with style. Men wear Zoot suits with matching hats and colorful wingtip leather shoes. Ladies usually wear heels with dresses or flared skirts, so when they turn or dip to the floor the skirt creates a dramatic whirling effect. Caroline J. Townsend, another old-school stepper, auxiliary member and bartender at the Legion, said the contest attracts so many people because it gives them a chance to show off their fashion sense.

"You get a chance to dress up, look good, and watch the grace of the dance," Townsend said. "That's what attracts people - they love to dress." Though Townsend loves to dress, she is also attracted to the elegance of the step. In her opinion, stepping stands out from other dances in the African-American community because a man and woman do it together.

Miller compares stepping to ballroom dancing because of the grace that goes into performances. She likes that the stepping contests are open to anyone who thinks they can step. She believes the dance is popular in the African -American community because it crosses generations, bringing together the old school and new school.

"Stepping is a whole different culture. To me it's an art form, especially in the African-American community," Miller said. "You don't see many people doing ballroom dances like the fox trot, but you say stepping and they know what it is."

Contact Patrice Worthy at pworthy@illinoistimes.com.

How a deadbeat huckster saved history

BY TARA MCCLELLAN MCANDREW

Osborn Oldroyd sold this souvenir photo of his Lincoln museum, located on the first floor of the Lincoln Home, for twenty-five cents. Descriptions of the numbered artifacts were printed on the back of the photo. PHOTO COURTESY OF THE LINCOLN HOME NATIONAL HISTORIC SITE

When the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Museum opened, it was heralded as the first of its kind. However, there was an unofficial version housed in the Lincoln Home from 1884 to 1893. It was run by Civil War veteran Osborn Oldroyd, a man who was as quirky as the museum he created.

When Oldroyd began collecting items related to Lincoln in 1860 ("books, sermons, eulogies, poems, songs, portraits, badges, autograph letters, pins, medals, envelopes, statuettes," anything related to the man, Oldroyd wrote), he was among the first Americans to do so, and we have him to thank for their preservation. However, Oldroyd was as much historical huckster as hero. He had a P.T. Barnum approach that probably did as much damage as good.

Perhaps he couldn't help it; eccentricity ran in his genes. His parents, William and Mary Oldroyd, loved their home state of Ohio so much they named their son "Osborn Hamiline Ingham Oldroyd" so his initials would spell its name, according to Dr. Wayne Temple's By Square & Compass: Saga of the Lincoln Home, (2002, Mayhaven Publishing).

Oldroyd found his calling in 1880, a few months after his arrival in Springfield, while attending services at Lincoln's Tomb on the 15th anniversary of the president's death. "As I gazed on the...resting-place of him whom I had learned to love in my boyhood's years, I fell to wondering whether it might not be possible for me to contribute my mite [sic] toward adding luster to the fame of this great product of American institutions," wrote Oldroyd in his book, The Lincoln Memorial: Album-Immortelles, published two years later (by G. W. Carleton and Publishers). He had a plan: he would build a Memorial Hall in Springfield to display his growing collection of Lincoln memorabilia.

Oldroyd assembled his 500-plus-page book to raise money for the Memorial Hall. The book contained snippets of Lincoln speeches and writings, as well as reminiscences of the president which Oldroyd sought from Lincoln's friends and contemporaries. Book sales were fairly good, but Memorial Hall was never constructed.

In the meantime, he ran a succession of failed businesses and moved his family closer and closer to the Lincoln Home at Eighth and Jackson streets. First they lived at 1101 South Seventh, then 500 South Eighth Street (immediately south of the home) and then, in 1883, when the Lincoln Home became available to rent, Oldroyd moved his family in before the last occupants had completely moved out.

At that time, Lincoln's oldest and only surviving son, Robert, owned the home. He charged Oldroyd $25 monthly rent.

When Oldroyd was fired as the Lincoln Home custodian, he stole more than two dozen items from the home, including the Lincolns' heavy, cast-iron stove, which left the new custodian with no cooking apparatus. Over the years, the stove and 24 other pilfered items have come back home. PHOTO COURTESY OF THE LINCOLN HOME NATIONAL HISTORIC SITE

Oldroyd arranged his nearly 2,000 Lincoln items on the home's first floor (his family lived on the second) and on April 14, 1884 - the 19th anniversary of Lincoln's assassination, he opened his museum. Admission was 25 cents, according to a 1992 Lincoln Home report. (Later in his life Oldroyd denied ever charging admission, says Temple's book.)

"The reception at the Lincoln residence last night was a brilliant affair," said the next day's Illinois State Journal. "Mr. Oldroyd has been at work for years on this matchless collection, and it is believed its equal does not exist in the United States.... At last his labors have been crowned with success, and the hundreds of people who thronged the rooms last night are loud in their praise."

