“It’s not all Holland, it’s not all Illinois, it’s just a little Holland-y”
It’s only natural that my first instinct when writing my January “Hollandy” would be to first wish you all a very happy New Year and best of luck for 2012 (albeit slightly late) and then proceed to share with you about the cultural differences between how we would celebrate New Year’s in central Illinois versus the city of Amsterdam. I’m a “go with your gut” girl so I’ll do just that.
It’s been a long time since I’ve rung in the New Year back in Illinois but it’s safe to say I can remember the traditions well enough. I’d get together with my usual group of awesome, fun friends. We’d decide if we should stay in or go out. We’d discuss the dangers of driving and risk of getting in an accident or being pulled over (from no fault of our own, mind you). Then we’d drink, dance, do the countdown, kiss our loved ones at the stroke of midnight (or kiss random strangers because, well, you saw the part about the drinking didn’t you?). Eventually the night would wind down and you’d spend the next day nursing a slight hang over and eating Bagna Cauda with your family.
My first experience of New Year’s Eve (2004 – 2005) Amsterdam style was somewhat similar to Illinois in that there was a countdown. That’s where the similarity pretty much ended.
Still in the “new love” phase Marco and I didn’t make plans with anybody and decided to spend our first New Years together just with one another. We walked through the streets of the city and I was blown away by the size of it all. On every big “square” there were huge deejay booths and stages set up with gigantic speakers and music blaring. The entire city was in party mode. We decided that Dam Square, where the palace is, (did I tell you the Dutch have royalty? Well now you know) would be the best place to spend our very first New Years together. Rather than a small club full of people, there where thousands and thousands of people gathered around, drinking, dancing and listening to the deejay rock some techno-dance music while videos were shown on a massive screen.
I remember the excitement that I felt being there. I was living the things that I had only seen on TV. Me, a girl from mapdot Illinois , I was really standing there on Dam Square, in front of a palace, amongst this sea of people that I didn’t know, who didn’t know me and I was loving it. The music was pumping. People were partying. The energy was fantastic. It was a dream. As cheesy as it may sound, it was seriously a dream for me. I don’t know if it will make sense to anybody else but I felt tiny. I felt so small and little and my world seemed to be super-sized. No, it wasn’t the space cakes. It was just the city doing its thing.
Television stations happened to be taping the square to show the celebration on TV so at about two minutes to midnight they had us all do a “practice” countdown to show on the air. We did the countdown, everything went fine. It was what I expected. Awesome.
Then the real countdown began. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1… HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!! We kissed. (I didn’t kiss any random strangers that year, if you were wondering). The crowds erupted in shouting and celebration.
Then the most bizarre thing happened. All smiles around just soaking it all in and suddenly I felt a little, yet firm, push and turned around to see what was happening. Seconds later Marco yelled “get back” throwing a heroic arm in front of me sending me stumbling a bit. There was a group of young guys creating a small clearing, probably three feet in diameter. What in the world? Seconds later a gigantic firework exploded into the air spraying it colors across the crowd. Scared me to death! Not three seconds later it happened again. A little push. Somebody would yell “look out” (or kijk uit in Dutch) and BOOM!
I’m not talking about bottle rockets here. These were big, glorious, professional fireworks, think Fourth of July…only in the hands of every single drunken tween, teen and young adult on the square filled with thousands of people. I’d love to pause here and say it was gorgeous but I’d be lying. It was terrifying. It took the magical “I’m in love with the city” feeling down a notch or two and I was now feeling more “you crazy Dutch, have you lost your minds?!?!?”. -ish It was absolute mayhem! No “Auld Lang Syne” sung here but more like “Ode to Anxiety”.
That was my first and very last experience of New Years in the grand old city. We now ring in the new year from the comfort of our living room, watching those crazy-firework-loving-Dutch light up the sky from the safety of our double glazed windows.
A view of the hotel at Beaver Dam, south of Carlinville, in the early 1900s. A landmark of the area, the hotel was a popular overnight spot until it closed in 1938.
A century ago, a hotel was a landmark at the area that became Beaver Dam State Park in south-central Macoupin County. The structure has lived on in various incarnations since it closed in 1938.
The two-story, sixteen-room building opened for business in 1906. The exterior of the white-frame structure was spartan in appearance, which likely reflected the interior. But the hotel was a favorite stopover for visitors to Beaver Dam Lake.
Advertisements for the hotel were found in the St. Louis, Alton, and Springfield papers and attracted guests from miles around. “There must have been some business there,” said Jim Frank of the Macoupin County Historical Society in an interview before his death in late 2024. “People came from all over to visit the lake and stay in the hotel.”
Frank, who lived south of Beaver Dam, notes that guests arrived by train from Macoupin Station, a mile to the north. “They would be met there by a horse-drawn coach,” he remarked. “That would take them up the hill to the hotel.”
Though the hotel was basic, its surroundings were scenic. A tree-lined lane met visitors on the approach to the building, which sat just inside the current park entrance, on the right.
The hotel was operated by Frank Rhoads and his wife Sarah, whose father, Henry Brayford, played a pivotal role in the development of the lake for recreational purposes.
In 1881, some eighteen leading Carlinville residents leased the property from Brayford to create the Beaver Dam Lake Club. The members spent an estimated $2600 to construct earthen dams on either end of the lake to raise the water level.
Brayford, a coal miner who began to sink a new mine in 1899, died of a lingering illness on Dec. 23, 1901 at age 84. When Frank and Sarah Rhoads inherited the property, they ended the lease to the Carlinville businessmen and built the hotel, which opened as the Beaver Dam Fishing Resort.
