Philander Barclay: Oak Park's Historical Photographer

	Philander Barclay Oak Park's Historical Photographer
	My name was Philander Walker Barclay, son of James S. and Mary Taylor Barclay, born in the small town of Anna, Illinois. (So small they didn't have a decent web page, even by September of 1878 when my momma greeted me.)

My family moved to Oak Park in the early 1890's and operated a drug store at 103 Marion Street. (In fact, we even named a drink after the location -- what with being on the Mall and all that, we thought our concoction should be called a "Malt". Catchy, no? but that's just a digression.) The store was called The Golden Lion. What with my name and all, is it a wonder I never married? But surprisingly, neither did my sister, Luan, or my brother, James.

BARCLAY'S DRUG STORE

BARCLAY'S BIKE

You have to understand that Oak Park, even by the turn of the century, was a hot place to live. Why, when I wanted to have a good time, I would get on my Bicycle and pedal through town with camera in tow. The Bike was easy to come by -- I repaired them for a living -- but the camera was my prized possession. I took pictures of buildings, railroads and even a few folks in Oak Park and River Forest who I couldn't persuade to move out of the picture.

All my life, I found chronicling my village to be the utmost fascination. My card file of data included curiosities about the buildings I photographed, and clippings from the Oak Leaves newspaper (before it was bought by the Chicago Newspaper Network.)

OAK PARK AVENUE IN 1930'S

Traffic was a problem in town then, what with speeding carriages, bicycles, and the new automobiles -- especially the young Farson boys who would go tearing around the streets in one of their father's 14 cars. (The Historical Society of Oak Park and River Forest is good enough to keep records of all the cars these kids had, just so you can get a feel for how bad it was.) Anyway, I was always proud to have organized the How to Cross the Street Club to teach kids how to properly jeer when those affluent motorists went whizzing past. Later, we would sit around the Borrowed Time Club commiserating with the other 70+ years gentlemen about how much safer and quieter the village was in the old days. (Though sometimes the topic would turn to that real philanderer, Frankie up the street.) I wonder what ever happened to the club? (N.B. It still exists.)
Well, we all get old, that's for sure. I had at least a thousand photographs of the village tucked away when I called on the reaper on July 7, 1940. What ever happened to those photos? (N.B. They are stored and available for duplication at the Historical Society.) I'll bet there weren't too many other towns with such an ardent "Village Historian".
But at least it made my life worthwhile for you, as after reading about me, you should definitely visit Frank Lipo at the Historical Society and ask about my views of the village. It would make me feel good, it would.