The heart of a small rural town beats in the gathering places that supply its essential needs.  Churches.  The grocery store.  A gas station.  The courthouse.  The post office, if it’s still there.  And the Laundromat.  Dotted throughout southern Illinois are several tiny towns and villages whose pulse is slowing to a crawl, causing them to wither, one business at a time.  Their history is rich, stretching back to the days of Lewis and Clark.  On this day though, it was the ghosts of the 20^th century that intrigued me.     

Standing in the middle of the quiet street with sweat from the 97 degree day trickling down my back, I couldn’t help but wonder about Charles and Eula Mae, the feet that passed over the threshold of Ralph’s Laundry and the gossip that swirled on the bench out front between swigs from bottles of Coca-Cola on sweltering summer days.

Since I hate to miss an opportunity to photograph something old and rusty, I made a point to stop in Brookport Sunday night to photograph the old water tower before its Monday demolition.  I played the Mother's Day card, and my family waited patiently in the car while I snapped several shots.  And then, as I drove through Brookport Monday morning on my way to a funeral, I stumbled upon all of the demolition action.  Fortunately, I had a little extra time, so I pulled over and stayed as long as I could.  Dotted on the street corners, close to the barricades, were several people watching the action. 

When you grow up in a small town, you often complain that nothing changes, but the truth is there is comfort in the sameness of your surroundings.  The buildings, the people, your schools.  All of those things that are a part of the structure of your childhood days.  To the residents of a town that lost so much in a recent tornado, it must be sad to watch one of their community icons come down, as evidenced by the crowd and the poem recently written on one leg of the tower.

He accommodated the strange lady with the camera, content that the boat zipping across the river was taking him home for a long break from his job on the towboat.  I spoke only with the camera, and he spoke only with a tepid smile.  It was a pleasant conversation.