The Dill Pickle Club organizes educational projects that help us understand the place in which we live. Through tours, public programs and publications, we create nontraditional and interactive learning environments where all forms of knowledge are valued and made readily accessible. Founded in 2009, we are a volunteer-run organization, with a shared belief in the vitality of community education and democracy.
Frequently Asked Questions
Q: Is the Dill Pickle a non-profit?
A: THE DILL PICKLE CLUB is currently an LLC organized for non-profit purposes. We are working on obtaining 501(c)3 non-profit status. In the interim, Oregon Cultural Heritage Commission serves as our non-profit umbrella. If you would like to make a tax-deductible donation, please contact us. Any donation, large or small, helps our ongoing programmatic efforts.
Q: Who “runs” the Dill Pickle Club?
A: THE DILL PICKLE CLUB is directed by Marc Moscato. Lucy Rockwell, Kyle Von Hoetzendorff and Amanda Miller comprise the board. A resource council of 30 Oregonians working in diverse fields provide additional support. If you would like input into future Dill Pickle programming, contact us at: ask@dillpickleclub.com.
Q: What’s with the weird name?
A: The Dill Pickle’s namesake originates from Jazz-Age Chicago’s legendary yet ill-forgotten speakeasy, founded in 1914 by labor organizer Jack Jones, Jim Larkin and Ben “Clap Doctor” Reitman. The Pickle was the heart of the “Chicago Renaissance” and served as an intellectual meeting ground for the city’s most noted authors, musicians and activists, including Sherwood Anderson, Ben Hecht, Mary MacLane, Lucy Parsons, Kenneth Rexroth and Carl Sandburg. It closed its doors in 1934.
An informative video:
Q: What’s the deal with the duck stickers all over town?
A: As the Dill Pickles’ fortunes declined into the depths of the Great Depression, its owner (Jack Jones) made one, last valiant attempt to save his club: the production of a self-propelled duck sold as a fundraiser. Named the Du Dil Duck, the toy supposedly brought its bearer good fortune. It did not bring Jones good luck: the club closed and he died penniless in a Chicago flophouse.
Jones’ technocratic duck is but one way in which to remember our rich, shared social history, with an eye fixed steadily on the future.