The Rhoads, who had no children, took extra steps to ensure their guests’ enjoyment. “Mrs. Rhoads was quite a musician,” said Frank. “There was a grand piano and an organ in the hotel parlor, and she would play those to entertain the visitors.”
It was not the only way in which Sarah Rhoads put her stamp on the hotel. When meals were served, she called the guests and fishermen inside by blowing a large fox horn that sounded across the lake. A taxidermist, her mounts of local wild animals were displayed in the hotel and in its guest rooms. She was also adept at photography and for a fee, provided photos of her guests and their catches of fish.
Guests to the lake could fish for a dollar per day, while lodging was two dollars per night. Outdoor camping was permitted, but Sarah, owing to customs of the day, would not allow female campers.
Some individuals tried to avoid the fishing fee by sneaking into the lake grounds. However, the Rhoads posted watchmen who would collect the fee as they scaled the fences.
The completion of the Shipman Blacktop in 1937 doomed the hotel, as many guests began to spend the day and drive home at night, rather than staying over. Fee fishing continued at the site for several years, In 1947, the state of Illinois acquired the 425-acre property, which opened to the public as a state park the following year.
The second floor of the hotel was torn off, and the rest was converted into a residence for park rangers. The state also reconstructed and raised the earthen dams to create a lake of 56.5 acres. In 1955, additional land was acquired, boosting the park to 737 acres.
When capital improvements were made to Beaver Dam State Park in the late 2000s, the old hotel structure was sold to area residents and moved off site. The building now sits on private property.
Tom Emery is a freelance writer and historical researcher from Carlinville, Ill. He may be reached at 217-710-8392 or ilcivilwar@yahoo.com.
When people think of protests, especially in small, conservative towns, they often imagine tension, anger, or conflict. But what I’ve experienced at our local protests is something else entirely.
There’s music playing. People are smiling, waving, and offering encouragement. Cars pass by and honk in support. There’s laughter, conversations, and a shared sense of purpose. It’s not chaotic. It’s not hostile. It’s community.
These protests have become a place where people come together to feel connected and hopeful. We don’t just hold signs. We bring canned goods for food pantries. We share resources. We check in on each other. Many of us also make a point to support local small businesses before and after the protests , grabbing coffee, dinner, or doing some shopping…. because we know they’re part of this community too.
For many of us, especially those who’ve felt isolated in our beliefs, these gatherings are a lifeline.
I’ve had countless people tell me how much this helps them. They say coming out to protest gets them off their phones, away from the news, and back into the world with purpose. They feel less alone. Less hopeless. I see it in myself too. Being around like-minded people, standing for something that matters, has improved my own mental health. Protesting reminds us that we can still make a difference.
This isn’t about causing division. It’s about connection. It’s about choosing to take action instead of watching history repeat itself while we sit by in silence. For many of us, this is about making sure our kids, neighbors, and future generations know we tried.
When I first had the idea to bring protests to Macoupin County, I reached out to Andi Smith in February. She had already taken the brave first step of standing with a sign in Edwardsville, and her quiet courage lit the way for so many of us. Andi has been a lighthouse of support, not just for me, but for others who are learning how to use their voice. She didn’t do it for attention. She did it because it was the right thing to do. And that kind of leadership matters.
Now, we have weekly protests across the region. And it all started with someone deciding to show up. That’s how movements begin. That’s how change starts. Not all at once, but with one person and then another.
I invite you to join us at our weekly protest every Tuesday from 5:00–7:00 p.m. at the Macoupin County Courthouse in Carlinville. We are building this movement with love, hope, and action. I’m proud to be working alongside Kelley Hatlee and organizations like The 50501 Movement, Macoupin Pride, Macoupin County Action Alliance, and Indivisible.
Weekly protests take place rain or shine every Sunday in Alton from 12 noon to 2 p.m. at the Lincoln Douglas Square, every Tuesday in Carlinville from 5 to 7 p.m. at the Macoupin County Courthouse, and every Friday from 12 noon to 2 p.m. in Edwardsville at the City Park. I encourage others to show up to one near them. You don’t need a crowd to begin. You don’t need permission to care. Just show up. Bring a sign. Start the conversation. You might be surprised how many people were waiting for someone else to take the first step.
Because when we show up, we remember who we are. And when we come together, we realize we were never alone.
There is common ground for those who voted for, or against, Donald Trump to be President of the United States again. First, we can all agree that he won the election. Second, Kamala Harris did not whine and lie to the American people that she really won. And third, since it was a free democratic election, the American people will get the government they deserve.
For those citizens who feel disappointed that a majority of voters chose as their leader a demagogue who believes the rule of law does not apply to him, your duty now is to bear witness to the consequences. And remember. For history’s sake.
Stay awake as the herd nods off, and avoids evidence of an insurrection that happened before their very eyes. Observe the idiot wind that blows constantly from the mouths of all those Trump-pets pretending that traitors are patriots. Don’t fall for the false equivalencies, like convincing you that their retribution is the same as real justice.
And stop thinking about King Rump. Entertainment is his game. He’s the best at keeping everyone distracted while he performs his con. He knows what he’s doing. Also, don’t waste your time trying to convince your friends and relatives who have slid down the rabbit hole of self-delusion. This election proved Mark Twain was right when he observed: “It is easier to fool a man, than to convince him he has been fooled.”
James Tweed
1512 Wesley Ave. Ocean City, NJ 08226 (609)398-3124