It was like Charlie and the Chocolate factory. But with dead flesh.
This is what it looks like in Jason’s brain.
This is how the hides come in. That’s horse hide imported from France.
I want Horace McCoy to write a book called The French Eat Horses, Don’t They?
The hides are bathed in a sort of bleach wash deal that turns them into pasty white piles of mush.
Leather byproduct splatter strewn across an American flag. There’s a metaphor there but I’m not sure what it is.
Most footballs used for pro games? Yup. They came from Horween.
This place has been around since 1905 and is still family owned and operated. Skip Horween, the gentleman who showed us around, took us to this dark hole where the hides dry.
Horween is the last place in the States to make Cordovan, which is essentially the butt of the horse. I told Skip that it kind of looks like Illinois. He agreed and told us that an uncut hide looks like the United States. I said there was another good metaphor in there somwhwere. Skip quietly tolerated the foppish writer by saying, “Yeah, there’s something in there.”
But it wasn’t all leather for us. Side note: I enjoyed introducing Jason to my Chicago friends by saying, “This is Jason. He’s really into leather.”
We went to the Russian Tea Room, which made people whisper further.
We took the pink line (God, this is getting bad) down to Pilsen.
If you live in the greater Chicago area, care about the most interesting stuff happening in art book publishing and you have not yet been to Golden Age then you, my friend, are robbing yourself of one of the better experiences of your lifetime.
Go see Marco and his amazing store right away!
This was one of the best trips I’ve made back to the city since I moved. Without a doubt.
Thank you Tom, Bill, Ben, Anne, Theresa and Sheba. I miss you all.
And dare I say it? I miss this city.