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The article focuses on Chicago, Illinois-based African American newspaper "Chicago Defender," dealing with topics including its history, financial performance, and its eighth publisher Cheryl Mainor.

One said goodbye, embracing his anxious parents. One left without a word, indignant and angry. After traveling thousands of miles by bus, train and on foot, the two young men met in a homeless shelter on Chicago's Northwest Side. [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER]

Sometimes, in the wings of life's final act, there are those who help the dying exit the stage with a bit more ease. Last February, Ellen Goode moved her mother, Frances Livermore, from a nursing home in Niles into Ms. Goode's living room in Rogers Park. Ministrokes and Parkinson's disease had left Ms. Livermore paralyzed and bedridden. Her ailments, which included glaucoma and chronic infections, required two hands to tally. [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER]

The stories were varied. There was the formerly homeless woman who said she had become ill from shelter food; the social worker who felt that without sufficient resources, she was being set up to fail; the youth who asked for more drop-in services; the mother who lost her job and then her home; and the man who was told he was ineligible for certain services because he was neither an addict nor mentally ill. They, along with national experts on homelessness, social workers and community activists, gathered at the Chicago Temple last week for a candid discussion about Chicago's homeless problem and new ways for the city to address it. [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER]

Lamar West has lost parents twice in his life. The first time was when he was 4; the second was a month before his 18th birthday. The circumstances differed, but the outcomes did not. When Mr. West, 20, tries to remember his biological parents, his eyes close and his face goes still. He remembers his mother's name, Rochelle Griffin. Then he recalls a place -- a hallway, an office -- and fragments of conversation. ''Records. Drug abuse. Termination.'' [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER]

Samantha Caballero cannot remember the last time she slept well. Some nights she nods off in a chair. She has slouched in the front seat of her brother's station wagon or huddled between boxes in her mother's storage unit. Sometimes she squeezes onto a friend's extra bed with five of her six children. There are seven of them: Six children. One mother. No home. [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER]

Before they were in, they were out. Before crowds swamped the galleries and celebrities wrote checks, KC Ortiz and Jordan Nickel wielded spray cans, hopped fences, provoked the citizenry, got arrested -- all to make Chicago's streets, rooftops and el tracks their canvas. Graffiti is a ''selfish, stupid, destructive crime,'' declared former Mayor Richard M. Daley. Still, the pair thrived -- first as criminals, and eventually as artists. [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER]

Dressed in black baggy jeans, a gray tank top and a Harley Davidson cap skewed backward, Juan Gallaher stood under a cool late-fall drizzle devouring a peanut butter and jelly sandwich from the Night Ministry's homeless-youth-outreach van at Belmont Avenue and Halsted Street. It was 8:30 p.m., and Mr. Gallaher was getting his first meal of the day. But he has gone so long and so often without food that hunger is now a faint feeling, he said, though he knows he needs to eat. [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER]

More than 10,000 homeless students are enrolled in Chicago's classrooms this fall, a 16 percent increase over last year and a record high, according to Chicago Public Schools data for September. The school district's numbers reflect a trend seen by service providers around the city: Chicago's homeless population is becoming younger. More families are living on the street, and the number of homeless youths on their own has grown exponentially. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

Inside City Methodist Church in downtown Gary, Ind., mushrooms grew next to a pile of rubble and a wooden cross. Old theater seats were scattered about, the backs snapped from their cushioned seats as if a giant had smashed them in a fit of rage. Nearby, two books lay open with dirt and dust caked onto their pages; their titles: ''A Guide to Managing People'' and ''Rampage.'' [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER]

Kennette Thomas was 15 when she married a man she thought was a gentleman. Instead, he spent the next 30 years as her pimp. In 2009, she finally broke away. Still, she said, the prostitution and the drugs she had used landed her in jail dozens of times, so many that her rap sheet ran 32 pages. ''Prostitution, drugs. That's my whole life history,'' Ms. Thomas, 49, said. ''That's the only life I knew.'' [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

