Howard F. Douglass Attorney at Law

About this location

A few stories people tell about this place

1. In the early morning fog of downtown Chicago, a delivery driver pulled up to Howard F. Douglass’s office. The streetlights were dim, and only the neon sign outside flickered in the mist. As he stepped out of his truck, the driver swore he heard someone whispering inside the empty building. Curious, he cracked open the door—only to see an old cat stretching lazily on the reception desk. ‘Must be Douglass’s pet,’ he thought, smiling. Turns out it was just a neighborhood stray who’d found a cozy spot. The end.

2. In the dimly lit hallway outside Howard F. Douglass’s office, an elderly gentleman cleared his throat and whispered, ‘I’ve been coming here for years, but today something feels different.’ Just then, a young delivery driver approached nervously. ‘Mr. Douglass,’ he stammered, ‘you wanted these documents urgently.’ The old man turned sharply, his eyes twinkling mischievously. ‘Young man,’ he said with a smile, ‘if you ever want to practice law around here, I can recommend Mr. Douglass—just don’t mention my secretaries!’

3. At midnight, a delivery driver parked his truck across from Howard F. Douglass's office building and noticed something odd. The neon sign above the entrance seemed to flicker on its own. Curious, he approached closer and saw an old man emerging from the shadows of the adjacent alleyway. ‘Late night, eh?’ asked the man with twinkling eyes. ‘Just checking out your mysterious neon,’ replied the driver sheepishly. The old man laughed heartily, revealing a toothy grin. ‘That’s just ol’ Howie’s way of saying “goodnight”!’

4. At dusk, a delivery driver parked his truck near Howard F. Douglass’s office and noticed something peculiar—a faint, rhythmic tapping sound coming from inside the building. Curious, he peered through the window and saw an old typewriter, its keys clicking away in perfect rhythm. Inside sat Mr. Douglass, eyes closed, fingers flying over the keyboard as if conducting an orchestra. ‘Must be working late,’ thought the driver, smiling. Turns out, ol’ Howie was just composing his next legal brief—with a little help from Beethoven.’