The summers of 1967 and ’68 were hot — real hot — and we were in the ‘guts of the ogre.’

Posters on the wall above my desk. Uptown Chicago, 1967. Photos by Michael James from his forthcoming book, Michael Gaylord James’ Pictures from the Long Haul.
[In this series, Michael James is sharing images from his rich past, accompanied by reflections about — and inspired by — those images. This photo will be included in his forthcoming book, Michael Gaylord James’ Pictures from the Long Haul.]
The summer of 1967 was hot — real hot. Temperatures soared and so did social unrest. Air conditioners were scarce and so was any semblance of authentic legislation to alleviate poverty and its co-conspirators, repression and neglect.
On the worst of the hot days I would go in DeMars restaurant in Uptown, order a strawberry ice cream sundae, black coffee, and ice water, and sit in an air-conditioned turquoise booth that gave me a view of the intersection of Wilson and Sheridan. Nights were the worst. I attempted sleep after a cold shower, lying naked on the bed with a fan blowing over me.
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