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A Spiritual Laxative

The Source

His name was Hunt Bonan and he came to Jacksonville from southern Illinois having heard about the reputation of Illinois College. He was a quiet and thoughtful young fellow who thought he might like to follow his father into the banking business. Hunt enrolled in the proper business courses and in four years’ time walked across the I.C. stage with this diploma. My friend was a witty little rascal and pretty bright, but it was his Saturday mornings that fascinated me. I didn’t keep track and he may have missed a few, but on every Saturday morning that the weather would permit, Hunt would crawl into his little Ford and drive to Lincoln’s Tomb in Springfield. Some days he’d go in and other mornings he’d simply stand there in front of the President’s memorial for a few moments, then return to Jacksonville. For four years….the same drive, the same destination. Of course I was curious about Hunt’s fascination with Lincoln, but when I’d asked him why he’d dedicated himself to such an ordeal he’d simply say, “I don’t know. I guess it’s just a spiritual laxative.” A spiritual laxative. It’s the season for spring cleaning when we sweep, brush or scoop out the accumulation of a winter of closed doors and shuttered windows, and although most of us make this annual refreshing a ritual, I doubt we give much thought to Hunt’s idea of reviving ourselves spiritually. Allow me to make a few suggestions…. Drive out over the land bridge at Nichol’s Park, keep on heading east then start meandering northward toward the Western Illinois Youth Camp. Pass the drive to the camp and in the short distance you’ll see one of Morgan County’s loveliest sights, Asbury Church. It’s a quick dose of Normal Rockwell with a touch of Thomas Kincaid and Grandma Moses thrown in. I don’t know who came up with the idea of planting a church within an easy stone’s throw of Lake Jacksonville, but the plan is a winner. There’s even a bit of forestry cut out between the church and the water where you can pull you car right down to the bank. Stop your car, get out and simply “Be.” The cemetery, the lake, the church, all within a single view…our past, our present and our future. A spiritual laxative. Drive back to town, do a bit of sweet talking the janitor, and climb into the tower of the Morgan County courthouse. It’s not quite as lofty as the Sears Tower and there’s no terrifying floor of Plexiglas to view State Street, but you’ll be treated with a truly soothing sight. Our little town is pretty spiffy from a few floors up. Grab a lunch to go and park yourself near the playground in Community Park, just adjacent to the Chamber of Commerce office. On most days you’ll be treated to the sight of young moms and dads giving free reign to the laughter and imagination of their children. It’s cleansing. Toss your sack into one of the handy receptacles and take a stroll around one of Jacksonville’s real jewels, the walkways of Community Park. Unlike most walking paths where you’ll have to take several laps to make a good walk, the well-maintained concrete trails in our park seem to go on forever and you’ll need to pack another lunch if you want to explore them all in a day. Warning: the walking traffic gets heavy as evening approaches. The town’s gone a bit retro as The Frozen Penguin, just off the square, has become the place to be and be seen by many of the local teens. One of my theatre students tells me that if you buy a frozen yogurt then eat it as you walk around the square three times, this will burn off the exact amount of calories you’ve consumed. I’m aware that she’s a student of theatre and neither biology nor math, so her figures might be a bit skewed. Regardless, it’s a pleasant enough trick to pull on yourself and it’s another great laxative for the soul. If you’re not able to walk that far, just sit and enjoy trip back to yesteryear watching teenagers hang out at an ice cream parlor. I don’t know who first installed easy chairs in bookstores, but it’s a jim-dandy idea, and I’ll wager that Our Town Books is one of the few retail stores in town when you can plop down in an easy chair, read a book, and not buy anything. For a couple of hours the gloomy din of CNN will be swallowed up as you join the imagination of Herman Melville or Stephen King. My friend Hunt is now president of his bank. His biography lists several notable accomplishments, but I wonder if he quietly tells himself that the key to his success might be a series of long drives to Springfield to stand a moment at Lincoln’s tomb for a spiritual laxative.