In early July, when Brian McSween caught wind of the stalled contract negotiations between the Joffrey Ballet's dancers and the administration, a development that threatens the beginning of the 2011-2 season, he had one thought: Again? Mr. McSween, who danced in the company for 10 years and was a dancer's union representative part of that time, but who left in 2009 when his contract was not renewed, recalled a similar impasse in negotiations in the summer of 2008. Just days before a scheduled free show in Millennium Park, the dancers voted unanimously to strike. Avoiding a walkout at the 11th hour, management agreed to meet some of the dancers' requests on contentious issues like family health plans, longer rehearsal hours and wage increases, buying peace for another three years. [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER]

Standing in the hallway of Austin Polytech, Stran'Ja Burge, 18, adjusted her burgundy graduation cap and shifted her weight restlessly from one foot to the other. Her four-year-old high school was about to graduate its first senior class, but for Ms. Burge, the end of high school had still not registered. ''It hasn't hit me yet,'' she said, carefully clasping her hands a few inches from her waist so as not to wrinkle her gown. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

Alvie Prince cocked his head back and smiled Monday as he sat in a barber chair at Chic N' Finesse Hair Salon on 79th Street and Western Avenue. It was his 63rd birthday and his first haircut in months, he said. In fact, it was his first since he had arrived from Memphis in February in search of a warm bed and a place to get back on track. He had been homeless since November. [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER]

Six decades of Chicago live inside the retirement-home apartment of the photographer Lee Balterman. Filed in cabinets, hung on walls and stacked precariously on most every available surface are thousands of Chicago moments captured on film. Looking through albums and loose stacks of his photographs with a recent visitor, Mr. Balterman gave descriptions in a clipped, rapid-fire style: ''Downtown Chicago. Muhammad Ali. I don't know. Just the street. He killed a man. In a parade. New Year's Eve. Just a man at a restaurant. Maxwell Street. Randolph Street. London House. Just faces.'' [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER]

After discovering last week that nearly a quarter of their teachers were being dismissed, students at Austin Polytechnical Academy decided to take extreme action. Holding secret planning sessions under the guise of a robotics team meeting, they plotted. First, they gathered signatures of more than half the student body on a petition demanding that the decision be reversed. Then on Monday, at 9 a.m. sharp, despite threats of suspension, more than 100 of the school's 358 students walked out of their classes and into the street. Chanting ''Save our teachers,'' the students circled the school at 231 North Pine Avenue on the far West Side. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

For more than 20 years, the Rev. Bruce Wellems has been a cheerleader, a confidant, a voice of reason and, at times, the only advocate for troubled children in Back of the Yards. ''Our neighborhood needs to take care of these kids,'' said Father Wellems, who has helped hundreds of young people avoid gangs and tried to improve their family lives as the priest of Holy Cross-Immaculate Heart of Mary Parish and executive director of Boys Town Chicago, a local outpost of the nearly century-old organization dedicated to youth services. [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER]

Austin Polytechnical Academy, a public school established in 2007 to help broaden academic opportunities on the West Side and retool perceptions of vocational education, is facing harsh realities as it prepares to graduate its first senior class: lagging test scores, diminishing attendance and dismal reading levels. In October, Polytech was placed on academic probation, a designation shared by 67 percent of Chicago's public neighborhood high schools. That same week, state-issued report cards showed the school was not making sufficient yearly progress under the federal No Child Left Behind law. [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER]

One of these days, Chris Miller is going to run out of space for compact discs at his CD-only music shop, Chicago Digital, in Oak Park. Last week he had to put a second shelf in the restroom. It extends from the top of the toilet's water tank to the ceiling and accommodates classical composers from Liszt, Franz, through Mozart, W. A. ''I have pretty much packed out where I can go,'' Mr. Miller said. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

Every big city in America has graffiti, and each tries, with varying degrees of success, to eliminate it. It is illegal, and at its worst it helps perpetuate gang violence and can foment a sense of urban disorder. At its best, graffiti is a kind of graphic art, treating city surfaces as gallery walls where anyone with a spray can may give a show. For nearly 20 years, Chicago and Cook County have waged war on graffiti. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

