Keith's American Christmas

     Daughter Angela, while in college had worked summers at the Chicago Boys Club in Indiana and she met several counselors who lived in English speaking countries that had come to America to work at the same camp.  She made some good friendships and when she and her friend, Cindy had backpacked through Europe, they partook of the hospitality of their camp mates and we in turn reciprocated on several occasions.   One year her friend, Keith Sykes from Great Britain was visiting us. My goal, was to give Keith a good Midwestern Christmas in our home.  I was planning to write a blog about it and needed some input from Angela or youngest daughter, Maureen and after reading Maureen's account, decided hers was much more interesting than what I had planned.

     Angela, Keith Sykes, Craig Smith and I drove to a party in Chicago on the night of December 23 with every intention of being home at a reasonable hour on Christmas Eve.  It was so cold that morning with wind chills of 70 below zero - something Keith had never experienced.  When we stopped to fill up the gas tank, we drew straws to see who had to get out of the car and pump gas.  In that biting stinging cold, chivalry was dead.
     We started home early enough but the weather was turning worse and the going was slow on I-57.  Blizzard conditions, icy roadbeds and the punishing winds were causing travelers to stall, slip and skid.  After several hours (we should have been home by now), we had only made it about 80 miles down the highway.  All of a sudden, there seemed to be a huge accident up ahead with flashing lights from police cars blocking the road.  As we approached the roadblock, we saw that cars were starting to pass us going north in the southbound lanes.  The police were turning everyone around and diverting us to the last exit.  Interstate 57 was closed.
      With about 500 other holiday travelers, we limped our way into the tiny town of Ashkum, Illinois, a farm community between Kankakee and the wide open prairie.  Safety officials and townspeople directed us to an ad hoc emergency shelter in the town hall.  Like everyone else, we were hungry and tired, se we ventured out into the blizzard.  The town hall was flanked by a cafe and a bar.
      A lot of the travelers spent Christmas Eve wandering between those three locations - I later learned from a co-worker at OSF and native Ashkumite, that several residents opened their homes to stranded travelers.  We weren't so lucky.)  We made friends at the cafe and bar, especially two gentlewomen and their poodle we called "Fang".  Someone kept playing Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer on the jukebox.  After several hours, each of the eateries had to close to "restock" and the crowd was sent to the other establishment or went to the emergency shelter to find a place to sleep.  After several more hours, Craig and I decided we were tired, but Angela and Keith were enjoying a real Midwestern Christmas Eve in a bar full of merry refugees making the most of the circumstances.
      Craig and I crept into the shelter where cots, blankets and pillows had been provided by the townsfolk.  The place was packed with hundreds of displaced travelers and despite all the body heat, the bitter cold permeated the building.  All the cots were taken.  There wasn't an extra pillow or blanket to be found.  Even floor space was at a premium.
      Craig and I managed to work our way to the back of the building.  There, just in front of the coat racks, was a family of four:  dad, mom and two little children, all wearing their winter coats and hats, spooned together and covered in a thin pink blanket.  Craig and I laid down on the little bit of floor space behind them and cuddled close to get warm - I had just met Craig at the party (He had worked at the Boys Club Camp as well), but in this emergency situation, sharing body heat was crucial to making it through the frigid night sleeping on a cold concrete floor.)
      Back at the bar - or cafe, just before dawn, Angela and Keith heard word that the Interstate was open and the stranded travelers could safely continue their journeys.  They tiptoed through the shelter looking for Craig and me.  It took awhile, but they found us.  I was spooned between Craig and a man I did not know who was still spooning with his wife and two shivering children.  And somewhere in the middle of the night, we had managed to get ourselves under their thin pink blanket. (I have photos).  We woke up, grabbed some breakfast from the restocked cafe and got back on the road.  We had to drop Craig off in Watseka, his hometown, and then we headed home with tales of the best Christmas ever....

     The daughters got home, laughing and talking about their adventure.  We had our typical Midwestern Christmas.  We had dinner, passed out presents and Keith certainly had a more memorable time then what had been planned.