Not everybody liked Oldroyd's "traps," as Robert Lincoln later called them. Years later (in the July 1888 issue of the nationally popular Harper's magazine), Charles Dudley Warner wrote about his impressions of Springfield and the Lincoln Home. He bemoaned not finding Lincoln's "sense of personality" here. "Nor is the Lincoln residence much more satisfactory in this respect.... Although the parlor is made a show-room and full of memorials, there is no atmosphere of the man about it."

Meanwhile, Oldroyd, ever the promoter (Temple says Oldroyd called himself "Captain" after the Civil War despite not achieving that rank), found creative ways to publicize his museum while filling the public's desire for Lincoln artifacts. He sold photographs of his collection for 25 cents and a box of "Lincoln relics" for 75 cents. The box contained bits of the Lincoln Home and grounds: pieces of brick, shingle, ceiling plaster, elm tree, apple tree, lath, joist, and floor, according to James Hickey's article, "Own the House Till it Ruins Me" (The Collected Writings of James T. Hickey, Illinois State Historical Society, 1990). Oldroyd claims he saved the items during house repairs.

Two years after Oldroyd moved into the home of the man he adored, he began stiffing the man's son. Oldroyd stopping paying rent in 1885, according to Temple's book. Robert Lincoln, reluctant to attract public attention to the matter, didn't pursue legal proceedings against the "deadbeat," as he called Oldroyd in a letter, even two years and no rental payments later.

Not only did Robert feel he was being used, but "he was not happy with the way Oldroyd had turned the home into a sort of carnival sideshow, selling pieces of it and putting other things into it that had not been the Lincolns'," says James Cornelius, Lincoln curator at the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum.

This photo from the Library of Congress shows Osborn Oldroyd (on the right) with sculptor Ulric S. J. Dunbar in 1924, six years before Oldroyd's death. PHOTO COURTESY OF THE LINCOLN HOME NATIONAL HISTORIC SITE

While Oldroyd wasn't paying rent, he was working on a way to live in the home rent-free. Hickey's article explains how Oldroyd "quietly" lobbied Illinois legislators to acquire the Lincoln Home for the state and let Oldroyd and his museum remain in it. The legislature's first two attempts to ask Robert Lincoln for the house were unsuccessful. Robert said he wasn't ready to part with the home yet.

The legislature succeeded on its third try. In 1887 Robert deeded the Lincoln Home to the state on the conditions it "be kept in good repair and free of access to the public," according to Hickey's article. (Some historians speculate this was Robert's indictment of Oldroyd's management of the house.)

Oldroyd got his wish. He was appointed custodian of the house for a yearly salary of $1,000, he didn't have to pay rent and he was allowed to keep his museum, even though he couldn't charge admission anymore. Perhaps to make up for that loss of income, Oldroyd had several in-laws move in and charged them rent, according to Temple.

There is no evidence Oldroyd ever paid Robert the two years of rent he owed.
For the next five years "Captain" Oldroyd kept the Lincoln Home and built his Lincoln collection. But in 1893, the political powers shifted and Oldroyd was unceremoniously ousted. A Democrat became governor and put one of his own into Oldroyd's former position.

The Illinois State Journal criticized the move. "The removal of Captain O. H. Oldroyd... means that the Lincoln Home will be stripped of the features of most interest to visitors, which are the personal property of Captain Oldroyd, and...the new custodian...will have nothing to show to those who visit the Home," said its April 13, 1893 issue.

Oldroyd found a new home for his "museum." He took his collection to Washington, D.C., and set it up in the Petersen House, the home where Lincoln died across from Ford's Theater. Like before, he set up his museum on the first floor and lived on the second. This time he actually paid rent, according to Temple's book.

The problem is, the new museum featured pilfered artifacts. "He pretty much cleaned house" when he moved out of the Lincoln Home, says Susan Haake, curator of the home. "He stole property."

She says he took at least 25 items from the home that were the state's, including "important pieces" such as the heavy cast-iron stove Mary loved and the cradle the three youngest Lincoln boys had used.

"By the time Oldroyd had been removed as custodian, the home had suffered irreversibly significant damage, with irreplaceable historic fabric removed and discarded without either a trace or documentary record of its appearance" said the 1992 Lincoln Home report. "After Oldroyd, the Lincoln Home would truly never be the same home known by the family for their 17 years in Springfield," it summarized.

A wood engraving of the Lincoln Home, 1865.

Three years after Oldroyd set up his museum in the Petersen House, the federal government bought the home and Oldroyd stayed there, with his collection, for free. Thirty years later Congress bought his Lincoln collection, which was later put on display at Ford's Theater.

Justice was done decades later. Between the 1950s and late 1980s, the Lincoln Home got 25 items back from Ford's Theater that Oldroyd had "taken," says Haake. "For the most part, (the items) are in wonderful shape.