For four years, Austin Polytechnical Academy, the city's first and only high school dedicated to occupations in high-skill manufacturing, has been working to redefine vocational education. The task has not been easy. On one hand is the stigma that associates manufacturing with dirty, low-wage assembly line work -- not the high-tech industry it is today. On the other are Austin Polytech's own challenges -- lagging test scores, dipping attendance and its recent placement on academic probation for the 2010-11 school year. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

To most die-hard Bears fans, a fumble may be a good enough reason to throw the corn chips at the television. But for Arnold Horween III and his son Nick, the frustration of a fumble can be personal, especially if the announcer makes an offhand remark about a slippery football. Proprietors of a multigeneration family business, the Horweens do not take kindly to the notion that slippery footballs are their fault. The Horween Leather Company, at Elston and Ashland Avenues, has been the sole tanner and provider of the leather in National Football League balls since the early 1940s. Almost every leather football you see -- Wilson, Spalding, Nike, Rawlings, Adidas -- began its journey to the field at Horween. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

With the craft-cocktail revolution well under way, skillfully made libations are edging closer to artisan status. Establishments like The Violet Hour and The Drawing Room have shined a national spotlight on Chicago's mixology scene. Now, basking in the glory of its first Michelin star, Longman & Eagle restaurant and whiskey bar is trying to up the ante. With a background in fine dining and a worldly approach to flavors, Longman's principal bartender, Derek Alexander, has taken gourmet out of the kitchen and put it behind the bar. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

As the time comes to gather with friends and family around a warm hearth, consider this: home holds the heart, but it may also hold your next concert. With most families tightening belts, and with venues reluctant to host artists unless they are sure to turn a profit, home concerts are becoming the main stage for a growing number of singer-songwriters. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

Andre Williams sat drinking coffee in his usual corner booth at Roy's Soul Food one morning last week. Despite the early hour, he was decked out in a black broad-brimmed hat, red satin shirt, cobalt-blue blazer, black slacks and two-toned leather shoes with spats. Mr. Williams, the 74-year-old genre-bending soul singer nicknamed Mr. Rhythm by the comedian Redd Foxx and known to R&B audiences for his hits ''Shake a Tail Feather,'' ''Bacon Fat,'' ''Greasy Chicken,'' and ''Jail Bait,'' was in what he called a ''mental quagmire'' as he brainstormed his first video. Not just any video, he wanted one that was marketable, biracial, and ''that's got staying power,'' he said, pounding a fist on the table. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

In a recession that shuttered longtime manufacturers, reshaped whole industries and sent millions of people looking for work, one might expect a company that makes $100,000 harps to be wobbling at the knees, if not toppled over by now. But Lyon & Healy, the Chicago company that produces one of the music world's most esoteric instruments, knows something about weathering disasters, having survived the Great Chicago Fire in 1871 and the Great Depression. [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER]

Ogling and Being Ogled, In a Month at the Museum When Kate McGroarty, 24, realized that she was going to spend 30 consecutive days and nights at the Museum of Science and Industry, her friends gave her a Wilson volleyball with a handprint face on it, a la the film ''Cast Away.'' She named it Sam Hastings, not Wilson. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

Buzzing with excitement, 72 11th graders sat in the auditorium of Austin Polytechnical Academy recently, waiting to board buses that would take them to the International Manufacturing Technology Show at McCormick Place, the largest show of its kind in the United States. Carrying clipboards and dressed sharply in khakis and red polo shirts, they listened to Bill Vogal, a school administrator and former factory owner, as he read the questions they were assigned to ask exhibitors about their products and services: ''What kind of lubricant do Index machines use?'' ''How many inserts does it take to make an airplane?'' Mr. Vogal hollered over the chatter. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

Everything is a bit more magical in miniature. This includes the holidays. Lindsay Mican Morgan, the nimble-fingered curator charged with embellishing the Art Institute's Thorne Miniature Rooms for the Christmas season, agreed. ''There is something so childlike about it all,'' she said. The rooms, known for enchanting both children and adults with their detail, are one of the Art Institute's most popular exhibits, attracting thousands of visitors a year. They influenced Wes Anderson's film adaptation of Roald Dahl's ''Fantastic Mr. Fox,'' and are rumored to have inspired Orson Welles's lighting of ''Citizen Kane'' after he saw them at the Century of Progress International Exposition in 1933. Yet to many they go unnoticed, tucked away on the basement level of the museum, next to the restrooms and the children's exhibit. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

