Vanishing Chicago: Uncle Fun

If you lived in Chicago and wanted to buy something unusual or unique--whether for a friend as a present or for yourself for kicks--where would you go?

Something like, say, a postcard of Tim Curry as Doctor Frank N. Furter in all his fishnet glory? Or a lunchbox devoted to the love of bacon? Or a book on the history of Halloween costumes? Or a tin windup robot or elephant or tabby cat chasing a ball?

You'd go to Uncle Fun.

What if you wanted a birthday card emblazoned with the splash page of a '60s romance comic? Or kitschy Japanese-made Christmas decorations from the '50s? Or a cardboard dancing witch? Or a tube of fake blood? Or a plastic fried egg?

You'd go to Uncle Fun.

What if you wanted a Count Chocula bobblehead? Or an action figure of Kelly Bundy from Married with Children? Or a deck of tarot cards? Or a colorful cardboard Thanksgiving centerpiece? Or a plastic fly? Or a skull covered in glitter? Or cereal box prizes? Or a refrigerator magnet shaped like the head of Bozo the Clown that also doubles as a kazoo?

You'd go to Uncle Fun.

That's what you would do. But you won't be able to do that much longer--Uncle Fun is closing for good.

The owner, Ted, is retiring and moving to Baltimore. (never thought of the home of the Orioles, Charm City Cakes and John Waters as a retirement destination, but what do I know?) Thus, everything in the store is on sale. The window signs say it's all 50% off, but since many of the items within the store and the adjoining basement (now open to be prowled by bargain hunters) have no price tags on them, discounts are often much steeper than that.

I've been in a couple of times since the announcement was made, despite the consistently lousy weather in what has been one of the roughest winters in recent memory. On such days, already tired and stressed from work, I'd rather go straight home and stay there. Also, I'm claustrophobic--it seems to have gotten worse as I've gotten older--so the thought of walking into a smallish store crammed wall-to-wall with people is not the most comfort one I could have.

But I've been going to Uncle Fun for far too long--as JB asked today, "Am I mistaken in thinking you have been shopping at Uncle Fun since we were in our late 20s?" (note: he was not mistaken)--to let it wink out of existence without a proper farewell.

So there I was, snaking my way through the crowds (much heavier on my first visit than on my second), filling my basket with the most random of shit: Postcards (one of them a genuine turn-of the 20th-Century New Year's card); fridgy magnets; buttons advertising Red Dog beer; a windup tin bird that hops and pecks the ground like the sparrows I feed every morning; a picture of Roger Moore holding a box of kittens (from the movie Ffolkes); a windup Timex watch; a packet of nylons with cool '50s graphics on the envelope; a plastic Bozo head that doubles as a bank (what is it with the Bozo merchandise multitasking?); and much, much more.

Did I need any of what I bought? No, not really. (Notable exception: A plastic form for laundering baseball caps. I've needed one of those for years. Seriously.) Did every single item make me smile on some level? Yes, it did--just like everything I ever bought at Uncle Fun always did.

Of course, I couldn't take everything I wanted to. There were items throughout the store that were out of my price range or that weren't for sale at all (like the many celebrity autographed photos behind the counter).

Then there's the huge, life-size tiger that looms on a tops shelf toward the back of the store. If I had a large apartment (or, even better, a house) and unrestricted funds, I'd buy that tiger. Then again, I'm not the only one who feels that way. "Everybody wants the tiger!" said the super-cute, super-friendly cashier said.

She also told me that the last day of "celebration" (her word, not mine) at Uncle Fun would be Sunday, January 26, or until they ran out of merchandise, whichever came first. (Given how much stuff Ted apparently has in storage, I'd be shocked if they ran out of stuff to sell before the 26th.) I'll try to pop in again before then, if only to pat the tiger on his worn fur head one last time.

I suggest you do the same. The fun--Uncle Fun--ends soon.