"Oldroyd felt he was doing a public service," she says. "In reality he was, because this stuff wasn't really valued (during his time). The fact that Oldroyd was saving all these Lincoln items probably did save a lot of them from being used until they were worn out."

"I think Oldroyd reflected the larger attitudes of the time period," says Tim Townsend, historian at the Lincoln Home National Historic Site. "This was before the concept of historic preservation or the idea of the proper way to restore and interpret an historic house museum. The idea of curiosities or relics on display was everywhere."

"In truth, O. H. Oldroyd had made a most significant contribution to the history of Lincoln," writes Temple. "Even though (his book on Lincoln) contains flowery platitudes, a few of Lincoln's close friends wrote wonderful reminiscences for (it). No serious Lincoln scholar today can afford to ignore this work."

The benefits of Oldroyd's work are still showing up. In 2006 the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum purchased a "unique" 1858 ambrotype (a type of photograph) of Lincoln, which appears to have been owned by Oldroyd. "It is the first example of a ‘Photoshopping' job done on Lincoln that we know of," says Cornelius. The ambrotype was of an 1854 daguerreotype (another type of photo) of Lincoln that had been altered. The daguerreotype was lost in the great Chicago Fire, which makes the ambrotype even more important.

"Thanks to Oldroyd for preserving it," says Cornelius.

Tara McClellan McAndrew writes

the history column for Illinois Times

A dramatic move on Seventh Street

Court and Karen Conn head team of rescuers to save the Maisenbacher House

BY GINNY LEE

Expert Movers measure for the turn onto Jackson Street. PHOTO BY GINNY LEE

The twelve-member crew of Expert House Movers carefully eased the 19th-century Maisenbacher House into Seventh Street. east of the Springfield Clinic last Saturday morning. Though the weather was cold and blustery, a crowd gathered to watch the house move north on Seventh Street to its new home at Seventh and Jackson sreets. It moved a block north on Saturday, then continued its voyage Sunday, arriving at its new location just before 4 p.m.


For months the future of the Lincoln-era Maisenbacher House was unclear, as the Springfield Clinic planned its expansion in the neighborhood, threatening the house's future. 


Recently a coalition of the City of Springfield, the Heritage Foundation of Downtown Springfield, Inc., and the Springfield Clinic came together to fund moving the house to 503 S. Seventh St., a property owned by Court and Karen Conn, operators of The Inn at 835 on Second Street. The Conns razed the former structure on the property on Seventh Street last week to accommodate the Maisenbacher House.


Karen and Court Conn, new owners of the Maisenbacher House, are pleased with the city's help in moving the house. Next comes laying the foundation for it. PHOTO BY GINNY LEE

The Maisenbacher House was a foot wider than Seventh Street itself, so the move presented problems. And drama. Would the house ease past the tree in front of the Townhouse at 718 S. 7th? No. Would it ease past the light pole on the Clinic property? No. Would the crew be able to negotiate obstacles? Yes.


Trees along the five-block route had been trimmed earlier, but when the house began its journey north, it was clear that trees needed to be pruned more drastically to allow the advance of the historic home, which accounted for the delays. Some residents along Seventh Street were unhappy about the neighborhood-altering tree trimming. Some observers groused that city employees would be paid double time to work on Sunday.


City trucks kept busy hauling away limbs all weekend. "The city has been so cooperative with this project," Karen Conn said. 


The Expert crew had wrapped the 300-ton brick house with three half-inch steel cables to stabilize it and jacked the house up on eight hydraulic eight-wheel dollies for the five-block move north. Joe Matyiko "drove" the house from controls on the back side of the house. 


The premise of the moving operation was a low-tech "chain and a come-along," according to John Matyiko, head of the operation. The Expert crew performed like a disciplined marching band but without the "Pomp and Circumstance." Employees James and Ken barked commands ("More, Joe!") and used hand signals to the crew to make adjustments to the hydraulic rig. The project was expertly choreographed.


John Matyiko, grandfather of the current John Matyiko, started Expert House Movers 40 years ago in Virginia Beach, Va., and it remains a family business today, with other branches in Defiance, Mo., and in Maryland. Four brothers and cousins, plus Uncle Joe Matyiko, helped move the Maisenbacher House. The business also has the distinction of moving the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse in North Carolina and is one of the premier building movers in the U.S. In 1998 the Expert crew also moved the historic Iles House from South Fifth Street to its current home on South Seventh Street.


Court and Karen Conn hope to renovate the house for retail space for goods made in Illinois. "It's a perfect location, across from the Lincoln Home," Court said. The house will sit on Jackson Street for several weeks until a foundation can be laid on the site.

Ginny Lee of Springfield is a photojournalist.