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High-rise Kick Flare style jeans for women with a zipper fly and tailored hem for a modern look.  Fits true to size. contents: 81% Cotton, 17% Tencel, 2% Lycra Made in USA

High-rise Kick Flare style jeans for women with a zipper fly and tailored hem for a modern look.  Fits true to size. contents: 81% Cotton, 17% Tencel, 2% Lycra Made in USA

High-rise Kick Flare style jeans for women with a zipper fly and tailored hem for a modern look.  Fits true to size. contents: 81% Cotton, 17% Tencel, 2% Lycra Made in USA

High-rise Kick Flare style jeans for women with a zipper fly and tailored hem for a modern look.  Fits true to size. contents: 81% Cotton, 17% Tencel, 2% Lycra Made in USA

Settled in the late 1840s and incorporated as Niles Centre in 1888, Skokie was founded by immigrants from Germany and Luxembourg who created a small-town rural community filled with farms and greenhouses. A short-lived real estate boom in the 1920s gave Skokie its current boundaries, streets, and sewer systems. Due to the Great Depression, however, these paved roadways remained vacant until after World War II. Aided by the construction of the Edens Expressway, Skokie experienced tremendous growth and became a bustling suburban community. Many of the families that settled in Skokie during this time were Jewish. In the last quarter century, other families moved to the suburb, many with Indo-Asian origins, leading to the ethnically diverse community that Skokie has become today.

In a book that's been called funny, wacky and heartbreaking, Linda Pressman, the child of two Holocaust Survivors, tells what it's like to grow up with parents who have survived the unsurvivable, who land in Skokie, an idyllic northern suburb of Chicago, where they're suddenly free to live their lives, yet find their past has arrived with them. In Looking Up: A Memoir of Sisters, Survivors and Skokie, a book both funny and somber and a story universal in its scope, Linda Pressman creates an unforgettable world of adolescent angst and traumatized parents amid the suburban world of the 60s and 70s, ultimately finding that her parents' stories are her own.

Are Nazis entitled to freedom of expression? In 1977, Frank Collin, leader of the National Socialist Party of America, sought to hold a Nazi march in Skokie, Illinois. Skokie had one of the largest Holocaust survivor populations outside New York City. In this Chicago suburb, over half the population was Jewish. The proposed march sparked a host of legal actions: the Village of Skokie asked for an injunction to prevent the Nazis from marching, and new ordinances were adopted to do so; Collin applied to hold a march on a later date, but was denied; an ACLU lawsuit was brought in federal court, seeking to invalidate the new ordinances Skokie had put in place to prevent the march. In the end, Collin and the Nazis did not march in Skokie, but the Illinois Supreme Court ruled for free speech in 1978. The ACLU felt severe consequences, organizational and financial, of what was seen by many members as an insidious, pro-Fascist position. Writing from his perspective as national executive director of the ACLU, Aryeh Neier tells the story, and ponders the consequences, of Skokie and other cases in which the enemies of freedom have claimed for themselves the rights that they would deny to others.

All have set screws. 1 7/16" diameter. Marked - Rogan Bros. Skokie, IL on the back.

"Grandpa’s been arrested for hitting a Nazi with a salami!" So begins Robert Rand’s engaging novel of growing up in Skokie, Illinois, home to one of America’s largest communities of Jewish Holocaust survivors and to Rand’s alter ego, Bobby Bakalchuk. In 1977 Skokie made news as Nazis sought to march down its main street. The enraged citizens ignited a storm over the First Amendment, spurring Bobby’s Grandpa Abe Yellin to the front line armed with an all-beef 100% kosher projectile. Under Bobby’s keen eye, the 1960s and 1970s are resurrected via the characters and curiosities that shape his young life-from the Cuban Missile Crisis to radioactive Ping Pong balls; from a prayer shawl abandoned in Auschwitz to the racial divide. This utterly American story describes an immigrant community grappling with the same cultural issues and moral choices faced by previous and subsequent newcomers. Perceived as different, Skokie’s Jews and their offspring struggle to comprehend―and fit into―the political, racial, and cultural stew that is the United States. With characteristic wit and insight, Rand explores their plight. In so doing he sheds light on the complexity and consequence of intolerance, and the meaning of ethnicity―and home.

In 1926, railroad and electric power tycoon Samuel Insull held a contest to name a station on the Skokie Valley Electric Line that the locals already called the Skokie Swamp. The winning name? Wau Bun, a Potawatomi word meaning “dawn” and also the name of a noted Potawatomi chief from the late 1700s. But the residents of Skokie Swamp hated the name and plotted their revenge. Three years later, as Insull was on a train pulling into the station, he was horrified to discover that vandals had taken it upon themselves to rename the station Hot Bun. Insull and the locals compromised, and the more neutral moniker of Northfield was adopted. The Skokie Valley Electric Line has long since been closed, and popular legend holds that Insull died penniless and alone in Paris. But the town of Northfield has survived and thrived. Once a loose affiliation of farms, Northfield is now a quiet suburb that has enviable schools, beautiful homes, and gorgeous landscapes.

Until February 15, 2001, Howard Reich’s mother, Sonia, had managed to keep almost everything about her experience of the Holocaust from her son. That night, she packed some clothes and fled her house in Skokie, Illinois, convinced that someone was trying to kill her. This was the first indication that she was suffering from late-onset post traumatic stress disorder, a little-known condition that can emerge decades after the initial trauma. For Howard, it was also the opening of a window onto his mother’s past.  In Prisoner of Her Past, Howard Reich has written a moving memoir about growing up as the child of Holocaust survivors and finding refuge from silence and fear in the world of jazz. It is only when Sonia’s memories overwhelm her and Howard begins to piece together her story that he comes to understand how his parents’ lives shaped his own. The paperback edition includes an epilogue by the author that relates developments since the publication of the cloth edition.