Rock Hard Gym is not a sleek and shiny temple of sweat, coaxing in patrons with air-conditioning, lap pools and rock-climbing walls. No, Rock Hard Gym is a dump. It is old school -- a wormhole to the Schwarzenegger era of ''Pumping Iron.'' If you are looking for frills, you are better off at X-Sport Fitness, three blocks north, or Cheetah Gym, opening in 2011 a mile south. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

To most of its patrons, the Fireside Bowl is simply a bowling alley in Logan Square, but not that long ago it was arguably the best punk-rock club in Chicago. It was falling apart. It was loud. It stank to high heaven. Mushrooms grew out of the wooden bowling lanes. And the men's restrooms had no doors and no seats. It was punk rock to the core. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

Depending on how you look at it, the Discount Mega Mall at 2500-14 North Milwaukee Avenue is either an eyesore or a hot spot for the frugal. Jeorge Sandobal deals in 100 percent leather cowboy boots; Will Lopez outfits any car with speakers that have enough bass to rattle your liver; and Ludwig Tanchez custom airbrushes any surface that takes paint. All sales are final, but the prices are almost always negotiable. [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER]

Alderman Danny Solis (25th Ward) called on Friday for an ordinance that would enlist Internet technology to protect the anonymity of witnesses who report crimes to the police. As Mr. Solis stood in a group of about 30 residents and officials who had gathered in Pilsen -- less than a week after one man was killed and another was badly injured in a shooting in the neighborhood -- he urged those in the crowd to ''break the code of silence,'' and pick up the phone when a crime had been committed. [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER]

There was no bar quite like Blackhawk V.F.W. Post 7975, where $3 bought a drink and a tale from Bill Nowlin, the post's commander -- burp guns, Korean rice patties, firefights, hand-to-hand combat. For $5, Joe Makowski, the quartermaster, blended a concoction of rum and fresh fruit, adorned with a paper parrot tethered to a straw. This Veterans of Foreign Wars post was undoubtedly a sacred watering hole for Noble Square residents and one of the most unassuming joints in town. [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER]

Barb Staples makes geek dreams come true. At limebarb , Ms. Staples's company and North America's largest independent manufacturer of costumes for cosplay -- derived from ''costume'' and ''play''-- the words ''geek,'' ''nerd'' and ''dork'' are not terms of derision. Customers, who dress up as their favorite characters from popular Web and video games, often refer to themselves that way. [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER]

When Sheena Perez walked into the federal detention center in Broadview just after dawn Tuesday, she carried $200 in cash and a backpack filled with two T-shirts, two pairs of jeans and underwear, all freshly ironed. Slung over her right arm was her boyfriend's favorite leather jacket; in her left hand was a bottle of 212 cologne. It was everything he had asked her to bring. [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER]

The hum of sewing machines echoed through the basement of the United Church of Rogers Park on a recent Friday morning. Refugee women from Bhutan, Iraq, Myanmar, Somalia, Eritrea and Ethiopia sat at the machines, exchanging smiles and nods, but few words. Mostly they pointed and motioned. Myanmar needed scissors from Ethiopia. Bhutan needed help from Iraq to thread her machine. Eritrea was having trouble with her bobbin. Could Ethiopia help? Yes, of course. It's nice to know they are not completely alone, the women said, even if the verbal exchange is difficult. [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER]

Sitting at a wobbly table in the back room of Enlace Chicago, a privately funded violence prevention agency in Little Village , 13-year-old April slumped in her chair and buried her face in her hands. A curtain of jet-black bangs fell across her knuckles. Her nails were bitten to nubs. She said nothing. ''If you're feeling depressed, you should tell me,'' said Araceli Hurtado, 29, an Enlace outreach worker assigned to April. [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER]