As a whole, our bunch of rag-tag wanderers, my friends, back around 7th Grade, on the South Side of Chicago, walked up & down, every street in our neighborhoood...not looking for trouble...but for something to do...
See, our neighborhood was sparse as far as kid's stuff to do...But we never, ever felt we were missing anything because we were clueless as can be...and that was a good thing, sometimes...
Take one windy, wet, cold, early March night...A Friday night...a dark and vicious soaker...me and my friends had our HAYES PARK HOCKEY champion jackets on...that we had just won...up at our park...and those jackets felt like heavy sponges...as we dredged down 87th Street...in a pouring, frigid rain...
We came across a new restaurant, just opened up...
THE CRAZY SICILIAN RESTAURANT & SATALITE LOUNGE...
Just a tiny place, a hole in the wall, dump, kinda, but it offered us a chance to dodge the onslaught of rain, that was relentlessly pelting against us...
I'm guessing there was close to 8 to 12 of us...the usual suspects...filing into THE CRAZY SICILIAN...with little idea...of what kinda food they even had....
I think the waitress looked at us like lost mongrels, soaked to the bone...as we peeled off our soggy coats and sat down. for a peek at the menu...
We looked around and the place was empty, except for us, a table right next to us, had just left...and we tried to figure out...what they had just eaten...on their remaining plates...
Suddenly, my good friend, the young & ever-growing man-child, John "Chet" Feeely, started to scarf down, the leftovers, from the empty table, next to us...with reckless abandon...
Chet was not just grabbing an errant french fry, but was boldly going "hog wild"...chowing down, on a leftover "Chicken Parmesian" dinner...You could still see teeth marks on the melted mozzerella, chicken patty...as the dismay and horror...overtook some of our faces...
My good friend, Moodo, hit the roof, in his own, impeccable, Moodo, way, bursting out, with a spastic howl, screaming at Chet, to throw down, the chicken patty, and come to his senses.
Sure, Chet, was clearly, over-the-line, acting like an animal and a complete fool...but the rest of us, found a great deal of laughter, in what was transpiring, before us. Indeed, Chet was unphased, by Moodo's jarring hits...and he munched and munched and munched...away...
As far as Chet was concerned, he was our food tester, at that moment, going to give us, his sparkling review of his "special of the day"...Chicken ala' Chet...
I think the waitress, walked cautiously up, with a strange grin, wondering what was so funny. These foolish, foolish boys, were there, but a minute, and were already, out of control...
We all tried to regain, our composure, but we kept glancing, over at Chet, his cheeks now, stuffed, looking like a big chipmunk...that hit the motherload of nuts...
You can't bottle "dumb fun" like that...but that was just par for the course, when me and my friends got together...because we were, truly jokesters, never knowing, who would be doing crazy stuff, next...
Just an ordinary Friday night, South-Side, maybe 1976 or 1977...just a few bucks in our pockets...nowhere special to go...but the world was ours by the string...in a never-ending adventure...that would know, no end...always having a good time...no matter what...
Just ask Moodo or Chet....
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
Camp Willabay
Long ago...behind us, across the street from our Lake House, a vibrant, wild, kid's camp called CAMP WILLABAY ...stood...It was hidden away...in the far corner of the Bay...Truly a treasured gem, whoever went there...so many trees....a dense forest with scattered cabins all about...
Zippity-Doo-Da...Zippity Aaayyy...Let's all go to Camp Willabay...Young teens would jump at the chance to escape the hustle & bustle of the city or their smaller towns and assume they would become better people...
Surely you become better at something by swatting a zillion killer mosquitos the size of Mongolia while enjoying all the woodland games & good times...and mild mischief...
The people running the camp were generally really cool with us outsiders because we would wander over there and hop on their trampoline, or play basketball, or tennis...(...yes, tennis was "Big"...back then...)
...all this...at the end of the day, while all the happy campers were at the cafeteria...It was all good...
I felt like I was falling into a character of the Bill Murray movie "Meatballs" because the cabins and kiddies and trees felt like a surreal movie set...
One funny camp story was when my brother Joe, one time, got a little crazy with his buddies one day and decided to try to ride the camps horses, bareback....Unfortunately, the camp counselors were not happy with this intrusion and chased Joe to an area of barbed wire....
His buddies made it through...but Joe got his ankle stuck, gnarled tight, in the grizzly barb wire and it shredded his skin to the bone....bleeding all over the place...
They rushed him to doctor here in the bay and stitched him up good...but it hampered Joe pretty bad for a few weeks...as my Dad made a wry, funny comment...
"Hey, hot shot, I guess we won't be seeing you walk around the lake anytime too soon....(something my brother had done, the day before....Joe walked all 27 miles around the path of Lake Geneva in 9 hours)...Joe was the oldest boy, in the family...and his wild ways, made me & Dan's wrongful steps as teenagers...not so bad...
Back to the old camp, it died out, eventually...and it got sold to a real estate developer and Boom...all the cabins and a bunch of trees are leveled to make room for a giant neat, condo complex. It sounds sad, in some ways....
...and it is...but life goes on and now 3 of my sisters have places over there, now....Patsy, Joan & Karen...and their families, all enjoy being solidified in the Bay...so close by....for at least 10 years.
The now established, Willabay Shores, still has a wonderful woodlands feel to it....but the trampoline...and other neat stuff are all gone...
One last memory, of Camp Willabay...On the final day...of camp....usually....they would flood, an open field of dirt...and roll out a giant 6 foot diameter high, ball...to play "Mudball"...It was hilarious, as 25 joyful kids were filthy dirty, drenched in soupy gray mud...
...pushing the ball, back and forth...As the camp kids finally got exhausted, from exertion trying to win the Mud-Ball mania...They would stumble down to our open park next door, completely caked in mud, moving like delerious, laughing Mud-Zillas towards the cleansing, cool waters of the the Bay...
Certainly, a funny, funny sight to see...and a memory, from long, long ago, that's hard to imagine nowadays, but in an instant always brings a smile to my face...anytime I see muddy kids on TV...
HOORAY...FOR CAMP WILLABAY...!!!
Zippity-Doo-Da...Zippity Aaayyy...Let's all go to Camp Willabay...Young teens would jump at the chance to escape the hustle & bustle of the city or their smaller towns and assume they would become better people...
Surely you become better at something by swatting a zillion killer mosquitos the size of Mongolia while enjoying all the woodland games & good times...and mild mischief...
The people running the camp were generally really cool with us outsiders because we would wander over there and hop on their trampoline, or play basketball, or tennis...(...yes, tennis was "Big"...back then...)
...all this...at the end of the day, while all the happy campers were at the cafeteria...It was all good...
I felt like I was falling into a character of the Bill Murray movie "Meatballs" because the cabins and kiddies and trees felt like a surreal movie set...
One funny camp story was when my brother Joe, one time, got a little crazy with his buddies one day and decided to try to ride the camps horses, bareback....Unfortunately, the camp counselors were not happy with this intrusion and chased Joe to an area of barbed wire....
His buddies made it through...but Joe got his ankle stuck, gnarled tight, in the grizzly barb wire and it shredded his skin to the bone....bleeding all over the place...
They rushed him to doctor here in the bay and stitched him up good...but it hampered Joe pretty bad for a few weeks...as my Dad made a wry, funny comment...
"Hey, hot shot, I guess we won't be seeing you walk around the lake anytime too soon....(something my brother had done, the day before....Joe walked all 27 miles around the path of Lake Geneva in 9 hours)...Joe was the oldest boy, in the family...and his wild ways, made me & Dan's wrongful steps as teenagers...not so bad...
Back to the old camp, it died out, eventually...and it got sold to a real estate developer and Boom...all the cabins and a bunch of trees are leveled to make room for a giant neat, condo complex. It sounds sad, in some ways....
...and it is...but life goes on and now 3 of my sisters have places over there, now....Patsy, Joan & Karen...and their families, all enjoy being solidified in the Bay...so close by....for at least 10 years.
The now established, Willabay Shores, still has a wonderful woodlands feel to it....but the trampoline...and other neat stuff are all gone...
One last memory, of Camp Willabay...On the final day...of camp....usually....they would flood, an open field of dirt...and roll out a giant 6 foot diameter high, ball...to play "Mudball"...It was hilarious, as 25 joyful kids were filthy dirty, drenched in soupy gray mud...
...pushing the ball, back and forth...As the camp kids finally got exhausted, from exertion trying to win the Mud-Ball mania...They would stumble down to our open park next door, completely caked in mud, moving like delerious, laughing Mud-Zillas towards the cleansing, cool waters of the the Bay...
Certainly, a funny, funny sight to see...and a memory, from long, long ago, that's hard to imagine nowadays, but in an instant always brings a smile to my face...anytime I see muddy kids on TV...
HOORAY...FOR CAMP WILLABAY...!!!
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
a relay to remember
On a hazy, lazy summer day, up at The Park...there was nobody around...in 1976...Where was everybody...the whole gang is gone...Am I being ditched...???...I wander up to the field house...and Rich the Park Instructor tells me...
"Get your buddies together, we are having a track meet here, today...Right Now...!!!..."
I don't know what to do, but somehow Fitz and Eddie B wander up, but Rich tells us, "You are gonna need a 4th guy to run the relay race..."
Us 3 look bewildered at each other..."Whadda we gonna do...???...Out of nowhere, Marty Rogers shows up, out of the blue...What strange luck to have us all together, right at that crazy moment...
So, we set up for the Relay, Fitz up first, ME the 2nd leg, Eddie B the 3rd leg, then Marty Rogers bringing it on home as the anchor...Have we gotta chance at winning, I ask Fitz and Fitz says, Don't worry about this, it's a piece of cake...
I never seen any of these kids who showed up by the carload, to race that day...I had no clue, what to expect...or did I...???...
The race starts...Fitzie's got a head full of steam, handing the baton to me, about 3 feet ahead of his counterparts....I took hold of the baton and darted, way fast, my mind racing faster than my feet. As my 2nd leg is finishing, I feel other competitors catching up.
Boom...I get a sudden burst and slap-over the baton to Eddie B, who rips the baton out of my hand and ferociously, takes off like an angry tiger...No-nonsense Eddie B, was in full power mode and out to do some damage, running each step, harder and harder.
Me & Fitz are bent over, huffing and puffing, with Fitz saying, "All Bar's gotta do, is get that baton over to Marty, without dropping it..."....And Eddie Bar, did just that, almost coming to a complete stop, just relaxing with a big lead...
...easily handing it to Marty, with a big smile, who takes off, in a puff of smoke. You see, everyone, all of my buddies know, Marty Rogers was quicker than lightning...His mercurial speed was amazing and he blew the competition away by 40 yards....
VICTORY WAS OURS...!!!...
I left the "track meet", after we got our trophies. Believe me, I was flying high...What a rush that was. Totally, out of the blue, excitement...It cleared my mind of missing the basketball cuts a few months back, and had me so sky high...But then, about a block from home, I dropped my trophy, to the ground, breaking it into 3 pieces...
I burst through my kitchen door, anyway, elated, on 86th Street....and threw the broken trophy on the kitchen table and told of my exciting day of running the relay...up at The Park...My Mom was very happy, and my Dad even smiled...He said to me..."Jimmy, jump in the car, let's go get that trophy fixed."
We rode up to some special novelty store 0ff 95th & Western with long aisles full of trophies...
My Dad slips the trophy guy a $10 bill and says..."Do what you can..."
Next thing, you know, I'm walking down the street with big golden column, with a golden runner on top..."....It's a top notch trophy now....and my Dad cleared away, all my brother Joe and Danny's dozen trophies...and set mine in the middle...looking like a million bucks...
It was a clear cut memory, that I would have some mark of acheivement, in my sports activities, and surely something I will never, ever, forget...Secretly, I think my Dad, wanted to show everyone he knew, his son was a bit disabled...
...But that, Jimmy, was never gonna stop, trying, to be his best, like my Uncle Jimmy, a great football player, my Dad, named me after...his brother, JIMMY O'LEARY, a star running back for Mount Carmel H.S. and University of Detroit...in the 1950's...
The wild relay race that day, put us 4 crazy kids together by pure chance, and it just felt like an unbelievable, magical day I didn't want to end...anytime soon...
(...BTW...I "googled" my Uncle Jimmy's name...and he was inducted into a Hall-of-Fame as a quite successful football coach...in the Detroit area...back in 1977...Jimmy had died tragically of a brain anyerism, in his early 30's...back in 1962...)
"Get your buddies together, we are having a track meet here, today...Right Now...!!!..."
I don't know what to do, but somehow Fitz and Eddie B wander up, but Rich tells us, "You are gonna need a 4th guy to run the relay race..."
Us 3 look bewildered at each other..."Whadda we gonna do...???...Out of nowhere, Marty Rogers shows up, out of the blue...What strange luck to have us all together, right at that crazy moment...
So, we set up for the Relay, Fitz up first, ME the 2nd leg, Eddie B the 3rd leg, then Marty Rogers bringing it on home as the anchor...Have we gotta chance at winning, I ask Fitz and Fitz says, Don't worry about this, it's a piece of cake...
I never seen any of these kids who showed up by the carload, to race that day...I had no clue, what to expect...or did I...???...
The race starts...Fitzie's got a head full of steam, handing the baton to me, about 3 feet ahead of his counterparts....I took hold of the baton and darted, way fast, my mind racing faster than my feet. As my 2nd leg is finishing, I feel other competitors catching up.
Boom...I get a sudden burst and slap-over the baton to Eddie B, who rips the baton out of my hand and ferociously, takes off like an angry tiger...No-nonsense Eddie B, was in full power mode and out to do some damage, running each step, harder and harder.
Me & Fitz are bent over, huffing and puffing, with Fitz saying, "All Bar's gotta do, is get that baton over to Marty, without dropping it..."....And Eddie Bar, did just that, almost coming to a complete stop, just relaxing with a big lead...
...easily handing it to Marty, with a big smile, who takes off, in a puff of smoke. You see, everyone, all of my buddies know, Marty Rogers was quicker than lightning...His mercurial speed was amazing and he blew the competition away by 40 yards....
VICTORY WAS OURS...!!!...
I left the "track meet", after we got our trophies. Believe me, I was flying high...What a rush that was. Totally, out of the blue, excitement...It cleared my mind of missing the basketball cuts a few months back, and had me so sky high...But then, about a block from home, I dropped my trophy, to the ground, breaking it into 3 pieces...
I burst through my kitchen door, anyway, elated, on 86th Street....and threw the broken trophy on the kitchen table and told of my exciting day of running the relay...up at The Park...My Mom was very happy, and my Dad even smiled...He said to me..."Jimmy, jump in the car, let's go get that trophy fixed."
We rode up to some special novelty store 0ff 95th & Western with long aisles full of trophies...
My Dad slips the trophy guy a $10 bill and says..."Do what you can..."
Next thing, you know, I'm walking down the street with big golden column, with a golden runner on top..."....It's a top notch trophy now....and my Dad cleared away, all my brother Joe and Danny's dozen trophies...and set mine in the middle...looking like a million bucks...
It was a clear cut memory, that I would have some mark of acheivement, in my sports activities, and surely something I will never, ever, forget...Secretly, I think my Dad, wanted to show everyone he knew, his son was a bit disabled...
...But that, Jimmy, was never gonna stop, trying, to be his best, like my Uncle Jimmy, a great football player, my Dad, named me after...his brother, JIMMY O'LEARY, a star running back for Mount Carmel H.S. and University of Detroit...in the 1950's...
The wild relay race that day, put us 4 crazy kids together by pure chance, and it just felt like an unbelievable, magical day I didn't want to end...anytime soon...
(...BTW...I "googled" my Uncle Jimmy's name...and he was inducted into a Hall-of-Fame as a quite successful football coach...in the Detroit area...back in 1977...Jimmy had died tragically of a brain anyerism, in his early 30's...back in 1962...)
Friday, July 17, 2009
John Fitz & Danny Casey
I knew Johnny Fitz & Danny Casey since the 3rd Grade....They only lived a couple blocks away, next to The Park, on 85th Street...and they were street-wise and cool as you get.
Wild kids, sure, but they also had wonderful family atmospheres abound. Danny had an old grandfather we would always be amazed by his wry humor as Danny sent zingers at him, to get him riled...But the old codger knew it was a fun game they shared and everyone had a big ol' laugh from the antics....
Johnny Fitzpatrick down the street, had 2 brothers to rough it up with and just an onslaught, make it a passion of being the best basketball player, he could be....They had a blacktop cement pavement top, featuring your typical basketball net strung on the garage....
The basketball seemed to really bounce higher in Fitz's backyard lot...and it gave you a bit of zip, roughing it up, with endless games of HORSE and pick-up games that would go on until it got too dark....
The Fitz's were your proto-typical Irish South-Siders...his Dad a valiant Fireman and his Mom taking care of the 3 boys, Mike & John & Jimmy and little sister Maura too...I always remember going into Fitz's kitchen with WGN-AM radio 720 blasting away...
John's Mom quickly throwing dinner together, as his Dad would walk in, covered in smolten ash. Mister Fitz worked in the harder neighborhoods, where he had more than his fair share of brushes with fire danger...
Meanwhile....Us kids, all us silly little nomads, making it an adventure every day....
One time, me and Fitz, got a ride out to this new indoor amusement park, called OLD CHICAGO. It was indoors....wow....but it was far, far away in a suburb called Bolingbrook, that had a rugged indoor roller coaster, that was super cool, looking in the constant commercials on TV....
Well the 2 of us, Fitz & Me...first, got on a ride called THE SPYDER, that spun you in wacky wild action, up and down and spinning....It was quite thrilling until John started barfing his guts out, 30 seconds into the ride...
Here's this vicious vomit, spewing out, flying out in a chaotic blast, sending shrieks, for other riders. I got hit with some of it.....TTTHHHWAAACCKKKK....!!!...
But others, unfortunately, faired much worse....probably some sticky & cheesy red Chef-Boy-ardee ravioli found its way across the entire park....at that moment...lol...
I too can recall when Fitz and Me and Hop and Danny were gonna start a band...I was gonna play harmonica and we actually tried to play a song together which turned out massively atrocious. See, Hop's older brother, Mike, had started a great "garage band"...so why not us....
Back then, Mister Fitz was the coach of the junior varsity in the 7th Grade basketball team. I gave it a shot...and I could execute running up and down the entire court and throwing the ball up for a lay-up, flawlessly....and as luck would have it....That drill was the final drill that would decide the final cuts....
Boom...I'm flawlessly getting the job done...while the bigger kids stumbled a bit from the added pressure....At the end...I was the last one cut from the team...It was kinda devastating for me, but Mister Fitz had John tell me...I'd never last if I got double-or-triple teamed as a game wound down....and they were right...I was much too short, to handle some ugly scrum, for a ball, so it didn't sting as much....
A classic young FITZ moment when he wasn't as punky....was when we raced home from Saint Thomas More because John wanted to learn to play the Beatles song...YELLOW SUBMARINE...on his trumpet...This was a genuine cool song. Fitz had the sheet music and he puckered up, ready to rock it out with his new trumpet....
Well, John got about 3 notes into the song and it just fell off the Earth and sounded like the most gurgly ill, spasmic noise, ever heard on any planet...We all laugthed at his trumpet efforts...but Fitz didn't care....He knew he'd get it right....with a little practice...
At heart, we were all good kids, who thought we could talk the talk and walk the walk with any punks we encountered....And...All 3 of us went on to Brother Rice High School...Fitz, Case & Me, a few years later and are still very proud of going there, too...
Wild kids, sure, but they also had wonderful family atmospheres abound. Danny had an old grandfather we would always be amazed by his wry humor as Danny sent zingers at him, to get him riled...But the old codger knew it was a fun game they shared and everyone had a big ol' laugh from the antics....
Johnny Fitzpatrick down the street, had 2 brothers to rough it up with and just an onslaught, make it a passion of being the best basketball player, he could be....They had a blacktop cement pavement top, featuring your typical basketball net strung on the garage....
The basketball seemed to really bounce higher in Fitz's backyard lot...and it gave you a bit of zip, roughing it up, with endless games of HORSE and pick-up games that would go on until it got too dark....
The Fitz's were your proto-typical Irish South-Siders...his Dad a valiant Fireman and his Mom taking care of the 3 boys, Mike & John & Jimmy and little sister Maura too...I always remember going into Fitz's kitchen with WGN-AM radio 720 blasting away...
John's Mom quickly throwing dinner together, as his Dad would walk in, covered in smolten ash. Mister Fitz worked in the harder neighborhoods, where he had more than his fair share of brushes with fire danger...
Meanwhile....Us kids, all us silly little nomads, making it an adventure every day....
One time, me and Fitz, got a ride out to this new indoor amusement park, called OLD CHICAGO. It was indoors....wow....but it was far, far away in a suburb called Bolingbrook, that had a rugged indoor roller coaster, that was super cool, looking in the constant commercials on TV....
Well the 2 of us, Fitz & Me...first, got on a ride called THE SPYDER, that spun you in wacky wild action, up and down and spinning....It was quite thrilling until John started barfing his guts out, 30 seconds into the ride...
Here's this vicious vomit, spewing out, flying out in a chaotic blast, sending shrieks, for other riders. I got hit with some of it.....TTTHHHWAAACCKKKK....!!!...
But others, unfortunately, faired much worse....probably some sticky & cheesy red Chef-Boy-ardee ravioli found its way across the entire park....at that moment...lol...
I too can recall when Fitz and Me and Hop and Danny were gonna start a band...I was gonna play harmonica and we actually tried to play a song together which turned out massively atrocious. See, Hop's older brother, Mike, had started a great "garage band"...so why not us....
Back then, Mister Fitz was the coach of the junior varsity in the 7th Grade basketball team. I gave it a shot...and I could execute running up and down the entire court and throwing the ball up for a lay-up, flawlessly....and as luck would have it....That drill was the final drill that would decide the final cuts....
Boom...I'm flawlessly getting the job done...while the bigger kids stumbled a bit from the added pressure....At the end...I was the last one cut from the team...It was kinda devastating for me, but Mister Fitz had John tell me...I'd never last if I got double-or-triple teamed as a game wound down....and they were right...I was much too short, to handle some ugly scrum, for a ball, so it didn't sting as much....
A classic young FITZ moment when he wasn't as punky....was when we raced home from Saint Thomas More because John wanted to learn to play the Beatles song...YELLOW SUBMARINE...on his trumpet...This was a genuine cool song. Fitz had the sheet music and he puckered up, ready to rock it out with his new trumpet....
Well, John got about 3 notes into the song and it just fell off the Earth and sounded like the most gurgly ill, spasmic noise, ever heard on any planet...We all laugthed at his trumpet efforts...but Fitz didn't care....He knew he'd get it right....with a little practice...
At heart, we were all good kids, who thought we could talk the talk and walk the walk with any punks we encountered....And...All 3 of us went on to Brother Rice High School...Fitz, Case & Me, a few years later and are still very proud of going there, too...
Monday, June 29, 2009
4th of July/1776-1976
....Oh my...
The 7th Grade was a breath of fresh air, during our country's Bi-Centennial Year of 1976....Wow, I felt like I was signing the Declaration of Independence, myself, it was so cool, learning all the struggles and extreme sacrifices, those courageous patriots, put on the line, to get our nation rolling, on the right track...around 1776
An awesome thing we did for ART CLASS that year was hang all kinds of special patriotic flags, made of construction paper, which hung on a clothesline that hung 4 feet over our heads....Flags for each of the 13 colonies and DON'T TREAD ON ME....just kicked ass....hanging above our heads...looking cooler than anything...Betsy Ross would have been proud...
But then....One of us goofballs, got the devious idea, we could sling-shot paper clips, with rubber bands, thru all the flags, even while class was in session....It was an onslaught as these neat paper flags were decimated with little paper clip puncture holes....across the whole room...
Finally, the sh-t hit the fan, as our mean Assistant Principal, Sister Alyssa came stomping into our room, extremely pissed and was ready to drag us out of the classrooms by our ears....
Why...???....
The Bi-Centennial Flags (1776/1976) we made were pretty darn cool looking...but then they got bullet-riddled, like it was an ouzi sub-machine gun, doing the damage....so all the teacher's were all aghast because open house for the parents was up-coming that weekend...
Who were the culprits....No doubt, Fitz & Slim, Joe Devlin & Jimmy Ade, Chet & Buck & Johnny Murph, Eddie B & Moodo, for sure, maybe more....Well Sister Alyssa started to search thru the desks, across the room, looking for some evidence....
and then she tip-toed, ominously back to Mike Moody's desk, all the way back, in the last row, with a devilish grin, saying, "Can I look inside your desk, Mister Michael Moody...???...."
Moodo turned white as a ghost...because he had the motherload of paperclips and rubber bands sticking out from the inside of his desk....But right before, she was gonna stick her hands into Moodo's desk, she asked ME, Jimmy O'Leary, to look for her, because I think she knew Moodo's white as a ghost, face said it all...
I rummaged my hand thru the barrage of stuff inside of Moodo's desk and declared it clean as a whistle....and Sister Alyssa turned with a sly smirk and walked away....We all knew at that moment, Sister Alyssa was alot cooler than we thought, not taking us down, for the count....
Moodo caught a big break that day...and immediately our flag onslaught was over...
We even made more new, cooler flags, to replace the decimated ones....So everyone was happy!
After school, in the Springtime, you could find us all wander up to the park, later, lagging quarters for dough or playing fast pitch baseball, throwing a heavy rubber ball as hard as you could, at a brick wall, with a hitters' box spray-painted against the field house....
I was no good at fast-pitch....but it was a nice chance to try to heave a ball at Nolan Ryan fast-ball speed...and watch it fly, mostly beaning someone in the head, arm or shoulders...which always brought out lotsa laughter....The older kids like Eddy Epper & Jack McManus & Hop & Case & Coon-Daddy & Bram & The Funk & Gert & Jimmy Walsh, all a year older than us, made us look like complete fools...
Then, us slugs, gave up, and rambled down to the air-conditioned basement of our field house where the cool temps were heavenly and played a card game called KNUCKLES....Knuckles was a blood-sport, with a deck of cards...
All I remember, if you lost at Knuckles, your opponent got to try to make your knuckles, spew out blood, by scathing the deck of cards like a machete, going thru a big melon...
It was ferociously cruel but we loved it, because it was high-comedy and high-brutality all rolled into one...I can remember Neil Krull scraping down Eddie Barkowski's knuckles almost to the bone...in a relentless war of a Knuckles game, that carried high stakes....
When July 4th, 1976....finally did come around...the day was a big-let-down, for me...I was expecting a huge celebration, beyond anything that had been ever seen....but I just remember rolling out of bed, up at the Lake House...My Dad was patiently reading the Tribune on the patio ande my Mom had all kinds of red-white-and-blue stuff up...
I was expecting all-day...all-night fireworks & sparklers & smoke bombs & bottle rockets...
But here I was, sleepy, walking out on our patio about 10AM. Dead Quiet...I looked at my Dad...and I think he was zeroed in on the sports section of the Chicago Tribune, if White Sox pitcher, Britt Burns or Wilbur Wood had pitched a gem...just turning the page after page, of the newspaper, letting out a sigh.
I think that was my first recollection, that the media knew how to get out the HYPE for an event and push it to the MAX beyond my capacity to understand such things...The Bi-Centennial, came and went and a little of that patriotism I had, maybe shoulda' died with it....because I had spent hours and hours, combing over our US History, from 200 years before, and was very proud to be an American, that day...no matter what...big fireworks or no fireworks....
The 4th of July, 2009...is only a few days away....and I hope people do realize this nation was founded on some sound principles that stand even to this day...And those principles are...Every man is created equal and we all share in the endeavors to make this nation, a better place, every which way we can...In my mind...
....and "T.J."...Thomas Jefferson also would want to say....wave your flags high with pride, so everyone can see them, flowing and glowing, standing for our Independence, back on July 4th, 1776.....233 long years ago....and certainly right now...!!!...in the "Land of the FREE" and "Home of the BRAVE"...
The 7th Grade was a breath of fresh air, during our country's Bi-Centennial Year of 1976....Wow, I felt like I was signing the Declaration of Independence, myself, it was so cool, learning all the struggles and extreme sacrifices, those courageous patriots, put on the line, to get our nation rolling, on the right track...around 1776
An awesome thing we did for ART CLASS that year was hang all kinds of special patriotic flags, made of construction paper, which hung on a clothesline that hung 4 feet over our heads....Flags for each of the 13 colonies and DON'T TREAD ON ME....just kicked ass....hanging above our heads...looking cooler than anything...Betsy Ross would have been proud...
But then....One of us goofballs, got the devious idea, we could sling-shot paper clips, with rubber bands, thru all the flags, even while class was in session....It was an onslaught as these neat paper flags were decimated with little paper clip puncture holes....across the whole room...
Finally, the sh-t hit the fan, as our mean Assistant Principal, Sister Alyssa came stomping into our room, extremely pissed and was ready to drag us out of the classrooms by our ears....
Why...???....
The Bi-Centennial Flags (1776/1976) we made were pretty darn cool looking...but then they got bullet-riddled, like it was an ouzi sub-machine gun, doing the damage....so all the teacher's were all aghast because open house for the parents was up-coming that weekend...
Who were the culprits....No doubt, Fitz & Slim, Joe Devlin & Jimmy Ade, Chet & Buck & Johnny Murph, Eddie B & Moodo, for sure, maybe more....Well Sister Alyssa started to search thru the desks, across the room, looking for some evidence....
and then she tip-toed, ominously back to Mike Moody's desk, all the way back, in the last row, with a devilish grin, saying, "Can I look inside your desk, Mister Michael Moody...???...."
Moodo turned white as a ghost...because he had the motherload of paperclips and rubber bands sticking out from the inside of his desk....But right before, she was gonna stick her hands into Moodo's desk, she asked ME, Jimmy O'Leary, to look for her, because I think she knew Moodo's white as a ghost, face said it all...
I rummaged my hand thru the barrage of stuff inside of Moodo's desk and declared it clean as a whistle....and Sister Alyssa turned with a sly smirk and walked away....We all knew at that moment, Sister Alyssa was alot cooler than we thought, not taking us down, for the count....
Moodo caught a big break that day...and immediately our flag onslaught was over...
We even made more new, cooler flags, to replace the decimated ones....So everyone was happy!
After school, in the Springtime, you could find us all wander up to the park, later, lagging quarters for dough or playing fast pitch baseball, throwing a heavy rubber ball as hard as you could, at a brick wall, with a hitters' box spray-painted against the field house....
I was no good at fast-pitch....but it was a nice chance to try to heave a ball at Nolan Ryan fast-ball speed...and watch it fly, mostly beaning someone in the head, arm or shoulders...which always brought out lotsa laughter....The older kids like Eddy Epper & Jack McManus & Hop & Case & Coon-Daddy & Bram & The Funk & Gert & Jimmy Walsh, all a year older than us, made us look like complete fools...
Then, us slugs, gave up, and rambled down to the air-conditioned basement of our field house where the cool temps were heavenly and played a card game called KNUCKLES....Knuckles was a blood-sport, with a deck of cards...
All I remember, if you lost at Knuckles, your opponent got to try to make your knuckles, spew out blood, by scathing the deck of cards like a machete, going thru a big melon...
It was ferociously cruel but we loved it, because it was high-comedy and high-brutality all rolled into one...I can remember Neil Krull scraping down Eddie Barkowski's knuckles almost to the bone...in a relentless war of a Knuckles game, that carried high stakes....
When July 4th, 1976....finally did come around...the day was a big-let-down, for me...I was expecting a huge celebration, beyond anything that had been ever seen....but I just remember rolling out of bed, up at the Lake House...My Dad was patiently reading the Tribune on the patio ande my Mom had all kinds of red-white-and-blue stuff up...
I was expecting all-day...all-night fireworks & sparklers & smoke bombs & bottle rockets...
But here I was, sleepy, walking out on our patio about 10AM. Dead Quiet...I looked at my Dad...and I think he was zeroed in on the sports section of the Chicago Tribune, if White Sox pitcher, Britt Burns or Wilbur Wood had pitched a gem...just turning the page after page, of the newspaper, letting out a sigh.
I think that was my first recollection, that the media knew how to get out the HYPE for an event and push it to the MAX beyond my capacity to understand such things...The Bi-Centennial, came and went and a little of that patriotism I had, maybe shoulda' died with it....because I had spent hours and hours, combing over our US History, from 200 years before, and was very proud to be an American, that day...no matter what...big fireworks or no fireworks....
The 4th of July, 2009...is only a few days away....and I hope people do realize this nation was founded on some sound principles that stand even to this day...And those principles are...Every man is created equal and we all share in the endeavors to make this nation, a better place, every which way we can...In my mind...
....and "T.J."...Thomas Jefferson also would want to say....wave your flags high with pride, so everyone can see them, flowing and glowing, standing for our Independence, back on July 4th, 1776.....233 long years ago....and certainly right now...!!!...in the "Land of the FREE" and "Home of the BRAVE"...
Friday, May 15, 2009
Fishing
Fishing...it's in my blood...Maybe some kinda ancestrial link of some sorts, whatever...It's there.
As a young tyke, digging up worms in the backyard, in Williams Bay, after a rainy night, exctitedly coming across a big juicy nightcrawler...I was convinced that ugly, bloated, veiny worm, was gonna land me a jumbo whopper, of a fish...
I can remember 1970, very clearly, going out to the end of our new pier, in Williams Bay, and hauling in a few sunfish, perch...blue gill...etc...Nothing spectacular, but enough to keep the fires alive, for the next time around...I was only 7 years old...but the whole hobby of fishing was a great deal of fun...and spending endless time, with lost lures & tangled lines, never phased me.
It seemed as I grew older, my strategy would change, going out on our Granny Franny boat, to hidden places around the lake...where vast amounts of fish were considered, there, for the taking...And as I hit my teenage years, my passion for fishing was at a peak...
Sometimes, we'd get caught up, in the tranquil peacefulness of fishing and not see a rapidly appraching storm, bearing down, out on Lake Geneva, ready to unload, a giant shower of rain & thunder & lightining. Suddenly, our weather senses, kicked in...
and there we were, making a mad dash...across the lake, flooring our Granny Franny boat at top speed, to beat the storm back home...It was exhilerating, throwing caution to the wind and bouncing our boat thru monster waves, crashing us, all around, as we sped like demons, back to shore, in the Bay... Me & Joe had that happen to us, more than a couple times...
Sometimes, it was helping my nieces & nephews, gather their steam, off the side of the pier, laughing at them, fishing with their bamboo poles & corn nibblets for bait...I realized fishing was fun, from the very start...for some more than others...
My nephew Mike, a bit of an intense little bugger, actually saw a giant, dazed, Northern Pike, wallowing in the short end of the water...Well, he jumped in the water, and started beating the fish with an oar...until it stopped flopping...
That's not gonna get you any brownie points from Babe Winkleman...but it got the job done...A caught fish is a caught fish...no rule books in fishing...Mike had that sucker mounted even, and we all managed to leave out the technicality of hauling that monster in...
As an older teen, I did some fishing with some buddies, off Lake Michigan, near Adler Planetarium, in Olive Park...(most spectacular view of the lakefront, in the city of Chicago...btw...) and even ventured north around the Banai' Temple off Northwestern University where my brother Joe's friend, Dennis, hauled in a giant Coho Salmon...
Sure, they said the mercury levels were too dangerous to eat a Coho from Lake Michigan but we were drinking Budweiser, which kills all germ & mercury poisons...(it says that in fine print on the side of the can...lol...)....
I'm glowing a bit, still, from eating that Coho, but "danger" is my middle name...When they crack me open on an autopsy table, down the line, they can have a good laugh with what they find inside me...
Even years later, when I moved out to San Diego, in the early 90's, living,in a one room, beach hut, apartment, 25 feet off of Ocean Beach pier...I resumed my passion for fishing,. soaking up the Cali sunshine, having a ball, hauling in baby sharks & some crazy fish called "Wahoo", that had razor sharp teeth...At night, every Friday night, about 9pm, nearby Sea World would have a great fireworks display...
and it was really surreal to be out on the end of Ocean Beach pier, with your pole in the water, people of every nationality, speaking a different language and the colors of the fireworks boldly glistening off the ocean waters...
Here I was, so far from home, with the deep, driving, mesmorizing ocean sounds surrounding me. Everybody had glow sticks, out there, glowing lime/yellow, all over, in the darkness & it was very cool, to soak it all in...considering I was just a land-lubber from the Midwest...
I even joined the San Diego Fishing Club and won a kick-ass, $600 mega-marlin pole, the first night I was there, that looked like something you would have rigged up off your big fishing trolly, off "The Cape of Good Hope"...That was alot of fun, hearing those S.D. fishing guys spin some wild tales of fishing all over the world...Those guys sailed the seven seas, and then some...making my passion for fishing look a bit silly...
a couple years back, I went over to my sister Maureen's place in Delavan, in July, and me & my buddy Jack McManus had a blast, as he hauled in a big Catfish...out of the murky waters of Delavan Lake, which is the best fishing lake around here, now...
It was funny as my nephew, Thomas and his Dad Charlie, insisted we keep the fish... because those ugly Catfish are bad fish...to throw back in...but it was too late...we were celebrating the unexpected whopper, by cracking open some cold suds...and laughing how that was totally mind-blowing...because only a few minutes before, Jack had dropped my fishing pole, to the bottom of the lake, accidentally, somewhat blasted drunk, and we were about to give it up, for the day...
Today, a new summer fishing season lies ahead and I have every intention of getting out there, some day, and see if some of the fish are still biting...and having a good time, recalling the old "fish stories" of the past...The fish always seem to get bigger, every time you tell the stories, but you can't help but lose track of time, which fish got caught when...
Who knows, if I can dig one up, on the Internet, maybe I'll break out the "Old School" fishing hat I wore all over, back in the day, as a youngster...when fishing was so fun for me...and I always felt that the "big one" was waiting for me, on the end of my line...
As a young tyke, digging up worms in the backyard, in Williams Bay, after a rainy night, exctitedly coming across a big juicy nightcrawler...I was convinced that ugly, bloated, veiny worm, was gonna land me a jumbo whopper, of a fish...
I can remember 1970, very clearly, going out to the end of our new pier, in Williams Bay, and hauling in a few sunfish, perch...blue gill...etc...Nothing spectacular, but enough to keep the fires alive, for the next time around...I was only 7 years old...but the whole hobby of fishing was a great deal of fun...and spending endless time, with lost lures & tangled lines, never phased me.
It seemed as I grew older, my strategy would change, going out on our Granny Franny boat, to hidden places around the lake...where vast amounts of fish were considered, there, for the taking...And as I hit my teenage years, my passion for fishing was at a peak...
Sometimes, we'd get caught up, in the tranquil peacefulness of fishing and not see a rapidly appraching storm, bearing down, out on Lake Geneva, ready to unload, a giant shower of rain & thunder & lightining. Suddenly, our weather senses, kicked in...
and there we were, making a mad dash...across the lake, flooring our Granny Franny boat at top speed, to beat the storm back home...It was exhilerating, throwing caution to the wind and bouncing our boat thru monster waves, crashing us, all around, as we sped like demons, back to shore, in the Bay... Me & Joe had that happen to us, more than a couple times...
Sometimes, it was helping my nieces & nephews, gather their steam, off the side of the pier, laughing at them, fishing with their bamboo poles & corn nibblets for bait...I realized fishing was fun, from the very start...for some more than others...
My nephew Mike, a bit of an intense little bugger, actually saw a giant, dazed, Northern Pike, wallowing in the short end of the water...Well, he jumped in the water, and started beating the fish with an oar...until it stopped flopping...
That's not gonna get you any brownie points from Babe Winkleman...but it got the job done...A caught fish is a caught fish...no rule books in fishing...Mike had that sucker mounted even, and we all managed to leave out the technicality of hauling that monster in...
As an older teen, I did some fishing with some buddies, off Lake Michigan, near Adler Planetarium, in Olive Park...(most spectacular view of the lakefront, in the city of Chicago...btw...) and even ventured north around the Banai' Temple off Northwestern University where my brother Joe's friend, Dennis, hauled in a giant Coho Salmon...
Sure, they said the mercury levels were too dangerous to eat a Coho from Lake Michigan but we were drinking Budweiser, which kills all germ & mercury poisons...(it says that in fine print on the side of the can...lol...)....
I'm glowing a bit, still, from eating that Coho, but "danger" is my middle name...When they crack me open on an autopsy table, down the line, they can have a good laugh with what they find inside me...
Even years later, when I moved out to San Diego, in the early 90's, living,in a one room, beach hut, apartment, 25 feet off of Ocean Beach pier...I resumed my passion for fishing,. soaking up the Cali sunshine, having a ball, hauling in baby sharks & some crazy fish called "Wahoo", that had razor sharp teeth...At night, every Friday night, about 9pm, nearby Sea World would have a great fireworks display...
and it was really surreal to be out on the end of Ocean Beach pier, with your pole in the water, people of every nationality, speaking a different language and the colors of the fireworks boldly glistening off the ocean waters...
Here I was, so far from home, with the deep, driving, mesmorizing ocean sounds surrounding me. Everybody had glow sticks, out there, glowing lime/yellow, all over, in the darkness & it was very cool, to soak it all in...considering I was just a land-lubber from the Midwest...
I even joined the San Diego Fishing Club and won a kick-ass, $600 mega-marlin pole, the first night I was there, that looked like something you would have rigged up off your big fishing trolly, off "The Cape of Good Hope"...That was alot of fun, hearing those S.D. fishing guys spin some wild tales of fishing all over the world...Those guys sailed the seven seas, and then some...making my passion for fishing look a bit silly...
a couple years back, I went over to my sister Maureen's place in Delavan, in July, and me & my buddy Jack McManus had a blast, as he hauled in a big Catfish...out of the murky waters of Delavan Lake, which is the best fishing lake around here, now...
It was funny as my nephew, Thomas and his Dad Charlie, insisted we keep the fish... because those ugly Catfish are bad fish...to throw back in...but it was too late...we were celebrating the unexpected whopper, by cracking open some cold suds...and laughing how that was totally mind-blowing...because only a few minutes before, Jack had dropped my fishing pole, to the bottom of the lake, accidentally, somewhat blasted drunk, and we were about to give it up, for the day...
Today, a new summer fishing season lies ahead and I have every intention of getting out there, some day, and see if some of the fish are still biting...and having a good time, recalling the old "fish stories" of the past...The fish always seem to get bigger, every time you tell the stories, but you can't help but lose track of time, which fish got caught when...
Who knows, if I can dig one up, on the Internet, maybe I'll break out the "Old School" fishing hat I wore all over, back in the day, as a youngster...when fishing was so fun for me...and I always felt that the "big one" was waiting for me, on the end of my line...
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Fore...!!!...
Every Spring, the snow melts away and our eyes return to getting outside and tearing things up. Whether it was pounding a basketball on a backyard court, smacking a baseball--up at the park or this next sports venture, all were a dazzling delight, to stretch our legs and bloody our noses.
Of course, we had no public golf course, in our neighborhood, but there was a great private golf course, Beverly Country Club, right across the railroad tracks, 2 blocks away fro me. And surely enough, some kind citizen, used some heavy-duty, wire-cutters to open up a slithery wicked opening, to squeeze our small bodies thru, to make this private course, our golf course, too.
The Beverly Country Club was top-notch in its day. Arnold Palmer had won a PGA Championship there, back in 1961, but nicer courses, popped up, further out in the suburbs, making this little gem, a quiet little retreat, for just a few, lucky ones.
On occasion, I can remember crashing the country club grounds and wreaking havoc there. I remember one time, me and a few friends, were wandering thru it, full-knowing we were tresspassing, and went into the main indoor, country club area and started riding up and down, this special seat, that transported/assisted older people, up and down, a high, winding stair-case. Well, we just about broke the machine, fooling around, when some official from the club, walked up and asked us, what club member had brought us there, that day.
Well, my goofy little buddies, (probably The Howlands-Johnny Hop & some other nuts) were shell-shocked, ready to get the boot, when I looked up on the wall and saw some special award, for the President of the club. Boom. I say, we are the special guests of the esteemed President and we are offended by their inquiry. Well, the official turned beet red, and steered us into the dining area, and gave us huge, free, ice cream sundaes. Stuff like that was priceless, as we inevitably stopped/stumbled by the Men's Room and saw all this guy's cologne & grooming stuff, in front of the big mirror...
I think we all lathered on half the gook they had displayed there, walking out of there, smelling like a perfume factory, with our hair slicked back, thinking that's what all these rich people did, every time, they hit the john. Yes, we were crazy beyond crazy, little rascals, just taking a boring, no-nothing day and making it a James Bond adeventure, boldly entering forbidden territory and making our mark, as silly little monsters.
Back to the golf course. A new set of us pranksters, descended on the hole in the fence, nestled about 10 feet from the railroad tracks. It was 6th Grade for us, the 2 Murphs--Johnny & Mike and Fitz, Slim & Chet and Neil, Marty, Bucky & me...Moodo & Bar...maybe a few others. We all grabbed our family's golf clubs and thought we'd take a run at Arnold Palmer's record, that early April day, when the course was still shut down, because winter was barely, gone.
Sure, there might even had been a few mounds of snow, here and there, in the crisp Spring air, about 40 to 50 degrees, great weather to us, to do anything because we did have Eskimo blood running thru us, able to take the frigid cold, in stride. The course looked stunning to us. A formidable challenge as any could be, as our golfing skills were a bit lax.
Well, put it this way, we all approached hitting the golf ball, like it was hitting a baseball, bashing & thumping and cursing, as our awful swings, did not help our scores. Let's face it, we look like The Three Stooges, out there...An occasional squirrel would run out on the course, and some dufess would drop their clubs and go chase it, like it was gonna be dinner, for that night. Just a rag-tag, bunch of goof balls, with no golfing experience, whatsoever, expecting this golf stuff, to be a piece of cake, once we warmed up a bit.
After awhile, our minds wandered as we realized this golf stuff was baffling. Sure, we told each other, we got par on that hole, maybe a bogie, a double-bogie, if we were slightly honest. But for the most part, all of us were racking up 6 to 12 strokes, each and every hole. Finally, we felt the day had been a success and we'd wrap things up, with one more hole, after wandering around 6 or 7 holes, on the back 9. We came up to a green, located back by the railroad tracks, by our big sledding hill...(Yes, this place was our toboggan run, in winter time, too...)...
Marty & Neil, were getting goofy with their clubs, throwing them at each other, when Marty, actually threw an iron, like a tomahawk, and it spun, around and around, and thunked, into the green, like a dagger, with a big delicious thud. Well, it looked hilarious and after a few seconds, a whole bunch of us, began tossing the golf irons, tomahawk-style, across this entire green, bludgeoning it, absolutely ruining it, for the up-coming year.
I knew this was getting ugly & was gonna be a frightful dilemma to deal with, next time, we crashed the Beverly C.C...but my friends were joyously romping all over the place, laughing & laughing, pulling up their irons, with a huge mound of dirty/muddy/grassy green, stuck to it. Clearly, they had lost their minds.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, 4 or 5 golf carts, come zooming out of nowhere....!!!...
THE CAVALRY WAS COMING...!!!...
Uhhh-oooohhh...!!!...
Let's get outta here...!!!...Where are we...???...
A mad incoherent dash, erupted, amongst us, knowing this was a shockingly wicked development, going down...For we had no clue, where the hell, the fence hole was, to get out, of there...(except for me...)...Half of my friends, started running for 83rd Street, which I knew was a dead end...their arms and legs, flailing, in terror, streaking faster, than their minds could fathom.
Half of us, headed for the fence, along the railroad tracks. But this was not easy, because we had to run into the teeth of these groundskeepers, bearing down at us, on carts, with a tenacious fury. All of us, had this bewildered/terrified look on our faces, as the fence, seemed to have no more holes, anymore.
I kinda knew the fence, like the back of my hand, having been there, quite a bit, as a kid and zeroed in on the seam/hole, to get the hell out of there. Only Bucky, followed me, while most the rest were caught up in the frenzy of being trapped like rats, about to face a rude awakening.
Me and Bucky slid thru the hole and scrambled up to the actual railroad tracks, looking down on the course, as the murderous mayhem, took hold. It was gut-wrenching, standing there, as one by one, alot of my buddies, got the collar, wrestled down and yelled at, like no-good clowns.
It was a hopeless, hopeless situation as my mind pondered the estimated damage to that green. I knew it had to be completely replaced, in less than 2 weeks, for the opening of the golf season. At least $12,000.00, I thought. For me, I knew it was an end to an era, of crashing the Beverly C.C., the club officials would take care of that, I was sure.
But, oddly enough, in the end, the Beverly C.C. people were really decent folks, knowing we were stupid little kids. They kept the golf clubs, among them, my Johnny Murphy's--Dad's new clubs. It's a little foggy, I don't remember, I don't even think they took one dollar from us...but told us...next time they see us, again...our ass is grass...
As time goes by, I think of those wild times, crashing the Beverly C.C. for some fun-time excursions, because it was so close by, like The B, right next to it...All that stuff remains, curiously frozen in my mind. It felt like it had been an endless time because me and the Howland Boys had run amock there, alot and then my TM buddies found the place, a romping good time, too...The endless goofy golfing, the psychotically intense squirrel hunting, snow slededing there, every winter, just somewhere, to get away and do crazy, crazy stuff.
But I get a chuckle, now, as I'll have a PGA golf tournament on TV and an announcer will state something like..."mmm, well, I'm afraid this green is not in the best of shape..." and I'll just wander my mind back, to the tomahawk chop, golf clubs spinning, thudding deliciously into fertile soil, rendering a nice green, into a complete, shredded mess...
Those were the times...and I'm sure, I'll get some further confirmation, on details, cuz' it was a spectacular moment, where all of us, almost peed in our pants, we were so damn shocked. One of the few times, we actually did get caught, for our stupid/mindless ways, that kinda popped up, as little antagonists, bumping into trouble, here & there, every now & then...
(update--Eddie B says him & Moodo, ran the whole damn length of the course, scooting over to busy Western Ave. and flipped a sharp, barb wire fence, losing half his shirt, as the carts came racing down on him & Moodo. We all can still feel our hearts pounding, skipping a beat or two, re-calling this mad, mad, mad mis-adventure...lol...And Slim just told me, the groundskeepers took his sorry ass, the Murphy boys, Fitz and Chet...on the back of the golf carts...all the way...to some little funky office...where they took their home phone numbers and shouted at them, they would be contacting their parents...real soon...hahaha...They never did...)
Of course, we had no public golf course, in our neighborhood, but there was a great private golf course, Beverly Country Club, right across the railroad tracks, 2 blocks away fro me. And surely enough, some kind citizen, used some heavy-duty, wire-cutters to open up a slithery wicked opening, to squeeze our small bodies thru, to make this private course, our golf course, too.
The Beverly Country Club was top-notch in its day. Arnold Palmer had won a PGA Championship there, back in 1961, but nicer courses, popped up, further out in the suburbs, making this little gem, a quiet little retreat, for just a few, lucky ones.
On occasion, I can remember crashing the country club grounds and wreaking havoc there. I remember one time, me and a few friends, were wandering thru it, full-knowing we were tresspassing, and went into the main indoor, country club area and started riding up and down, this special seat, that transported/assisted older people, up and down, a high, winding stair-case. Well, we just about broke the machine, fooling around, when some official from the club, walked up and asked us, what club member had brought us there, that day.
Well, my goofy little buddies, (probably The Howlands-Johnny Hop & some other nuts) were shell-shocked, ready to get the boot, when I looked up on the wall and saw some special award, for the President of the club. Boom. I say, we are the special guests of the esteemed President and we are offended by their inquiry. Well, the official turned beet red, and steered us into the dining area, and gave us huge, free, ice cream sundaes. Stuff like that was priceless, as we inevitably stopped/stumbled by the Men's Room and saw all this guy's cologne & grooming stuff, in front of the big mirror...
I think we all lathered on half the gook they had displayed there, walking out of there, smelling like a perfume factory, with our hair slicked back, thinking that's what all these rich people did, every time, they hit the john. Yes, we were crazy beyond crazy, little rascals, just taking a boring, no-nothing day and making it a James Bond adeventure, boldly entering forbidden territory and making our mark, as silly little monsters.
Back to the golf course. A new set of us pranksters, descended on the hole in the fence, nestled about 10 feet from the railroad tracks. It was 6th Grade for us, the 2 Murphs--Johnny & Mike and Fitz, Slim & Chet and Neil, Marty, Bucky & me...Moodo & Bar...maybe a few others. We all grabbed our family's golf clubs and thought we'd take a run at Arnold Palmer's record, that early April day, when the course was still shut down, because winter was barely, gone.
Sure, there might even had been a few mounds of snow, here and there, in the crisp Spring air, about 40 to 50 degrees, great weather to us, to do anything because we did have Eskimo blood running thru us, able to take the frigid cold, in stride. The course looked stunning to us. A formidable challenge as any could be, as our golfing skills were a bit lax.
Well, put it this way, we all approached hitting the golf ball, like it was hitting a baseball, bashing & thumping and cursing, as our awful swings, did not help our scores. Let's face it, we look like The Three Stooges, out there...An occasional squirrel would run out on the course, and some dufess would drop their clubs and go chase it, like it was gonna be dinner, for that night. Just a rag-tag, bunch of goof balls, with no golfing experience, whatsoever, expecting this golf stuff, to be a piece of cake, once we warmed up a bit.
After awhile, our minds wandered as we realized this golf stuff was baffling. Sure, we told each other, we got par on that hole, maybe a bogie, a double-bogie, if we were slightly honest. But for the most part, all of us were racking up 6 to 12 strokes, each and every hole. Finally, we felt the day had been a success and we'd wrap things up, with one more hole, after wandering around 6 or 7 holes, on the back 9. We came up to a green, located back by the railroad tracks, by our big sledding hill...(Yes, this place was our toboggan run, in winter time, too...)...
Marty & Neil, were getting goofy with their clubs, throwing them at each other, when Marty, actually threw an iron, like a tomahawk, and it spun, around and around, and thunked, into the green, like a dagger, with a big delicious thud. Well, it looked hilarious and after a few seconds, a whole bunch of us, began tossing the golf irons, tomahawk-style, across this entire green, bludgeoning it, absolutely ruining it, for the up-coming year.
I knew this was getting ugly & was gonna be a frightful dilemma to deal with, next time, we crashed the Beverly C.C...but my friends were joyously romping all over the place, laughing & laughing, pulling up their irons, with a huge mound of dirty/muddy/grassy green, stuck to it. Clearly, they had lost their minds.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, 4 or 5 golf carts, come zooming out of nowhere....!!!...
THE CAVALRY WAS COMING...!!!...
Uhhh-oooohhh...!!!...
Let's get outta here...!!!...Where are we...???...
A mad incoherent dash, erupted, amongst us, knowing this was a shockingly wicked development, going down...For we had no clue, where the hell, the fence hole was, to get out, of there...(except for me...)...Half of my friends, started running for 83rd Street, which I knew was a dead end...their arms and legs, flailing, in terror, streaking faster, than their minds could fathom.
Half of us, headed for the fence, along the railroad tracks. But this was not easy, because we had to run into the teeth of these groundskeepers, bearing down at us, on carts, with a tenacious fury. All of us, had this bewildered/terrified look on our faces, as the fence, seemed to have no more holes, anymore.
I kinda knew the fence, like the back of my hand, having been there, quite a bit, as a kid and zeroed in on the seam/hole, to get the hell out of there. Only Bucky, followed me, while most the rest were caught up in the frenzy of being trapped like rats, about to face a rude awakening.
Me and Bucky slid thru the hole and scrambled up to the actual railroad tracks, looking down on the course, as the murderous mayhem, took hold. It was gut-wrenching, standing there, as one by one, alot of my buddies, got the collar, wrestled down and yelled at, like no-good clowns.
It was a hopeless, hopeless situation as my mind pondered the estimated damage to that green. I knew it had to be completely replaced, in less than 2 weeks, for the opening of the golf season. At least $12,000.00, I thought. For me, I knew it was an end to an era, of crashing the Beverly C.C., the club officials would take care of that, I was sure.
But, oddly enough, in the end, the Beverly C.C. people were really decent folks, knowing we were stupid little kids. They kept the golf clubs, among them, my Johnny Murphy's--Dad's new clubs. It's a little foggy, I don't remember, I don't even think they took one dollar from us...but told us...next time they see us, again...our ass is grass...
As time goes by, I think of those wild times, crashing the Beverly C.C. for some fun-time excursions, because it was so close by, like The B, right next to it...All that stuff remains, curiously frozen in my mind. It felt like it had been an endless time because me and the Howland Boys had run amock there, alot and then my TM buddies found the place, a romping good time, too...The endless goofy golfing, the psychotically intense squirrel hunting, snow slededing there, every winter, just somewhere, to get away and do crazy, crazy stuff.
But I get a chuckle, now, as I'll have a PGA golf tournament on TV and an announcer will state something like..."mmm, well, I'm afraid this green is not in the best of shape..." and I'll just wander my mind back, to the tomahawk chop, golf clubs spinning, thudding deliciously into fertile soil, rendering a nice green, into a complete, shredded mess...
Those were the times...and I'm sure, I'll get some further confirmation, on details, cuz' it was a spectacular moment, where all of us, almost peed in our pants, we were so damn shocked. One of the few times, we actually did get caught, for our stupid/mindless ways, that kinda popped up, as little antagonists, bumping into trouble, here & there, every now & then...
(update--Eddie B says him & Moodo, ran the whole damn length of the course, scooting over to busy Western Ave. and flipped a sharp, barb wire fence, losing half his shirt, as the carts came racing down on him & Moodo. We all can still feel our hearts pounding, skipping a beat or two, re-calling this mad, mad, mad mis-adventure...lol...And Slim just told me, the groundskeepers took his sorry ass, the Murphy boys, Fitz and Chet...on the back of the golf carts...all the way...to some little funky office...where they took their home phone numbers and shouted at them, they would be contacting their parents...real soon...hahaha...They never did...)
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Hot Dog Day
Once upon a time...there was a day, like no other...a day dreamed about endlessly...of wondrous feasts, a nice little piece of heaven...erasing the stark reality of blubbery bologna, moldy tuna & sour ham salad sandwiches...
...(keep going)...
...O.K. just add any other wretched, lifeless lunch, we were forced to consume every single school day...too...
For this unique & splendid day...obliterating our senses was...Hot Dog Day...
This delightful day of dogs...relished with mustard...never could come soon enough...for us misbegotten children enslaved to an ordinary droll existence...ready to boom, burst wide open, onto our playground, outdoors, ready to run amock, with a frenzy, towards the line for the ladies dishing out the dogs...
All the girls, all the boys...had that wild look in their eyes, as our teachers led us from our classrooms, towards the doors, that day. Our hearts pounding/racing, our minds ablaze with pure delight...
In our small pockets, our coins & dollars all jumbled together, we never had quite enough cash, to buy the amount of mouth-watering goodies, our minds felt so certain, we could consume that day...
Maybe $2.00 to $3.00...was all our parents would dole out...and we were all just rabid little fools, anyway...."Honestly, look at yourself, your eyes are bigger than your belly", our parents would say, laughing at us...sheepishly, with such a knowing wink...
By the way...the hot dogs weren't that great...
Plain old, run-of-the-mill Oscar Mayer hot dogs, boiled in a big silver kettle...nothing special, seemed like something created by the gods that day...We devoured those doggies, in nothing flat, out there, on the black-top pavement...our playground... Our church & school parking lot, transformed into a sea of blissful children, caught up in the wild moment...
A moment so incredibly rare, a moment we wished we could have, at least once a week, or once a month....Couldn't we have Hot Dog Day....every day...???...
No way...Jose'...!!!...
The school, our Principal...kept our day of deliverance down to one Spring day...usually in early May...until demands made it a two time...holiday...after the ruckus, us kids made, because our passion to celebrate this special event took on a life of its own...
And every year, we grew older & wiser, in our pursuit of perfection. Making the most, of that sumptuous half-hour...planning a mad dash, for any line, that looked thin...Sure, the shortest line, could be anything...The line for a can of Pop...the line for mini bags of Jay's potato chips...the line for ice cream sandwiches...and of course, that killer line for hot dogs...
That Hot Dog line...seemed like it always was 20 kids deep...and our anxiety of wondering if they would run out of hot dogs or maybe, they would be icky cold, by the time we got one, made us twice as anxious to get that damn dog...ASAP...
It's funny, how our passion for Hot Dog Day, dissipated as we grew older. By the time we hit 8th Grade, it seemed almost a farce...us kids jaded by our enormous egos, of thinking it was little kid stuff...We no longer basked in the glow, of piling those hot dogs into our tummies with glee. The fun was done...The moment as boring as any other day...Why...was this so...???...
For once upon a time, our little voices, screamed with madness, when the word got out, when Hot Dog Day, was declared...A hearty rush, of happiness poured forth...brimming with excitement, because there was nothing quite like it...Ohhh, those were happy times...
Sure, I can taste the rubbery dogs, right now. The salty potato chips, the orange pop, the ice cream sandwich which dripped & dripped & dripped all over our school clothes...It didn't matter.
Because rare is the beauty, the sight of children, immensely proud, they had acheived this mark, of excellence. Wolfing it all down, like baby tigers. Mustard on our hands, mustard on our mouths, mustard, mustard...did I mention, plenty of mustard...???....
Of course, we'd give a kings ransom to re-live that moment. It was a timeless treasure. The sun always seemed to beating brightly down that day, and not one kid was ever, ever sick on Hot Dog Day...You cannot deny the sheer silliness of it all.
For it was a day of dogs and a day of laughter. Also, a day of sunshine and a day of sharing. The sharing of pure goodness, from one end of the loud & boisterous playground, to the other...
There...at old Saint Thomas More school....long, long ago...
Yes, if you listen closely, you can hear the echoes of kiddie chaos, in your minds. Our minds enriched, with such gentle thoughts, never lost from our precious memories. Always there, any time, we care to gaze back, back so fondly and so dearly, upon Hot Dog Day...
...good old Hot Dog Day......
(BTW...John "Chet" Feely, set the bar high, by consuming 8 hot dogs, at one time, one Hot Dog Day, back around 1976...While this doesn't seem like much, Chet, had started off his day, with his Mom's, stick-to-your-ribs, Irish breakfast, consisting of a pound of bacon, a dozen eggs, a tub-full of oatmeal & enough French Toast to feed an army. Only kidding Chet, we know, for sure, you would give Kobayashi & Joey Chestnut a run for their money, and then some, at any "Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest", on Coney Island, in NY...anytime...especially, back in your STARVING HUNGRY, don't-throw-that-in-the-garbage...I'll-eat-that, CARE-FREE, YOUTH...)
...(keep going)...
...O.K. just add any other wretched, lifeless lunch, we were forced to consume every single school day...too...
For this unique & splendid day...obliterating our senses was...Hot Dog Day...
This delightful day of dogs...relished with mustard...never could come soon enough...for us misbegotten children enslaved to an ordinary droll existence...ready to boom, burst wide open, onto our playground, outdoors, ready to run amock, with a frenzy, towards the line for the ladies dishing out the dogs...
All the girls, all the boys...had that wild look in their eyes, as our teachers led us from our classrooms, towards the doors, that day. Our hearts pounding/racing, our minds ablaze with pure delight...
In our small pockets, our coins & dollars all jumbled together, we never had quite enough cash, to buy the amount of mouth-watering goodies, our minds felt so certain, we could consume that day...
Maybe $2.00 to $3.00...was all our parents would dole out...and we were all just rabid little fools, anyway...."Honestly, look at yourself, your eyes are bigger than your belly", our parents would say, laughing at us...sheepishly, with such a knowing wink...
By the way...the hot dogs weren't that great...
Plain old, run-of-the-mill Oscar Mayer hot dogs, boiled in a big silver kettle...nothing special, seemed like something created by the gods that day...We devoured those doggies, in nothing flat, out there, on the black-top pavement...our playground... Our church & school parking lot, transformed into a sea of blissful children, caught up in the wild moment...
A moment so incredibly rare, a moment we wished we could have, at least once a week, or once a month....Couldn't we have Hot Dog Day....every day...???...
No way...Jose'...!!!...
The school, our Principal...kept our day of deliverance down to one Spring day...usually in early May...until demands made it a two time...holiday...after the ruckus, us kids made, because our passion to celebrate this special event took on a life of its own...
And every year, we grew older & wiser, in our pursuit of perfection. Making the most, of that sumptuous half-hour...planning a mad dash, for any line, that looked thin...Sure, the shortest line, could be anything...The line for a can of Pop...the line for mini bags of Jay's potato chips...the line for ice cream sandwiches...and of course, that killer line for hot dogs...
That Hot Dog line...seemed like it always was 20 kids deep...and our anxiety of wondering if they would run out of hot dogs or maybe, they would be icky cold, by the time we got one, made us twice as anxious to get that damn dog...ASAP...
It's funny, how our passion for Hot Dog Day, dissipated as we grew older. By the time we hit 8th Grade, it seemed almost a farce...us kids jaded by our enormous egos, of thinking it was little kid stuff...We no longer basked in the glow, of piling those hot dogs into our tummies with glee. The fun was done...The moment as boring as any other day...Why...was this so...???...
For once upon a time, our little voices, screamed with madness, when the word got out, when Hot Dog Day, was declared...A hearty rush, of happiness poured forth...brimming with excitement, because there was nothing quite like it...Ohhh, those were happy times...
Sure, I can taste the rubbery dogs, right now. The salty potato chips, the orange pop, the ice cream sandwich which dripped & dripped & dripped all over our school clothes...It didn't matter.
Because rare is the beauty, the sight of children, immensely proud, they had acheived this mark, of excellence. Wolfing it all down, like baby tigers. Mustard on our hands, mustard on our mouths, mustard, mustard...did I mention, plenty of mustard...???....
Of course, we'd give a kings ransom to re-live that moment. It was a timeless treasure. The sun always seemed to beating brightly down that day, and not one kid was ever, ever sick on Hot Dog Day...You cannot deny the sheer silliness of it all.
For it was a day of dogs and a day of laughter. Also, a day of sunshine and a day of sharing. The sharing of pure goodness, from one end of the loud & boisterous playground, to the other...
There...at old Saint Thomas More school....long, long ago...
Yes, if you listen closely, you can hear the echoes of kiddie chaos, in your minds. Our minds enriched, with such gentle thoughts, never lost from our precious memories. Always there, any time, we care to gaze back, back so fondly and so dearly, upon Hot Dog Day...
...good old Hot Dog Day......
(BTW...John "Chet" Feely, set the bar high, by consuming 8 hot dogs, at one time, one Hot Dog Day, back around 1976...While this doesn't seem like much, Chet, had started off his day, with his Mom's, stick-to-your-ribs, Irish breakfast, consisting of a pound of bacon, a dozen eggs, a tub-full of oatmeal & enough French Toast to feed an army. Only kidding Chet, we know, for sure, you would give Kobayashi & Joey Chestnut a run for their money, and then some, at any "Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest", on Coney Island, in NY...anytime...especially, back in your STARVING HUNGRY, don't-throw-that-in-the-garbage...I'll-eat-that, CARE-FREE, YOUTH...)
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
The Park
Roaming the streets between 87th & 79th...Kedzie to Western...took alot out of you...as a kid...stumbling about, nothing but sheer stupidity on our sides, back then...
And, there were just endless amounts of games of sports, always in high gear, on any given day...up at the park or on any space of land...where a loud clatter and a scramble of bodies, bounced all around, always on the verge of bloody mayhem...
My good buddy, Johnny Fitzpatrick, kept a whole boatload of baseball gloves and bats, strewn about his dusty garage...ready for action. John lived right off of the park, and I was quite envious of his proximity to all things, park-related...
Of course, my sisters & brothers would remind me, we too, lived right off the park, a block north of Johnny Fitz's, on 84th Place, but our house got too cramped with 8 kids...so we moved about 3 blocks south, after I was born, to 86th Street, in 1963...All my sisters & brothers, were big, PARK KIDS, only 6 houses down, from the park...A kid's paradise, just a heartbeat away...
I can remember, one particular baseball game...up at the park, one Spring, when I was 11 years old, I was the pitcher...I seemed to always be the pitcher for our slow-pitch, lob-league action...Well, this big, gangly kid, named Craig, stepped up to the plate, and slammed one, right back at me...whizzing it over my head, almost scraping my baseball cap...Damn, he could get a shot of power outta that bat...
Next time up, everyone is laughing, daring Craig, to do it again, rip it up the middle, and take my head, clean off, this time...All my friends eyes are wide open, awaiting every pitch...
Crack....!!!...
Not only did Craig, get every single ounce of wood on that pitch, but it was a sizzling, blistering guided missle, headed right for my face....We are talking about only a split second, in time, to react, but I did manage, to throw my glove up, in front of my face, as the ball, slammed hard into my mitt, with a thunderous "Smack!"....making me all ghostly & woozy, sending all the rest of the bunch of kids into hysterics.
There I was, completely white as a ghost, opening my mitt, my hand still stinging, trying to pry the baseball wedged into my mitt, stuck in there, like Crazy Glue...Everyone, is falling down laughing, because the knew damn well, Craig, would be taking aim again, sooner or later, in a couple of innings...
I think, at that point, I decided to call in for the bullpen to take over...when everyone on my team, suddenly realized their noggin' was next...So they decided to quit playing for the day...sending anger & outrage throughout our mangy field of dreams...A field dotted with a smashed beer can for 1st base...somebody's little league cap for 2nd base...a crummy left-handed mitt, for 3rd base...and maybe someone's windbreaker crumbled up for Home Plate.
Let's face it, everyone had a crazy hang-out as a kid...a park or gym or empty lot...anywhere was possible...all you needed was your enthusiasm, and your imagination...Kids need places, where they can cut loose and get goofy...
And it was the same for us...up at Carroll Park...
Every single one of my close friends, will tell you how that park, so green & grassy, is truly a part of them, no matter what...what ever happens to them...Whether it be Fitz or Moodo, Bob, Don, Slim, Joe, Murph, Denny, Bar, Kevin, Neil, Duff, Marty Eck & Marty Rogers, Buckets, Bucky, Jimmy "Lemon" Ade, Mike "Mugs" Mulligan, Mike Powers, and lots, lots more...a hush falls over all of us, as a flood of olden times cascade down from our minds...of that wild, ballyhoo bunch of crazies, every single one of us, tearing it up, with reckless abandon...
We just had a ball...every single, day...sleeting snow, monsoon rains, blistering heat, cold beyond cold, you name it...each definitive moment only intensified our whole being, with that giant park's hold on our memories...past and present...exuding a special charm, we felt so deeply, just a captivating, magical feel to it...that brings forth a smile...with any notion...
It was a quiet oasis, amidst the hustle and bustle, all around...It had lots of trees, baseball diamonds, swings & a sandbox for the kiddies...and a big old football field, in the middle, where some rompin', stompin' dynamite heroics were boundlessly displayed...Just a nice, happy atmosphere, all the way around...It seemed every kid in the neighborhood popped in up there, at some point and all us kids from each grade, had a special park bench, designated for us, to call our own...
And one special guy, headed the Park District, up there at Carroll Park, his name was RICH....This guy Rich, in his late 30's/early 40's, commanded our ultimate respect, because he drew the line in the sand, with all the non-sense, we thought we could get away with...Rich had this striking bald head, and an eagle beak-type nose, a true hearty Croatian, thru & thru...and you did not want the wrath of Rich, headed your way...Ohhhh no...
He'd slap you upside the head, real good, for acting goofy and he had this tin whistle, attached to a skinny leather strap, he twirled around as he walked all about...That leather strap, Rich would lash out, at any moment, at any instigator, would only sting for a moment or two, but it left a deep red welt, that let you know, Rich meant business...
But everyone liked to kidd with Rich anyway, as we got older & older, and punkier & punkier. We always had and always will have the upmost respect for Rich...He was the referee, the umpire, the wrestling instructor, softball league organizer...You name it, Rich had it down cold. He was the best damn Park Instructor anywhere, and we were damn lucky we didn't get our lights punched out, if he heard us swear...
So many memories, of so many kids...The P.I.T.A. kids...(Pain In The Ass)...were 2 years older than us...and they were just a monsterous throng of kids, up at the park, led by Scott Clifford...Alot of my future buddies, a year older than us...Eddy Epper, The Funk, Jack McManus, Coon, Gert, Matt Bailey, Dave Scalise, Wally, Mike Murphy, Jack Cusack, Danny Casey, Dirks, Danny Olsen, Kevin Delaney, Bram and Johnny "Hop" Howland...all were crazy nuts...leaving my bunch of friends, thinking we were woefully inferior...and never, ever gonna be as cool as the older guys...
And all the girls were up there, too...hanging out...They had their jean jackets & smokes & wild hair & they all had endless laughs at all the foolishness, happening everywhere...Those were giddy times, full of bright smiles & silly clumsiness, trying to stay cool, almost too darn cool for our own good.
We all thought, all us girls & boys, thought we made hanging out, an art form, bumming smokes, losing lighters, listening to music on boom boxes, calling each other funny names...just an age of silly innocence...rolling on by...quicker than we could ever realize...
All up at this park...a place of refuge, of sports heroics, of first big kisses, of beers endlessly sprayed open, of lolly-gagging, drop-dead, funny laughter....ohhh the laughter...just priceless high-pitched laughter...from silly kids...growing up way, way too fast...but still having a blast...
Back in the day...Carroll Park inevitably became Hayes Park...an evolution of kids from the 60's, 70's, 80's, 90's...yonder years of wild mischief & mayhem, we truly hold so sparkly dear inside our hearts...to this very fleeting moment...and almost every day....in our passing lives...and beyond...
And, there were just endless amounts of games of sports, always in high gear, on any given day...up at the park or on any space of land...where a loud clatter and a scramble of bodies, bounced all around, always on the verge of bloody mayhem...
My good buddy, Johnny Fitzpatrick, kept a whole boatload of baseball gloves and bats, strewn about his dusty garage...ready for action. John lived right off of the park, and I was quite envious of his proximity to all things, park-related...
Of course, my sisters & brothers would remind me, we too, lived right off the park, a block north of Johnny Fitz's, on 84th Place, but our house got too cramped with 8 kids...so we moved about 3 blocks south, after I was born, to 86th Street, in 1963...All my sisters & brothers, were big, PARK KIDS, only 6 houses down, from the park...A kid's paradise, just a heartbeat away...
I can remember, one particular baseball game...up at the park, one Spring, when I was 11 years old, I was the pitcher...I seemed to always be the pitcher for our slow-pitch, lob-league action...Well, this big, gangly kid, named Craig, stepped up to the plate, and slammed one, right back at me...whizzing it over my head, almost scraping my baseball cap...Damn, he could get a shot of power outta that bat...
Next time up, everyone is laughing, daring Craig, to do it again, rip it up the middle, and take my head, clean off, this time...All my friends eyes are wide open, awaiting every pitch...
Crack....!!!...
Not only did Craig, get every single ounce of wood on that pitch, but it was a sizzling, blistering guided missle, headed right for my face....We are talking about only a split second, in time, to react, but I did manage, to throw my glove up, in front of my face, as the ball, slammed hard into my mitt, with a thunderous "Smack!"....making me all ghostly & woozy, sending all the rest of the bunch of kids into hysterics.
There I was, completely white as a ghost, opening my mitt, my hand still stinging, trying to pry the baseball wedged into my mitt, stuck in there, like Crazy Glue...Everyone, is falling down laughing, because the knew damn well, Craig, would be taking aim again, sooner or later, in a couple of innings...
I think, at that point, I decided to call in for the bullpen to take over...when everyone on my team, suddenly realized their noggin' was next...So they decided to quit playing for the day...sending anger & outrage throughout our mangy field of dreams...A field dotted with a smashed beer can for 1st base...somebody's little league cap for 2nd base...a crummy left-handed mitt, for 3rd base...and maybe someone's windbreaker crumbled up for Home Plate.
Let's face it, everyone had a crazy hang-out as a kid...a park or gym or empty lot...anywhere was possible...all you needed was your enthusiasm, and your imagination...Kids need places, where they can cut loose and get goofy...
And it was the same for us...up at Carroll Park...
Every single one of my close friends, will tell you how that park, so green & grassy, is truly a part of them, no matter what...what ever happens to them...Whether it be Fitz or Moodo, Bob, Don, Slim, Joe, Murph, Denny, Bar, Kevin, Neil, Duff, Marty Eck & Marty Rogers, Buckets, Bucky, Jimmy "Lemon" Ade, Mike "Mugs" Mulligan, Mike Powers, and lots, lots more...a hush falls over all of us, as a flood of olden times cascade down from our minds...of that wild, ballyhoo bunch of crazies, every single one of us, tearing it up, with reckless abandon...
We just had a ball...every single, day...sleeting snow, monsoon rains, blistering heat, cold beyond cold, you name it...each definitive moment only intensified our whole being, with that giant park's hold on our memories...past and present...exuding a special charm, we felt so deeply, just a captivating, magical feel to it...that brings forth a smile...with any notion...
It was a quiet oasis, amidst the hustle and bustle, all around...It had lots of trees, baseball diamonds, swings & a sandbox for the kiddies...and a big old football field, in the middle, where some rompin', stompin' dynamite heroics were boundlessly displayed...Just a nice, happy atmosphere, all the way around...It seemed every kid in the neighborhood popped in up there, at some point and all us kids from each grade, had a special park bench, designated for us, to call our own...
And one special guy, headed the Park District, up there at Carroll Park, his name was RICH....This guy Rich, in his late 30's/early 40's, commanded our ultimate respect, because he drew the line in the sand, with all the non-sense, we thought we could get away with...Rich had this striking bald head, and an eagle beak-type nose, a true hearty Croatian, thru & thru...and you did not want the wrath of Rich, headed your way...Ohhhh no...
He'd slap you upside the head, real good, for acting goofy and he had this tin whistle, attached to a skinny leather strap, he twirled around as he walked all about...That leather strap, Rich would lash out, at any moment, at any instigator, would only sting for a moment or two, but it left a deep red welt, that let you know, Rich meant business...
But everyone liked to kidd with Rich anyway, as we got older & older, and punkier & punkier. We always had and always will have the upmost respect for Rich...He was the referee, the umpire, the wrestling instructor, softball league organizer...You name it, Rich had it down cold. He was the best damn Park Instructor anywhere, and we were damn lucky we didn't get our lights punched out, if he heard us swear...
So many memories, of so many kids...The P.I.T.A. kids...(Pain In The Ass)...were 2 years older than us...and they were just a monsterous throng of kids, up at the park, led by Scott Clifford...Alot of my future buddies, a year older than us...Eddy Epper, The Funk, Jack McManus, Coon, Gert, Matt Bailey, Dave Scalise, Wally, Mike Murphy, Jack Cusack, Danny Casey, Dirks, Danny Olsen, Kevin Delaney, Bram and Johnny "Hop" Howland...all were crazy nuts...leaving my bunch of friends, thinking we were woefully inferior...and never, ever gonna be as cool as the older guys...
And all the girls were up there, too...hanging out...They had their jean jackets & smokes & wild hair & they all had endless laughs at all the foolishness, happening everywhere...Those were giddy times, full of bright smiles & silly clumsiness, trying to stay cool, almost too darn cool for our own good.
We all thought, all us girls & boys, thought we made hanging out, an art form, bumming smokes, losing lighters, listening to music on boom boxes, calling each other funny names...just an age of silly innocence...rolling on by...quicker than we could ever realize...
All up at this park...a place of refuge, of sports heroics, of first big kisses, of beers endlessly sprayed open, of lolly-gagging, drop-dead, funny laughter....ohhh the laughter...just priceless high-pitched laughter...from silly kids...growing up way, way too fast...but still having a blast...
Back in the day...Carroll Park inevitably became Hayes Park...an evolution of kids from the 60's, 70's, 80's, 90's...yonder years of wild mischief & mayhem, we truly hold so sparkly dear inside our hearts...to this very fleeting moment...and almost every day....in our passing lives...and beyond...
Thursday, March 19, 2009
A little "Fight" fable, for you...
...looking back...I was kinda lucky, not to have to mix it up, too often...Fighting...
...After all, I hung out with some bruising maulers, growing up, who could take people down, in one punch...Eddie B was the toughest kid in our hood, hands down...and all the takers, that came on, one-by-one, , to go toe-to-toe...with Ed...got the ass-whipping of their life...Yet, I never, ever seen Eddie B start a fight, but you could surely remember him, finishing it...
...So I had a free ride...carousing the neighborhood...only running into a few bullies, now & then.
...I remember one incident, while I was about 11 years old, where I was playing ball out on ths streets of 84th Place, on Eddie's block...as we ended our play for the day...I started walking, towards Washtenaw Ave. and this little weenie of a brat, jumped out...and started calling me...RETARDED...over & over...No one was around, except this little fiendish kid...
His name was Danny Deacy, a wretched little punk, who was only a bit bigger than me...
I did stand there, puzzled, wondering who this fool, was...as he kept echoing his little buzz word, retarded, to tick me off...I knew I was short & slight of build, with my head, tilted, a bit...but I knew I was not retarded...He was the goofy retard...
Eventually, every time, he said, RETARDED, I punched him hard, in the arm...And that went on, for 5 or 6 times...
Somehow, he switched gears, and said something even more wicked, so I wound up, my fist, and sent him to the ground....It was a lucky, yet powerful shot...and I topped things off, by stomping on his head, for good measure, trying to ooze his brains out...for about a good 3o seconds to a minute...
Finally, the taunts ended...as he was curled up on the ground, like a ball, reeling, as I angrily stormed off...
When I got home, that day, my Mom, tried to stop me, as I walked by her, in the kitchen, as she said, "Somebody's Mom just called...Why did you step on that boy's head...Don't you know any better..."
My quick reply was, "He called me Retarded...and he got what he deserved..."....as I briskly made my way downstairs, to watch cartoons...with a little tear in my eye...but I was never haunted by this, at all...
Fast foreward, from the 5th Grade to my college years...I'm down at a wild sorierity party at the Little Red Schoolhouse...at Illinios State University...always a great time...when my old childhood buddy, Johnny Murph, ambles up and says..."Guess who just walked in the door...Danny Deacy!"
There was a little bit of fear, in Murph's message...but I was not even phased...I barely remembered the kid...Murph then went on and said, Deacy, was now an avid, body-builder, cut like a rock, about 6'4'' tall, 22o pounds...
At that point, my jaw dropped, and I understood Murph's fair warning...I quickly looked around for an escape route...No go...I was stuck in a room of kegger revelry, and there was only one way out...past the ominous brute, Danny Deacy...
Well, it only took Deacy, about a minute to spot me...and started to slowly walk up to me...I was expecting the worse, at that point, a crack to the jaw, at least...but as Deacy, got up close to me, a small smile, emerged on his face...
He said..."You're the kid that kicked my ass, and tried to stomp my head, into the ground!."
I nodded and said "Yes"...and waited for a level punch...to send me flying...
He then laughed and said..."What a little obnoxious creep I was, back then...Sorry about that...I deserved it...You need a beer...???..."...
I kinda laughed and let out a huge sigh of relief...and took the beer, and we chatted for about 10 minutes...I think he said he was studying to go into law enforcement...and loved being down at Illinois State U...It was the coolest...
We laughed a bit more...and I edged my way, out of there, a little wobbly, from what had transpired...out of the wild kegger party...and into the night...
The moral of the story is obvious...That kid you beat the crap out of, as a young lad, may grow up to be the biggest, baddest dude, you could ever imagine...so watch out...
Not many fights for me...but surely, a good lesson...from it all...
...After all, I hung out with some bruising maulers, growing up, who could take people down, in one punch...Eddie B was the toughest kid in our hood, hands down...and all the takers, that came on, one-by-one, , to go toe-to-toe...with Ed...got the ass-whipping of their life...Yet, I never, ever seen Eddie B start a fight, but you could surely remember him, finishing it...
...So I had a free ride...carousing the neighborhood...only running into a few bullies, now & then.
...I remember one incident, while I was about 11 years old, where I was playing ball out on ths streets of 84th Place, on Eddie's block...as we ended our play for the day...I started walking, towards Washtenaw Ave. and this little weenie of a brat, jumped out...and started calling me...RETARDED...over & over...No one was around, except this little fiendish kid...
His name was Danny Deacy, a wretched little punk, who was only a bit bigger than me...
I did stand there, puzzled, wondering who this fool, was...as he kept echoing his little buzz word, retarded, to tick me off...I knew I was short & slight of build, with my head, tilted, a bit...but I knew I was not retarded...He was the goofy retard...
Eventually, every time, he said, RETARDED, I punched him hard, in the arm...And that went on, for 5 or 6 times...
Somehow, he switched gears, and said something even more wicked, so I wound up, my fist, and sent him to the ground....It was a lucky, yet powerful shot...and I topped things off, by stomping on his head, for good measure, trying to ooze his brains out...for about a good 3o seconds to a minute...
Finally, the taunts ended...as he was curled up on the ground, like a ball, reeling, as I angrily stormed off...
When I got home, that day, my Mom, tried to stop me, as I walked by her, in the kitchen, as she said, "Somebody's Mom just called...Why did you step on that boy's head...Don't you know any better..."
My quick reply was, "He called me Retarded...and he got what he deserved..."....as I briskly made my way downstairs, to watch cartoons...with a little tear in my eye...but I was never haunted by this, at all...
Fast foreward, from the 5th Grade to my college years...I'm down at a wild sorierity party at the Little Red Schoolhouse...at Illinios State University...always a great time...when my old childhood buddy, Johnny Murph, ambles up and says..."Guess who just walked in the door...Danny Deacy!"
There was a little bit of fear, in Murph's message...but I was not even phased...I barely remembered the kid...Murph then went on and said, Deacy, was now an avid, body-builder, cut like a rock, about 6'4'' tall, 22o pounds...
At that point, my jaw dropped, and I understood Murph's fair warning...I quickly looked around for an escape route...No go...I was stuck in a room of kegger revelry, and there was only one way out...past the ominous brute, Danny Deacy...
Well, it only took Deacy, about a minute to spot me...and started to slowly walk up to me...I was expecting the worse, at that point, a crack to the jaw, at least...but as Deacy, got up close to me, a small smile, emerged on his face...
He said..."You're the kid that kicked my ass, and tried to stomp my head, into the ground!."
I nodded and said "Yes"...and waited for a level punch...to send me flying...
He then laughed and said..."What a little obnoxious creep I was, back then...Sorry about that...I deserved it...You need a beer...???..."...
I kinda laughed and let out a huge sigh of relief...and took the beer, and we chatted for about 10 minutes...I think he said he was studying to go into law enforcement...and loved being down at Illinois State U...It was the coolest...
We laughed a bit more...and I edged my way, out of there, a little wobbly, from what had transpired...out of the wild kegger party...and into the night...
The moral of the story is obvious...That kid you beat the crap out of, as a young lad, may grow up to be the biggest, baddest dude, you could ever imagine...so watch out...
Not many fights for me...but surely, a good lesson...from it all...
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Happy Saint Patrick's Day
"If you're Irish, come into the parlor, there's a welcome mat for you..."...is part of a very giddy, very silly, Irish song, that I'll hear, every March...as I load up on the Irish music, watch the great parades, chow down on some corned beef & cabbage, and throw down some Guinness, of course, even...
That's just a given, because I get Saint Patrick's Day fever, pretty damn bad...come rain or shine, every single year...and right now, in the merry month of March...I'd like to take you back to some of my grand old memories of Saint Paddy's Day past...surely, that will bring a smile or two.
I'll start off, by going way, way, back...the little rambunxious 4 year old tyke, me, sneaking up to my parents bedroom on 86th Street and jumping up and down, on my parents giant bed...It was my spongy-bungy trampoline, of course, and I truly was lucky, I didn't crack open my head, from my flopping all about...
And while I was up there, I'd pry open my Mom's jewelry box, and there would be a whole slew of Irish buttons, you would stick onto your chest, to wear for Paddy's Day...They were all humorous or clever...and I'd always try to figure out, which one, I'd wear, next Paddy's Day. Of course, KISS ME, I'M IRISH was in there...I'M WITH THE F.B.I-FULL BLOODED IRISH another silly one...SURE N' BGORA...and just a dozen or more, buttons with green shamrocks and leprechauns...There had to be a silly one about GREEN BEER, in there, also...
And every single one of us kids, had to be wearing GREEN, no matter what, on Saint Patrick's Day...and absolutely wearing one of those crazy Irish buttons, displaying them proudly, before we were let out that door, by our Mom...on March 17th, back in the day...yes...
My Mom, of course, decorated our house, to the hilt for this big day...and I'd love to see all those funny, funny cardboard signs, of all the silly looking Leprechauns and such, that my Mom had plastered on the walls, all over the place...back then...
Anybody with the GREEN FEVER got it from my MOM in our house...How could you not, with a name like O'Leary...on the hearty South-Side of Chicago...which seemed 50% Irish back then. And that O'Leary name, brought a smile, to quite a many, because the Chicago Fire of 1871, which decimated the city, was caused by Mrs. O'Leary's cow...unfortunately...the legend tells...
And I swear, every time, we stood at a checkout, anywhere in the city, once someone saw the O'Leary name on my Mom's check, they had to ask..."Are you related to the O'Leary's that had the cow...that started the fire"...and they'd always burst out laughing, because my Mom, always came up with a silly, hilarious answer to the question, every time...She wasn't even an O'Leary, she was a Griffin, thru and thru...but it was an endless phenomenon, she had to deal with, on a daily basis...every day...it seemed...
Back to the festivities of March 17th...The day itself...always seemed a bit chilly and mostly wet...which, of course, reflects the weather of Ireland, to some extent...But it did not matter, I never felt one rain drop, or not one single shiver...as I headed down to the parade, in the heart of Downtown Chicago...as a young lad...with my Tommy More buddies...
We'd take the WESTERN AVE. bus at 79th Street, then inevitably hop on the ARCHER EXPRESS, which ran diagonally, deep down, all the way down, to downtown...We'd all be deliriously happy because every Catholic school on the South-Side always gave us that day off, always, and we made the most of every minute...
As we got off the bus, on State Street...we were in awe of this amazing city, Chicago...Gobs of people, everywhere, the buildings just towered way over, our eye's reach...We kinda had to pinch ourselves, that we had a wild day, planned ahead, waiting for us, as we made our way over to DEARBORN Street...where the parade route would assemble and go down...
But first, we'd scamper like fools, all the way up to LAKE Street, to see them, dye the river GREEN for that day...It was cooler than cool, to see that muddy, dank, dark water, suddenly come to life with a bright, lime green glow, as a quick-jetting fishing boat dumped an enormous amount of an ORANGE POWDER, that mixed into the water, and turned it bright green, instantly...
Then we'd visit each float, there, still waiting, to get into place, to take that magical ride down the parade route, amidst the throngs, of wild, screaming people...It was pure, crazed excitement for us kids, the pandemonium of all of this going down...I can remember running up to the Channel 7 float and saying HI to tv newscasters, Fahey Flynn & Joel Daley, wearing green carnations, smiling from ear to ear...And Channel 2 were giving out GREEN FRISBEES that I kept and cherished for years and years and years...
Just a great adventure of nothing-of-its-kind...fun...Alot of those wild guys, loading onto their floats, were already...3-sheets-to-the-wind...(blind drunk)...and all the ladies had a magical glow, wearing their beautiful costumes and such...There were horses, which was a true oddity for us city kids...and just a whole jamboree of unexpected silliness, that people conjoured up, to bring a hearty laugh, to one and all...
We are talking thousands and thousands of people, massed together, during the day, when tipping a few drinks and loud crazy antics were abound, all over...just purely a given, that day...
As we got older, certainly beer, got thrown into the equation, for us maulers, out of Tommy More...and I'll just throw 2 little fun facts out of the many, that unfolded, that special day...
On one, very cold & chilly, wicked wet & frigid, Paddy's Day, me & my friends stumbled past a big RV sporting a huge BUDWEISER logo, on its side...Well, me and a few of my buddies, Moodo, Slim, Fitz and a few others, talked our way, into this RV...to get a look...of this huge monstrosity. As we looked, about, someone, came up, and started handing us beers, Budweiser, of course, (our favorite) and we settled in, and sat, and watched the whole parade, all warm & cozy, thrusting down, free beers, left and right...
You are probably wondering...How old were we...???...
Probably somewhere between 15-16 years old...Hahaha...That's the Irish for you...Never to young to get the youth of tomorrow, off to a good start...on Saint Paddy's Day...
Another funny Paddy's story....was after the parade was over, one time...we wandered over to the newly erected Sears Tower, (1974)...the tallest building in the world...Well, hell, we had to see what that was all about...So, in we fled, onto the elevators, and up we go....
There, inside the elevators, our eardrums begin to pop, from ascending so rapidly upward, all of us in a dizzy-dizzy spin...feeling as if, we were in a rocket ship, headed for the moon...One of my buddies noticed, the sign that read, it cost $5 to get off at the top floor, Sky Deck and look out, the huge, humoungous, panoramic view of the city...
Well, a bunch of my buddies, had no dough left, so they devised this plan, to get off, one floor early, then sneak up the fire escape, to the top floor...Boom...a bunch get off the elevator some one hundred and some stories up...and go on their wicked way...while us fortunate few, went one floor higher...and got off...and felt so totally perplexed by the sparkling view of the city, from every conceivable angle...It was Playboy Club Day, too...or something, and Hugh Hefner's gorgeous bunnies, were all walking about...and us kids, were pretty much, in awe, of this little goldmine, we stumbled upon.
And we waited and waited for our other buddies, to get up that fire escape and enjoy the view or should I say, views, of everything, and anything, all about...It suddenly dawned on me...Those guys probably got caught, and sent away, when they tried to pull off such a stunt, so us lucky ones were roaring with laughter, from our hilarious viewpoint...after about 10 minutes had past...
And after a great time, sadly, we had to leave the Sky Deck, up on top of the tallest building of the world, SEARS TOWER, and went back down and down, rapidly...back to ground level...looking all about for our other buddies, but they were nowhere to be found...
Then, after about 10 minutes more, all of them come stumbling out of the giant skyscraper, exhausted, panting, swearing at us...See, they did get to the top floor entrance to the Sky Deck, but it was locked...as a matter of fact, every single floor below was locked too...so they had to trek down, an endless amount of stairs, pounding and pounding down, every floor, mad as hell, for this little bit of stupidity...that came up and bit them in the ass...
So, we were just bursting out with laughter, at these unfortunate fools, unloading our little tale of good fortune, while they were still aghast, panting away....almost turning blue, from disbelief...All of us there, still wearing green, some had Irish buttons, some had green hats...all of us, with a few beers stuffed into our winter coats...still...reeling in our wild Paddy's Day story, of going to the top of the world, and then some...in our own mischievous, silly way...
Sure, today, the tradition continues, all of my family goes to the South-Side Irish parade, now, on Western Avenue...and my nephew, Eddie Haggerty and his wonderful wife, Meagan, throw together a spectacular early morning bash, before the parade begins...Just a wild hoot, of all of us, drawn together...all of the Great-Grandkids dressed in super-special Paddy's Day, green outfits...dancing all about...as happy as can be...
Just a great deal of fun and merriment...as the Irish music blasts and the beer & Guinness and Irish Whiskey gets cracked open...as soon as the sun comes up...Lots of great food, my sister, Kathy, whips up...too...The Irish Soda Bread...the scones...the scrambled eggs, the corned beef, cut to hot perfection, ready for action...Load on the tangy mustard...the melting meat...onto that fresh baked, rye bread....and wash it all down with some suds...and you are well on your way to heaven...my friend...
And that South-Side parade, gets bigger and bigger every year...The essence of Irish laughter mixed with the essence of Irish pride...are all abound...for all to enjoy...no matter what nationality, you are...Because Saint Patrick's Day, on the South-Side, and all over Chicago, is for, one and all, an experience, you never, ever, ever forget...
So, now, some of you get a sense of that Irish flavor, that seeps out of my soul and down onto paper. For I am an Irish writer, thru and thru...The Irish wit, the Irish silliness and surely a wry Irish way of putting a slant on things...is predominently featured, in every story of my life, and beyond, that I share...with you...
So HAPPY SAINT PATRICK'S DAY...EVERYBODY...I hope it is a great day, a warm day rather than cold...a sunny day rather than downpours...and just a special day, that keeps your minds all a flutter...your hands full of fun...and your hearts soaring with happiness and a joy...you'll always cherish...from year....to year.....to year......
That's just a given, because I get Saint Patrick's Day fever, pretty damn bad...come rain or shine, every single year...and right now, in the merry month of March...I'd like to take you back to some of my grand old memories of Saint Paddy's Day past...surely, that will bring a smile or two.
I'll start off, by going way, way, back...the little rambunxious 4 year old tyke, me, sneaking up to my parents bedroom on 86th Street and jumping up and down, on my parents giant bed...It was my spongy-bungy trampoline, of course, and I truly was lucky, I didn't crack open my head, from my flopping all about...
And while I was up there, I'd pry open my Mom's jewelry box, and there would be a whole slew of Irish buttons, you would stick onto your chest, to wear for Paddy's Day...They were all humorous or clever...and I'd always try to figure out, which one, I'd wear, next Paddy's Day. Of course, KISS ME, I'M IRISH was in there...I'M WITH THE F.B.I-FULL BLOODED IRISH another silly one...SURE N' BGORA...and just a dozen or more, buttons with green shamrocks and leprechauns...There had to be a silly one about GREEN BEER, in there, also...
And every single one of us kids, had to be wearing GREEN, no matter what, on Saint Patrick's Day...and absolutely wearing one of those crazy Irish buttons, displaying them proudly, before we were let out that door, by our Mom...on March 17th, back in the day...yes...
My Mom, of course, decorated our house, to the hilt for this big day...and I'd love to see all those funny, funny cardboard signs, of all the silly looking Leprechauns and such, that my Mom had plastered on the walls, all over the place...back then...
Anybody with the GREEN FEVER got it from my MOM in our house...How could you not, with a name like O'Leary...on the hearty South-Side of Chicago...which seemed 50% Irish back then. And that O'Leary name, brought a smile, to quite a many, because the Chicago Fire of 1871, which decimated the city, was caused by Mrs. O'Leary's cow...unfortunately...the legend tells...
And I swear, every time, we stood at a checkout, anywhere in the city, once someone saw the O'Leary name on my Mom's check, they had to ask..."Are you related to the O'Leary's that had the cow...that started the fire"...and they'd always burst out laughing, because my Mom, always came up with a silly, hilarious answer to the question, every time...She wasn't even an O'Leary, she was a Griffin, thru and thru...but it was an endless phenomenon, she had to deal with, on a daily basis...every day...it seemed...
Back to the festivities of March 17th...The day itself...always seemed a bit chilly and mostly wet...which, of course, reflects the weather of Ireland, to some extent...But it did not matter, I never felt one rain drop, or not one single shiver...as I headed down to the parade, in the heart of Downtown Chicago...as a young lad...with my Tommy More buddies...
We'd take the WESTERN AVE. bus at 79th Street, then inevitably hop on the ARCHER EXPRESS, which ran diagonally, deep down, all the way down, to downtown...We'd all be deliriously happy because every Catholic school on the South-Side always gave us that day off, always, and we made the most of every minute...
As we got off the bus, on State Street...we were in awe of this amazing city, Chicago...Gobs of people, everywhere, the buildings just towered way over, our eye's reach...We kinda had to pinch ourselves, that we had a wild day, planned ahead, waiting for us, as we made our way over to DEARBORN Street...where the parade route would assemble and go down...
But first, we'd scamper like fools, all the way up to LAKE Street, to see them, dye the river GREEN for that day...It was cooler than cool, to see that muddy, dank, dark water, suddenly come to life with a bright, lime green glow, as a quick-jetting fishing boat dumped an enormous amount of an ORANGE POWDER, that mixed into the water, and turned it bright green, instantly...
Then we'd visit each float, there, still waiting, to get into place, to take that magical ride down the parade route, amidst the throngs, of wild, screaming people...It was pure, crazed excitement for us kids, the pandemonium of all of this going down...I can remember running up to the Channel 7 float and saying HI to tv newscasters, Fahey Flynn & Joel Daley, wearing green carnations, smiling from ear to ear...And Channel 2 were giving out GREEN FRISBEES that I kept and cherished for years and years and years...
Just a great adventure of nothing-of-its-kind...fun...Alot of those wild guys, loading onto their floats, were already...3-sheets-to-the-wind...(blind drunk)...and all the ladies had a magical glow, wearing their beautiful costumes and such...There were horses, which was a true oddity for us city kids...and just a whole jamboree of unexpected silliness, that people conjoured up, to bring a hearty laugh, to one and all...
We are talking thousands and thousands of people, massed together, during the day, when tipping a few drinks and loud crazy antics were abound, all over...just purely a given, that day...
As we got older, certainly beer, got thrown into the equation, for us maulers, out of Tommy More...and I'll just throw 2 little fun facts out of the many, that unfolded, that special day...
On one, very cold & chilly, wicked wet & frigid, Paddy's Day, me & my friends stumbled past a big RV sporting a huge BUDWEISER logo, on its side...Well, me and a few of my buddies, Moodo, Slim, Fitz and a few others, talked our way, into this RV...to get a look...of this huge monstrosity. As we looked, about, someone, came up, and started handing us beers, Budweiser, of course, (our favorite) and we settled in, and sat, and watched the whole parade, all warm & cozy, thrusting down, free beers, left and right...
You are probably wondering...How old were we...???...
Probably somewhere between 15-16 years old...Hahaha...That's the Irish for you...Never to young to get the youth of tomorrow, off to a good start...on Saint Paddy's Day...
Another funny Paddy's story....was after the parade was over, one time...we wandered over to the newly erected Sears Tower, (1974)...the tallest building in the world...Well, hell, we had to see what that was all about...So, in we fled, onto the elevators, and up we go....
There, inside the elevators, our eardrums begin to pop, from ascending so rapidly upward, all of us in a dizzy-dizzy spin...feeling as if, we were in a rocket ship, headed for the moon...One of my buddies noticed, the sign that read, it cost $5 to get off at the top floor, Sky Deck and look out, the huge, humoungous, panoramic view of the city...
Well, a bunch of my buddies, had no dough left, so they devised this plan, to get off, one floor early, then sneak up the fire escape, to the top floor...Boom...a bunch get off the elevator some one hundred and some stories up...and go on their wicked way...while us fortunate few, went one floor higher...and got off...and felt so totally perplexed by the sparkling view of the city, from every conceivable angle...It was Playboy Club Day, too...or something, and Hugh Hefner's gorgeous bunnies, were all walking about...and us kids, were pretty much, in awe, of this little goldmine, we stumbled upon.
And we waited and waited for our other buddies, to get up that fire escape and enjoy the view or should I say, views, of everything, and anything, all about...It suddenly dawned on me...Those guys probably got caught, and sent away, when they tried to pull off such a stunt, so us lucky ones were roaring with laughter, from our hilarious viewpoint...after about 10 minutes had past...
And after a great time, sadly, we had to leave the Sky Deck, up on top of the tallest building of the world, SEARS TOWER, and went back down and down, rapidly...back to ground level...looking all about for our other buddies, but they were nowhere to be found...
Then, after about 10 minutes more, all of them come stumbling out of the giant skyscraper, exhausted, panting, swearing at us...See, they did get to the top floor entrance to the Sky Deck, but it was locked...as a matter of fact, every single floor below was locked too...so they had to trek down, an endless amount of stairs, pounding and pounding down, every floor, mad as hell, for this little bit of stupidity...that came up and bit them in the ass...
So, we were just bursting out with laughter, at these unfortunate fools, unloading our little tale of good fortune, while they were still aghast, panting away....almost turning blue, from disbelief...All of us there, still wearing green, some had Irish buttons, some had green hats...all of us, with a few beers stuffed into our winter coats...still...reeling in our wild Paddy's Day story, of going to the top of the world, and then some...in our own mischievous, silly way...
Sure, today, the tradition continues, all of my family goes to the South-Side Irish parade, now, on Western Avenue...and my nephew, Eddie Haggerty and his wonderful wife, Meagan, throw together a spectacular early morning bash, before the parade begins...Just a wild hoot, of all of us, drawn together...all of the Great-Grandkids dressed in super-special Paddy's Day, green outfits...dancing all about...as happy as can be...
Just a great deal of fun and merriment...as the Irish music blasts and the beer & Guinness and Irish Whiskey gets cracked open...as soon as the sun comes up...Lots of great food, my sister, Kathy, whips up...too...The Irish Soda Bread...the scones...the scrambled eggs, the corned beef, cut to hot perfection, ready for action...Load on the tangy mustard...the melting meat...onto that fresh baked, rye bread....and wash it all down with some suds...and you are well on your way to heaven...my friend...
And that South-Side parade, gets bigger and bigger every year...The essence of Irish laughter mixed with the essence of Irish pride...are all abound...for all to enjoy...no matter what nationality, you are...Because Saint Patrick's Day, on the South-Side, and all over Chicago, is for, one and all, an experience, you never, ever, ever forget...
So, now, some of you get a sense of that Irish flavor, that seeps out of my soul and down onto paper. For I am an Irish writer, thru and thru...The Irish wit, the Irish silliness and surely a wry Irish way of putting a slant on things...is predominently featured, in every story of my life, and beyond, that I share...with you...
So HAPPY SAINT PATRICK'S DAY...EVERYBODY...I hope it is a great day, a warm day rather than cold...a sunny day rather than downpours...and just a special day, that keeps your minds all a flutter...your hands full of fun...and your hearts soaring with happiness and a joy...you'll always cherish...from year....to year.....to year......
Friday, February 27, 2009
PIZZA
,Ohh yes...if you are gonna get wild about beer, you better also mention our PIZZA, PIZZA, PIZZA craze....stretching back a mile...
Oddly enough, when I think of Pizza, I think of Lent, where us Catholics, had to give up meat on Fridays...cuz' our family was not a big fish-eating crowd...Maybe an ocaissonal Mrs Paul's Frozen Fish Sticks...that's about it...(to this day, I have yet to try lobster and probably never will)...
Why Pizza and Lent...???...
I must have ate a thousand John's Frozen Cheese Pizzas, when I was a young, hungry bugger...and I thought it was a sumptuous delight...And it was just a given, I'd be tossing some JOHN's into the oven....for 10 minutes...pre-heating...then another 10 minutes to cook it up...during Lent or any time a late night snack, was needed...
But as I grew older, I realized, those mini, 7 inch in diameter, pizzas, were downright icky, atrocious...The frozen crust...bland, hard-as-a-rock cardboard...with a smidgen of tainted sauce and tasteless cheese on top...Atrocious, doesn't do it justice...You couldn't get starving kids in Africa, to eat that stuff, these days...
And if you had any good sense, there was fresh pizza pie available, at a whole bunch of great pizza joints, all over the south-side...I definitely remember FALCO'S...(only a block and a half away on 87th Street...)
Absolutely dynamite, and my sisters had Falco's on speed dial, every Friday Night, they got stuck at home, baby-sitting me, with their boyfriend...We all munched away, endlessly, the gooey cheese., and mouth-watering crust...probably chugging down some Pepsi's...too...
For some strange reason, nobody finds a correlation between great pizza & the south-side, but I sure do...Deep Dish---Giordano's was down on 63rd...Thin Crust--at least a dozen truly awesome places come to mind...
Fox's...(100th & Western)
Falco's...(87th)
Dan's...(87th)
Crazy Sicilian...(87th)
Chucks...(102nd & Western)
Palermo's...(95th & Pulaski)
Rosario's...(95th)
Nick & Vito's...(84th & Pulaski)
Waldo Cooney's...(double-decker pizza, 79th)
Sailor's Pub...(79th)
Tu Kynds...(103rd)
Home Run Inn...(35th/west Comiskey Park area, or frozen, any grocery/supermarket)
That's 12...just off the top of my head....Oh yeah, there is definitely more...
The pizza of the South-Side really was one of the topics, of endless debate...We'd call each other crazy fools, for liking one pizza joint over another...In reality, they all were quite good, usually an old family recipe, nobody in their right mind, would ever venture, to invent...
And surely, the pizza craze stemmed over into the pizzas you could make yourself...pizza kits.
You'd save a ton of dough & get a fresh crust, a container of sauce and a bag of mozzarella cheese....It wasn't fancy, but it gave you a chance to add different things like oregano and Italian sausage, pepperoni...It was a supreme challenge we felt that our home-made batch would turn out amazingly good...(but they really did suck...)...Undoubtedly, our pizza senses were rather erratic...but our fascination and love of pizza only grew stronger and stronger...as the years rolled on...
From the crude crew that devoured cold pizza, leftover in the refrigerator, the next morning or the crazy kids that endlessly dreamed of owning their own thriving pizza parlors, someday...There is something amazingly special and rare, inside tose pies...an essence of Americana, thru & thru.
Pizza...such a yummy snack, a complete dinner attack, a fun food for all, having such a ball...that weekly, fun family ritual, getting us running to the table, and digging deep, and hard, into our very fabric of life...hidden inside every delectable slice...
I don't know about you...but I'm getting pretty hungry...and with PIZZA almost available in almost every conceivable dimension...today...It's PIZZA TIME in nothing flat...
Sure, the luster has lost a bit of its glow....yet when see that hot, round pie, all cheesy and bubbly, a sweet-sweet, warm scent of sauce...floating all about...it's almost impossible not to want to grab a piece of pie, right then and there...thrusting it into your mouth, even though it would scaldingly scorch your tongue...to pieces, from that intense heat...
Love it or leave it....no way...simply gotta have it....no matter where you are...good old delicious Pizza...everywhere & anywhere, and truly cooking down on the South-Side, long, long ago...
Oddly enough, when I think of Pizza, I think of Lent, where us Catholics, had to give up meat on Fridays...cuz' our family was not a big fish-eating crowd...Maybe an ocaissonal Mrs Paul's Frozen Fish Sticks...that's about it...(to this day, I have yet to try lobster and probably never will)...
Why Pizza and Lent...???...
I must have ate a thousand John's Frozen Cheese Pizzas, when I was a young, hungry bugger...and I thought it was a sumptuous delight...And it was just a given, I'd be tossing some JOHN's into the oven....for 10 minutes...pre-heating...then another 10 minutes to cook it up...during Lent or any time a late night snack, was needed...
But as I grew older, I realized, those mini, 7 inch in diameter, pizzas, were downright icky, atrocious...The frozen crust...bland, hard-as-a-rock cardboard...with a smidgen of tainted sauce and tasteless cheese on top...Atrocious, doesn't do it justice...You couldn't get starving kids in Africa, to eat that stuff, these days...
And if you had any good sense, there was fresh pizza pie available, at a whole bunch of great pizza joints, all over the south-side...I definitely remember FALCO'S...(only a block and a half away on 87th Street...)
Absolutely dynamite, and my sisters had Falco's on speed dial, every Friday Night, they got stuck at home, baby-sitting me, with their boyfriend...We all munched away, endlessly, the gooey cheese., and mouth-watering crust...probably chugging down some Pepsi's...too...
For some strange reason, nobody finds a correlation between great pizza & the south-side, but I sure do...Deep Dish---Giordano's was down on 63rd...Thin Crust--at least a dozen truly awesome places come to mind...
Fox's...(100th & Western)
Falco's...(87th)
Dan's...(87th)
Crazy Sicilian...(87th)
Chucks...(102nd & Western)
Palermo's...(95th & Pulaski)
Rosario's...(95th)
Nick & Vito's...(84th & Pulaski)
Waldo Cooney's...(double-decker pizza, 79th)
Sailor's Pub...(79th)
Tu Kynds...(103rd)
Home Run Inn...(35th/west Comiskey Park area, or frozen, any grocery/supermarket)
That's 12...just off the top of my head....Oh yeah, there is definitely more...
The pizza of the South-Side really was one of the topics, of endless debate...We'd call each other crazy fools, for liking one pizza joint over another...In reality, they all were quite good, usually an old family recipe, nobody in their right mind, would ever venture, to invent...
And surely, the pizza craze stemmed over into the pizzas you could make yourself...pizza kits.
You'd save a ton of dough & get a fresh crust, a container of sauce and a bag of mozzarella cheese....It wasn't fancy, but it gave you a chance to add different things like oregano and Italian sausage, pepperoni...It was a supreme challenge we felt that our home-made batch would turn out amazingly good...(but they really did suck...)...Undoubtedly, our pizza senses were rather erratic...but our fascination and love of pizza only grew stronger and stronger...as the years rolled on...
From the crude crew that devoured cold pizza, leftover in the refrigerator, the next morning or the crazy kids that endlessly dreamed of owning their own thriving pizza parlors, someday...There is something amazingly special and rare, inside tose pies...an essence of Americana, thru & thru.
Pizza...such a yummy snack, a complete dinner attack, a fun food for all, having such a ball...that weekly, fun family ritual, getting us running to the table, and digging deep, and hard, into our very fabric of life...hidden inside every delectable slice...
I don't know about you...but I'm getting pretty hungry...and with PIZZA almost available in almost every conceivable dimension...today...It's PIZZA TIME in nothing flat...
Sure, the luster has lost a bit of its glow....yet when see that hot, round pie, all cheesy and bubbly, a sweet-sweet, warm scent of sauce...floating all about...it's almost impossible not to want to grab a piece of pie, right then and there...thrusting it into your mouth, even though it would scaldingly scorch your tongue...to pieces, from that intense heat...
Love it or leave it....no way...simply gotta have it....no matter where you are...good old delicious Pizza...everywhere & anywhere, and truly cooking down on the South-Side, long, long ago...
Saturday, February 21, 2009
ALL My Beer Cans
Hey People...I guess everyone wants to know what made that young mind of Jim O'Leary click, way back when...Well, of course, sports, no doubt, was beyond huge, collecting baseball cards and Wacky Packages and such, were very cool...but I wouldn't call it an obsession...
Now, on the other hand, when 4th Grade rolled around, and I walked down about 15 steep, dark steps into the large basement at Eddie Bar's house...and saw his enormous beer can collection....boom...right there, I knew I had to get my own BEER CAN COLLECTION going...
There, me & Eddie B and some buds like Slim and Moodo and Johnny Murph and Neil and Marty...oh yeah, Fitz too...all built like toothpicks, bounding down those steps, after playing some brutal basketball in Eddie's backyard court, checking out Eddie's beer can collection which stretched across about a 25 foot glimmering, colorful sea, of aluminum, about 4 stacks high...maybe even further. Yes, it was incredibly, mind-blowing...
So my adventure of collecting began, as Eddie just gave me a few extra rare, kick-ass, beer cans, he had piled up, somewhere in his basement, whispering to me...Don't let my brothers find out, ever, or they will kill me...!!!...
I ran back home and instantly, cleared off a corner in my bedroom, on top of my desk, where both me and my brothers, were supposed to study...(at least they were)...but our minds would instantly wander to the stack of beer cans, 2 feet in front of them, stacked up so high...
I could hear the sizzling sound of popping open a brewski and all the various funky flavors of malty brews...as I glared & stared with delight...
What were those inital illustrious cans...???...
Possibly an Iron City Pittsburgh Steeler Can that had a 1975 team photo emblazoned across it, with legends like Terry Bradshaw and Lynn Swann, Franco Harris, Rocky Bleir, Jack Lambert, Mean Joe Greene...all looking back at me...
Other rare cans, were the gold/black label, Budweiser Malt Liquor, so rare and so cool looking. Old Frothingslosh, was a hoot, with a large buxom, beauty queeen, lady from yesteryear, on its label...The little 8oz cans of the metallic green Rolling Rocks, a favorite, of mine, also...
I could go on and on, because my beer can collecting became an obsession, overnight, and I had to keep reminding my family members, to keep an eagle eye out, for any cool cans...Even my Dad, had a bit of fun, because, my Mom, of course, would stumble upon a display of rare beer cans, on one of her always famous, shopping jaunts.
And these little aluminum gems, were still filled with lots of luscious beer...yummy, yummy beer, so my Dad would drink a few of these rare beauties, in our basement, as we were watching some sports or old black & white, 1930's Popeye cartoons, (his favorite growing up) on our old Zenith color TV...
I can even remember my Dad, anxious to try a can of Knickerbocker beer, from the East Coast, because my Dad said, he drank some of that stuff, back while he was in service, in World War II.
I think my Dad, even slightly delved into his past, a thing he never did, as he took a sip after sip, just harking back to a bygone era...Even on a rare out-of-state trip for a family wedding up around Detroit, there I was, digging thru dirty garbage cans, looking for cool beer cans, like the popular Rolling Rocks, up around eastern Michigan...
I'm sure some of my brothers and sisters can remember their contribution to my collection began to take off and rise up to around 150 rare and everyday cans...I do remember my sister, Joan, coming home with a bunch of Naragansett beer cans which was made in Rhode Island. Instantly. I grabbed the sack of a dozen cans, and hustled out our door, ready to trade them with my rabid, rowdy, bunch of friends...
Digging along the railroad tracks, in the hot sun, with Neil Krull and Marty Eck, up around 79th Street was awesome, too, because we'd find old, ancient rusty cans beyond compare, expensive cans of cone-top Strohs...amidst the meandering, menacing, wild grass, that stood high and wild, all over the place...behind the Firestone tire facility...
These damn frightful relics, older than old, maybe from the 50's, we'd come across, were as rusty as can be, holes and dents, gnarled into them, just a smidgen of the old label still recognizeable. Evilly wicked cans, nobody in their right mind, would even touch, but that didn't stop us...
And also, on Sundays, the flea market was open at our local drive-in theatre, next to the Zayre, off 75th & Western. The beer can craze was in full force there, with all kinds of vendors, piling up rare cans, along their displays as we wandered like misceivous fools, all about...
Marty even had a bit of flair, stealing a few cans, now and then, because he just couldn't go home, without those rare commodities, sometimes. He just had a whimsical knack for devilish things...
It truly was a huge obsession for all us kids, as you can tell and I believe all of us, young and old, back in the mid 70's got a huge chuckle, from adding some kind of crazy new can, every so often...Sure, the John Travolta craze was in full gear, disco blaring away, movies like Paul Newman's SLAPSHOT or the ever scary, CARRIE, horror classic, was up on the screen, at our theatres...
Nobody was finding some bizarre correlation between teenage drinking & beer cans, yet. It was as harmless as beanie babies or Cabbage Patch dolls or even Wii consules...
Sadly, as the 80's crept in...inevitably...out of the blue...we eventually sold the illustrious 86th Street house...
Such a sad, sad day for me, as I packed up my beer can collection, holding back tears, ever so gently and ever so slowly, placing these momentos into a huge cardboard box, to be set aside and sold at our garage sale, we held, days before we left the 86th Street, South-Side, for good...
My mind just wandered back to the exact moment, I had found each memorable beauty, each can a treasure of sorts, with a little bit of fun and adventure attached to each and every one...
Today, sadly enough, beer can collecting, is almost gone...Only my good friends, Karla & Eric, still have a giant can collection...in their basement on the North-Side on Warrick Avenue. Karla, so, so proud, she had kept her childhood collection, up to snuff...
And me and Eric and Karla, can't help laughing at how crazy all of those cans, made us go nuts, back when we were young kids...Just a hoot and just a great, great time...looking upon those cans...stacked behind their bar...for everyone to oooh and ahhh...over.
Maybe, it lost its charm, to some, but to me, I'd stack up a beer can collection, somewhere, someway, in a second, if I had room somewhere, in our Lake House, in Williams Bay, today....
Hey....Those were MY & all us kooky 70's kids, delicious, nutritious, beer cans...!!!...
We drank em'...We stuck em' up in stacks aplenty...and we looked foreward to stacking them all the way up to the ceiling...if we could...and we nearly darn did...
Each and every one of those beverage containers...gnarly or pristine...dented or faded, obscurely rare or common as common gets. It was cooler than cool, no two ways about it. All us kids from then, would agree double, maybe triple, with those sentiments...
We were a loud and proud bunch...even us quiet ones...back then, whenever, the topic of beer cans...arose...And we grew up with an extra-special, greater appreciation for all the various cultures & places, stretched across our nation...and even across our globe...wherever BEER was BIG...
Fosters from Australia...Sapporro from Japan...LaBatts from Canada...Dos XXX from Mexico
That's almost everywhere you go...naturally...to us...Exploring our notion...that beer brought everyone together... forever...
I am getting a bit thirsty...reading all this...pondering all of the compelling aspects of BEER CAN COLLECTING...I guess I'm still a wee bit obssessed. Why not be...???...
It was alot of fun...and I'm still looking for the entire 14 collector can series of Scmidtt beer of Philadelphia that was impoosible to attain...Betcha it cost a fortune on e-Bay nowadays...
So now you know...a little more...a funny, funny, forgotten fragment of history, a neat little nook of nostalgia, locked away, from so long ago...which you all can laugh and laugh about...because our innocence & stupidity...were in abundance back then, for sure...
Now, on the other hand, when 4th Grade rolled around, and I walked down about 15 steep, dark steps into the large basement at Eddie Bar's house...and saw his enormous beer can collection....boom...right there, I knew I had to get my own BEER CAN COLLECTION going...
There, me & Eddie B and some buds like Slim and Moodo and Johnny Murph and Neil and Marty...oh yeah, Fitz too...all built like toothpicks, bounding down those steps, after playing some brutal basketball in Eddie's backyard court, checking out Eddie's beer can collection which stretched across about a 25 foot glimmering, colorful sea, of aluminum, about 4 stacks high...maybe even further. Yes, it was incredibly, mind-blowing...
So my adventure of collecting began, as Eddie just gave me a few extra rare, kick-ass, beer cans, he had piled up, somewhere in his basement, whispering to me...Don't let my brothers find out, ever, or they will kill me...!!!...
I ran back home and instantly, cleared off a corner in my bedroom, on top of my desk, where both me and my brothers, were supposed to study...(at least they were)...but our minds would instantly wander to the stack of beer cans, 2 feet in front of them, stacked up so high...
I could hear the sizzling sound of popping open a brewski and all the various funky flavors of malty brews...as I glared & stared with delight...
What were those inital illustrious cans...???...
Possibly an Iron City Pittsburgh Steeler Can that had a 1975 team photo emblazoned across it, with legends like Terry Bradshaw and Lynn Swann, Franco Harris, Rocky Bleir, Jack Lambert, Mean Joe Greene...all looking back at me...
Other rare cans, were the gold/black label, Budweiser Malt Liquor, so rare and so cool looking. Old Frothingslosh, was a hoot, with a large buxom, beauty queeen, lady from yesteryear, on its label...The little 8oz cans of the metallic green Rolling Rocks, a favorite, of mine, also...
I could go on and on, because my beer can collecting became an obsession, overnight, and I had to keep reminding my family members, to keep an eagle eye out, for any cool cans...Even my Dad, had a bit of fun, because, my Mom, of course, would stumble upon a display of rare beer cans, on one of her always famous, shopping jaunts.
And these little aluminum gems, were still filled with lots of luscious beer...yummy, yummy beer, so my Dad would drink a few of these rare beauties, in our basement, as we were watching some sports or old black & white, 1930's Popeye cartoons, (his favorite growing up) on our old Zenith color TV...
I can even remember my Dad, anxious to try a can of Knickerbocker beer, from the East Coast, because my Dad said, he drank some of that stuff, back while he was in service, in World War II.
I think my Dad, even slightly delved into his past, a thing he never did, as he took a sip after sip, just harking back to a bygone era...Even on a rare out-of-state trip for a family wedding up around Detroit, there I was, digging thru dirty garbage cans, looking for cool beer cans, like the popular Rolling Rocks, up around eastern Michigan...
I'm sure some of my brothers and sisters can remember their contribution to my collection began to take off and rise up to around 150 rare and everyday cans...I do remember my sister, Joan, coming home with a bunch of Naragansett beer cans which was made in Rhode Island. Instantly. I grabbed the sack of a dozen cans, and hustled out our door, ready to trade them with my rabid, rowdy, bunch of friends...
Digging along the railroad tracks, in the hot sun, with Neil Krull and Marty Eck, up around 79th Street was awesome, too, because we'd find old, ancient rusty cans beyond compare, expensive cans of cone-top Strohs...amidst the meandering, menacing, wild grass, that stood high and wild, all over the place...behind the Firestone tire facility...
These damn frightful relics, older than old, maybe from the 50's, we'd come across, were as rusty as can be, holes and dents, gnarled into them, just a smidgen of the old label still recognizeable. Evilly wicked cans, nobody in their right mind, would even touch, but that didn't stop us...
And also, on Sundays, the flea market was open at our local drive-in theatre, next to the Zayre, off 75th & Western. The beer can craze was in full force there, with all kinds of vendors, piling up rare cans, along their displays as we wandered like misceivous fools, all about...
Marty even had a bit of flair, stealing a few cans, now and then, because he just couldn't go home, without those rare commodities, sometimes. He just had a whimsical knack for devilish things...
It truly was a huge obsession for all us kids, as you can tell and I believe all of us, young and old, back in the mid 70's got a huge chuckle, from adding some kind of crazy new can, every so often...Sure, the John Travolta craze was in full gear, disco blaring away, movies like Paul Newman's SLAPSHOT or the ever scary, CARRIE, horror classic, was up on the screen, at our theatres...
Nobody was finding some bizarre correlation between teenage drinking & beer cans, yet. It was as harmless as beanie babies or Cabbage Patch dolls or even Wii consules...
Sadly, as the 80's crept in...inevitably...out of the blue...we eventually sold the illustrious 86th Street house...
Such a sad, sad day for me, as I packed up my beer can collection, holding back tears, ever so gently and ever so slowly, placing these momentos into a huge cardboard box, to be set aside and sold at our garage sale, we held, days before we left the 86th Street, South-Side, for good...
My mind just wandered back to the exact moment, I had found each memorable beauty, each can a treasure of sorts, with a little bit of fun and adventure attached to each and every one...
Today, sadly enough, beer can collecting, is almost gone...Only my good friends, Karla & Eric, still have a giant can collection...in their basement on the North-Side on Warrick Avenue. Karla, so, so proud, she had kept her childhood collection, up to snuff...
And me and Eric and Karla, can't help laughing at how crazy all of those cans, made us go nuts, back when we were young kids...Just a hoot and just a great, great time...looking upon those cans...stacked behind their bar...for everyone to oooh and ahhh...over.
Maybe, it lost its charm, to some, but to me, I'd stack up a beer can collection, somewhere, someway, in a second, if I had room somewhere, in our Lake House, in Williams Bay, today....
Hey....Those were MY & all us kooky 70's kids, delicious, nutritious, beer cans...!!!...
We drank em'...We stuck em' up in stacks aplenty...and we looked foreward to stacking them all the way up to the ceiling...if we could...and we nearly darn did...
Each and every one of those beverage containers...gnarly or pristine...dented or faded, obscurely rare or common as common gets. It was cooler than cool, no two ways about it. All us kids from then, would agree double, maybe triple, with those sentiments...
We were a loud and proud bunch...even us quiet ones...back then, whenever, the topic of beer cans...arose...And we grew up with an extra-special, greater appreciation for all the various cultures & places, stretched across our nation...and even across our globe...wherever BEER was BIG...
Fosters from Australia...Sapporro from Japan...LaBatts from Canada...Dos XXX from Mexico
That's almost everywhere you go...naturally...to us...Exploring our notion...that beer brought everyone together... forever...
I am getting a bit thirsty...reading all this...pondering all of the compelling aspects of BEER CAN COLLECTING...I guess I'm still a wee bit obssessed. Why not be...???...
It was alot of fun...and I'm still looking for the entire 14 collector can series of Scmidtt beer of Philadelphia that was impoosible to attain...Betcha it cost a fortune on e-Bay nowadays...
So now you know...a little more...a funny, funny, forgotten fragment of history, a neat little nook of nostalgia, locked away, from so long ago...which you all can laugh and laugh about...because our innocence & stupidity...were in abundance back then, for sure...
Saturday, February 14, 2009
My Niece---Colleen
Rumbling thru the empty streets of the quaint farm city of Davenport, Iowa, there, nestled along the Mississippi River, amidst the Quad Cities...Joe Howard, rushed my sister, Patsy to the hospital, past the billboards featuring "Iowanna Ice Cream" and such. They did reach the hospital on time...and shortly thereafter, Miss Colleen Howard...was ready to party...brimming the scales at 9 pounds...
All of us, back in Chicago, were kinda out of the loop...Patsy so far away...It felt like you were getting a call from Europe, when the birth announcement came...one quiet early December night back in 1969...We were all ecstatic, of course, the first "girl" grandchild...to join the pack...
But it wasn't until her Christening when we all packed up and drove 4 hours to Davenport...to see Baby Colleen, in action...Joe & Patsy were in Iowa because Joe was wrapping up college at St. Ambrose, and we all waited with baited breath for them to move back to the Windy City...
Right out of the box, Colleen showed just a huge burst of knowledge...She was way ahead of the pack...in that regard...As she grew, she only got smarter, and me & her, would be fast friends for life...as I'd go, toe to toe, with this little rambling dynamo...just exuding a sparkling energy, that shows to this very day...Even though we were 6 years apart, we'd bicker like brother & sister...
I can recall, one time, when Colleen was living up in Lake Geneva, over by the Dairy Queen, off Motel Road, on Lake Geneva Boulevard...Colleen had turned on some lame cartoons...Well, it was play-off football season...and I had my heart set on watching some great match-up between AFC foes....
....boooomm...
A little tiff erupted...and before you know it...Colleen had managed to wrestle away control of the TV...and she had this deliciously wicked smile like, I don't even like these cartoons, but you lost this round, ol' chum...That kinda showed me, right there, this little girl, was gonna be a pure handful, if you weren't on your toes...
And, of course, I would mark my revenge later on, when I forge the notion, that peanut butter, was actually crazy glue, that would seal your jaws tight, forever, if eaten.....leaving Colleen petrified of peanut butter, to this very day...
We didn't always fight, one of my all-time fave photos, is standing in the backyard, of our Lake House, in 3 feet of snow, together....one early April day, back around 1974...Me & Colleen, standing besides a huge, 6 foot, Easter Bunny snowman, my sister Patsy, had created...
Just a stunner, the intricacy of those big floppy ears of snow, on that Snow Bunny, with a basket of colorful eggs, in its lap...We were sky high, to see so much snow, so late in April, and I never, ever seen an Easter Bunny of snow...since...quite as good...
Colleen, of course, became a big sister, to Carrie & Kate, as time flew by and they were as close as sisters will ever be...And it was Colleen, who was always in the forefront, either in the classroom or out on the basketball court, that she led her little sisters, by example...
From her silly days, growing up on Francisco Ave. in Evergreen Park, about 92nd Street...where you could see Colleen whirling around on her PURPLE BICYCLE, up to when they moved out to Palos Park, where Colleen was only a block away from Sandburg High School...
And that move, was rather telling, because Sandburg High School, is not only an excellent high school, but Colleen went on to become a stand-out Captain of the basketball team, leading her team to the play-offs...time and again...a fearless leader...in a pint size package...
There Colleen was, the important basketball game winding down, as the little fiery point guard, took the ball, and just kept it nice & safe, as the opposing players hacked away at her down the stretch. There, at the free throw line, Colleen just hit every single shot...sealing a big, big victory for Sandburg...and that was a big thing in her life(leading her team to a 26-3 record)...for all of us...as we read it in the newspaper the next day...
For later on, when she graduated from the University of Illinois, Colleen went back to Sandburg and became a very inspiring teacher and coach of the girls basketball teams(coaching the sophmores to 24-0, in 2007)...She is there, to this very day, inspiring the youth of the Palos community...
Whether she is teaching Honors History & Economics, or the preparing the brightest for the important college entrance exams...Colleen instills knowledge and substance...an incredible insight, she provides, to shine down, on making those kids their very best...And alot of those kids do go on to the top schools in the country...
And Colleen is a bit of a jack-of-all-trades, running the Homecoming dance & Pep Club, every year, for so long, making it a truly unique & memorable experience, for those happy girls & boys, to cling on, in their budding memories, for years & years.
There are so, so many funny Howard Girl stories, of them growing up, because they were a kooky bunch, who kinda bounced from Lake Geneva to Evergreen Park, then out to Palos....always some of the most popular & fun girls in their class....We are definitely gonna have to look at some of those, as the Caring Carrie & Killer Kate stories...rock into these blogs...
Today, Colleen is married to Sean Mulcahy, with a little boy wonder, Conor, in tow...They live blissfully downtown, amidst the skyscrapers, in the Printers Row area of the South Loop.
She had met her young husband, Sean, out on a softball field, in Grant Park, downtown, one sunny day, and from there on, the happiness & hilarity, that fills their hearts, is always, a joy to behold...
Sure, Colleen will probably be bouncing out to the Suburbs, with her new family, by her side...but deep down inside, she's gonna always be the little dynamo, that came out of nowhere, out of the far reaches, of Davenport Iowa...to electrify our hearts, with her brimming endess, energy, and super-happy smile...And you can see that smile, in her little boy Conor, too, who now takes over as the little dynamo, to watch...
Colleen is truly, truly...one of a kind...and I'm pretty lucky...to remember her growing up...all these years...
All of us, back in Chicago, were kinda out of the loop...Patsy so far away...It felt like you were getting a call from Europe, when the birth announcement came...one quiet early December night back in 1969...We were all ecstatic, of course, the first "girl" grandchild...to join the pack...
But it wasn't until her Christening when we all packed up and drove 4 hours to Davenport...to see Baby Colleen, in action...Joe & Patsy were in Iowa because Joe was wrapping up college at St. Ambrose, and we all waited with baited breath for them to move back to the Windy City...
Right out of the box, Colleen showed just a huge burst of knowledge...She was way ahead of the pack...in that regard...As she grew, she only got smarter, and me & her, would be fast friends for life...as I'd go, toe to toe, with this little rambling dynamo...just exuding a sparkling energy, that shows to this very day...Even though we were 6 years apart, we'd bicker like brother & sister...
I can recall, one time, when Colleen was living up in Lake Geneva, over by the Dairy Queen, off Motel Road, on Lake Geneva Boulevard...Colleen had turned on some lame cartoons...Well, it was play-off football season...and I had my heart set on watching some great match-up between AFC foes....
....boooomm...
A little tiff erupted...and before you know it...Colleen had managed to wrestle away control of the TV...and she had this deliciously wicked smile like, I don't even like these cartoons, but you lost this round, ol' chum...That kinda showed me, right there, this little girl, was gonna be a pure handful, if you weren't on your toes...
And, of course, I would mark my revenge later on, when I forge the notion, that peanut butter, was actually crazy glue, that would seal your jaws tight, forever, if eaten.....leaving Colleen petrified of peanut butter, to this very day...
We didn't always fight, one of my all-time fave photos, is standing in the backyard, of our Lake House, in 3 feet of snow, together....one early April day, back around 1974...Me & Colleen, standing besides a huge, 6 foot, Easter Bunny snowman, my sister Patsy, had created...
Just a stunner, the intricacy of those big floppy ears of snow, on that Snow Bunny, with a basket of colorful eggs, in its lap...We were sky high, to see so much snow, so late in April, and I never, ever seen an Easter Bunny of snow...since...quite as good...
Colleen, of course, became a big sister, to Carrie & Kate, as time flew by and they were as close as sisters will ever be...And it was Colleen, who was always in the forefront, either in the classroom or out on the basketball court, that she led her little sisters, by example...
From her silly days, growing up on Francisco Ave. in Evergreen Park, about 92nd Street...where you could see Colleen whirling around on her PURPLE BICYCLE, up to when they moved out to Palos Park, where Colleen was only a block away from Sandburg High School...
And that move, was rather telling, because Sandburg High School, is not only an excellent high school, but Colleen went on to become a stand-out Captain of the basketball team, leading her team to the play-offs...time and again...a fearless leader...in a pint size package...
There Colleen was, the important basketball game winding down, as the little fiery point guard, took the ball, and just kept it nice & safe, as the opposing players hacked away at her down the stretch. There, at the free throw line, Colleen just hit every single shot...sealing a big, big victory for Sandburg...and that was a big thing in her life(leading her team to a 26-3 record)...for all of us...as we read it in the newspaper the next day...
For later on, when she graduated from the University of Illinois, Colleen went back to Sandburg and became a very inspiring teacher and coach of the girls basketball teams(coaching the sophmores to 24-0, in 2007)...She is there, to this very day, inspiring the youth of the Palos community...
Whether she is teaching Honors History & Economics, or the preparing the brightest for the important college entrance exams...Colleen instills knowledge and substance...an incredible insight, she provides, to shine down, on making those kids their very best...And alot of those kids do go on to the top schools in the country...
And Colleen is a bit of a jack-of-all-trades, running the Homecoming dance & Pep Club, every year, for so long, making it a truly unique & memorable experience, for those happy girls & boys, to cling on, in their budding memories, for years & years.
There are so, so many funny Howard Girl stories, of them growing up, because they were a kooky bunch, who kinda bounced from Lake Geneva to Evergreen Park, then out to Palos....always some of the most popular & fun girls in their class....We are definitely gonna have to look at some of those, as the Caring Carrie & Killer Kate stories...rock into these blogs...
Today, Colleen is married to Sean Mulcahy, with a little boy wonder, Conor, in tow...They live blissfully downtown, amidst the skyscrapers, in the Printers Row area of the South Loop.
She had met her young husband, Sean, out on a softball field, in Grant Park, downtown, one sunny day, and from there on, the happiness & hilarity, that fills their hearts, is always, a joy to behold...
Sure, Colleen will probably be bouncing out to the Suburbs, with her new family, by her side...but deep down inside, she's gonna always be the little dynamo, that came out of nowhere, out of the far reaches, of Davenport Iowa...to electrify our hearts, with her brimming endess, energy, and super-happy smile...And you can see that smile, in her little boy Conor, too, who now takes over as the little dynamo, to watch...
Colleen is truly, truly...one of a kind...and I'm pretty lucky...to remember her growing up...all these years...
Sunday, February 8, 2009
At The Movies
Well......It really doesn't matter, who you are...All of us can remember, going to the movies, when we were youngsters....It was a big, big deal, let's face it...We didn't have cable tv, we didn't have DVD's or VCR's...Our primary form of entertainment back then, was kicking rusty, old beer cans, down an alley...and going up to the drug store on 87th, to steal candy...
So, getting the mega $3 or $5 from our Mom's to venture out of the neighborhood, to the various theatres across the South Side of Chicago...was a huge treat...
My first movie, I saw, was a Disney movie...I'm guessing it was JUNGLE BOOK-not such a great movie-but who cares, I had the attention span of a fruit fly back then. My dear sister Joan took me to the swanky CORAL THEATRE out around 93rd & Cicero, in Oak Lawn(which is long-gone now).
I made my sister, go with me..right up to the front row, of the theatre, because I wanted to see that damn movie, as big as life...Afterwards, Joanie took me to the soda fountain/ice cream shop across the street, next to the Walgreen 's...(right near the White Castles)...which was even better than the movie...
Next movie, I remember, vividly was WILLY WONKA & THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY...at the Evergreen Plaza, in Evergreen Park(95th & Western)...Me and a few 86th Street chums, clumsily trodded along the railroad tracks from 87th out to 95th Street...because it was our secret railroad wilderness trek...like adventurous new explorers of the free world...
There we were...Throwing rocks at squirrels, scampering all about and if an occaisional train came running down the tracks....We'd all lay down a penny or a nickel or a quarter on the railroad steel rails and watch....as the force of the train's wheels would pulverize our coins into demented slabs of funny looking metal...Oh yes, just an endless hoot of silliness to contend with, as we made our way to THE PLAZA...(evergreen park plaza, a huge mall)...
As we got closer, say about 93rd Street along the tracks, we came across this hidden pond, right behind The old Martinique...(where a whole slew of my family held their wedding receptions)...It was like stumbing onto a lost paradise, frogs, fish and fowl, everywhere...We just about came un-glued stumbling upon this rare gem...but we had to press on, cuz' the movie started in 20 minutes...
It was funny, when we finally settled in for Willy Wonka, the movie is all about CANDY, and as a crazy kid you were drooling out of your mind...watching the whole giant candy themes come boldly jump, right out, at you...
So as the movie ended...You wanted to immediately run out of theatre and chow down on some candy bars...ASAP...And oddly enough, the Evergreen Plaza Theatre had a special concession stand set up...after the Wonka movie, with all kinds of special Willy Wonka stuff...
Willy Wonka chocolate bars, and Ooompa Loompa Peanut M&M's...Just a great big bunch of candy, that you frenzily bought with every last dime you had and stuffed it into your pockets with supreme glee...
Another great flick from my aspiring youth was TOMMY...The WHO's rock opera, starring Ann Margaret & Roger Daltrty and a bunch of big stars...Me and the Howland Boys were really, really kind of mesmerized by the weird and strangeness of the storyline...which sucked...but the music was out-of-this-world, exciting with a huge spectacular mega-production of the classic PINBALL WIZARD...rabidly rocking things out of control...
As I got older, I got a little more adventurous, the G rated movies, were long gone, from our radar and I was skipping the PG movies, totally,and sneaking into the R rated movies, at about 3rd or 4th or 5th Grade...
I can remember, sneaking back into the Evergreen Plaza Theatre with my good friend, Johhny Howland(HOP) and maybe Danny Casey, as we saw a great Steve McQueen movie called PAPILLION...
It was this wild prison movie, also starring a very young Dustin Hoffman, that had Steve McQueen escaping from all these unbelievable exotic prisons, off the French Coast...Just some mind blowing stuff...Anyway, me & Hop had a great time, first wandering thru the Mall, munching caramel corn, devouring giant chocolate soft-serve ice cream cones, jumping on the escalators, like they were carnival rides...maybe even dropping a goldfish into the coin fountain....goofy kids stuff like that...
But then, as we got in our theatre seats and watched the movie unfold...we are scratching our heads, wondering, why is this movie rated R...???...There was no swearing, nothing beyond intense, that you wouldn't see in a PG movie...Where is the good stuff...???...
But then about 3/4 of the way thru, Papilion(McQueen) stumbles thru a dense jungle and comes upon this isolated, pagan jungle tribe, and all the women are completely naked...(for a good 10 minutes).
So, surely, when we rushed back to our ol' stomping grounds of 86th Street, grinning from ear to ear, we gave Papillion a huge thumbs-up, and said this R rated movie stuff...is gonna be on our agenda, quite a bit, from there on out...
Johnny "Hop" Howland was such a kooky, crazy, cool kid...He just had a wacky, wry, non-chalant, sense of humor...even at a young age...He was the one Howland boy, always catching the blame, from his parents, it seemed, but Hop, had his funny way, of rationalizing...any situation, in his pissed-off, who gives a damn, attitude...
Gosh...we had such a blast...all us 86th Street kids...stealing cigars, too, back then, from John's Liquors & Grocery, chomping on those stinky stogies as we built countless numbers of forts...playing ball like madmen, until the sun went down and of course...getting out of the neighborhood...to play miniature golf on 95th Street(then always stopping off at the Jack-In- The-Box for greasy, yummy, fried tacos) or catch a fun, fun movie, every now & then...Endless, endless hilarity...
Next 2 movies I saw as a kid, as I got older, are quite famous...JAWS & the EXORCIST....at the Ford City Cinema...around 6th Grade...with Slim, Eddie B, Johnny Murph, Fitz & Fees, Joey Devlin, maybe Bucky, probably Moodo, Don, Neil(Krull), Marty(Eck), Kevin(Ryan), Denny (Cusack), Bob(Kross)...
Oh yes...there's more...Tommy Duffner(Duff), Mike Mulligan, Jimmy Curley(Curls), Marty Rogers, Mike Powers (Pows), Jimmy Disbrow(Dizz), Jimmy Bandyk, just a whole crazy bunch of us, countless of others too, from our age group...from around Tommy More...could have been with me, the somewhat infamous, Jimmy O's, that day...
We all had to walk all the way to the other side of the neighborhood to catch the 79th Street bus...that took you...riding over beyond Bogan H.S. to the Ford City Mall...As the bus, let you off, you still had to walk about 5 blocks to get to Ford City...so we were quite exhausted from our adventures to and from Ford City...(but it was well worth it...)
JAWS...Wow...Jaws....what can you say...???....Just about the biggest, hyped movie of our time. The line to get into that movie was by far as I'll ever see...just wrapping around the block...Of course, we managed to sneak in at the door...and ran for our seats....and sunk in and watched the Shark terrorize the sleepy little ocean-side town...
It was an incredible rush, as everyone in the theatre had their hearts pounding, scared to death, that damn shark, was gonna devour everyone who came 15 feet within the water...Just an awesome movie, with that spooky, unrelenting shark music...pulsating thru you...transfixed on the mysterious shark that doesn't show up on the screen until well over an hour into the movie...
Egad...next up...The Exorcist....another movie, hyped to the gills...Suddenly, all the news was about demons and evil and such...And I'll say right now, if that movie pops up on my TV, I turn it off, in an instant...How scary was it...???....Terrifyingly scary...
When that possessed little girl, had the glowing, evil eyes, with the distorted evil voice, spinning her head in circles and spewing out a blast of green pea soup vomit...You pretty much, wanted, to cover your eyes and start praying that never, ever happened to you...
A very, very funny side note to The Exorcist...I came home that night...and was surely spooked out of my mind...I eventually climbed into bed and hoped I didn't dare dream about that crazy stuff...Anyway, I woke up, about Midnight and went to the bathroom...
It was pitch-black when I got back to my room as I was just about to throw myself back into bed....Suddenly, my brother Joe...(remember James Bond)...well, he was laying on the floor, besides my bed, and grabbed hold of my ankles, like a vice grip, squeezing as tight as he could...
Well, much to my dismay, I thought I was being visited by some demonic force, wickedly about to send me into an Exorcist-like demonic rage....I was so, so scared, I couldn't scream, and I was pretty close to peeing on myself...
There I was, a frightened mess, as all I could do was muster up a tiny whimper of a scream...when my brother, Joe, jumped up and covered my mouth and dropped me onto the bed, and started laughing and laughing and laughing....
It was utterly hilarious...thinking back now...I don't even think Joe knew I saw that Exorcist movie that day...It was just perfect timing...on his part...
I also really felt lucky to hop on the Kedzie Avenue bus, with my buds, and head a mile north to the gritty, seedy, Marquette Park area, too, to the old, dilapidated Colony(59th street) and Marquette(63rd street) theatres...just crumbling old dinosaur movie theatres built way back in the 1920's...
Movies at those 2 theatres were only $1 and the movies were tepid, lack-luster, B-Flicks....like the Vincent Price horror movies, or the Richard Pryor movie, CAR WASH or more horror stuff, like PHANTASM & ORCA THE KILLER WHALE. We didn't care...That stuff was top-notch in our books...
I'll cover those theatres, more extensively, later on...as my teenage years progress...hopefully...
Most excellently, I saw plenty of great, great movies back then, with me and the Howland Boys, then me & my fellow chums from Tommy More grade school, too...Just an endless amount of exciting movies galore...that always left us always wanting some more.
For it wasn't just the movies, that held us in awe...It was getting out of our comfort zone, beyond Tommy More, and wandering new areas, across the whole south-side of Chicago, seeing new things...and yes, finding ourselves in plenty of mischeivous trouble...from time to time...along the way...
I didn't even get to mention great movies I saw like...
THE STING
BUTCH CASSIDY/SUNDANCE KID
TOWERING INFERNO
POSEIDON ADVENTURE
AIRPLANE
APOCOLYPSE NOW
KILLER TOMATOES
and on and on and on...
oh well, maybe we'll recall some of those later...(I'm sure we will...) because these memoirs have us merrily rolling along...and who knows...what will pop up next...
So, getting the mega $3 or $5 from our Mom's to venture out of the neighborhood, to the various theatres across the South Side of Chicago...was a huge treat...
My first movie, I saw, was a Disney movie...I'm guessing it was JUNGLE BOOK-not such a great movie-but who cares, I had the attention span of a fruit fly back then. My dear sister Joan took me to the swanky CORAL THEATRE out around 93rd & Cicero, in Oak Lawn(which is long-gone now).
I made my sister, go with me..right up to the front row, of the theatre, because I wanted to see that damn movie, as big as life...Afterwards, Joanie took me to the soda fountain/ice cream shop across the street, next to the Walgreen 's...(right near the White Castles)...which was even better than the movie...
Next movie, I remember, vividly was WILLY WONKA & THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY...at the Evergreen Plaza, in Evergreen Park(95th & Western)...Me and a few 86th Street chums, clumsily trodded along the railroad tracks from 87th out to 95th Street...because it was our secret railroad wilderness trek...like adventurous new explorers of the free world...
There we were...Throwing rocks at squirrels, scampering all about and if an occaisional train came running down the tracks....We'd all lay down a penny or a nickel or a quarter on the railroad steel rails and watch....as the force of the train's wheels would pulverize our coins into demented slabs of funny looking metal...Oh yes, just an endless hoot of silliness to contend with, as we made our way to THE PLAZA...(evergreen park plaza, a huge mall)...
As we got closer, say about 93rd Street along the tracks, we came across this hidden pond, right behind The old Martinique...(where a whole slew of my family held their wedding receptions)...It was like stumbing onto a lost paradise, frogs, fish and fowl, everywhere...We just about came un-glued stumbling upon this rare gem...but we had to press on, cuz' the movie started in 20 minutes...
It was funny, when we finally settled in for Willy Wonka, the movie is all about CANDY, and as a crazy kid you were drooling out of your mind...watching the whole giant candy themes come boldly jump, right out, at you...
So as the movie ended...You wanted to immediately run out of theatre and chow down on some candy bars...ASAP...And oddly enough, the Evergreen Plaza Theatre had a special concession stand set up...after the Wonka movie, with all kinds of special Willy Wonka stuff...
Willy Wonka chocolate bars, and Ooompa Loompa Peanut M&M's...Just a great big bunch of candy, that you frenzily bought with every last dime you had and stuffed it into your pockets with supreme glee...
Another great flick from my aspiring youth was TOMMY...The WHO's rock opera, starring Ann Margaret & Roger Daltrty and a bunch of big stars...Me and the Howland Boys were really, really kind of mesmerized by the weird and strangeness of the storyline...which sucked...but the music was out-of-this-world, exciting with a huge spectacular mega-production of the classic PINBALL WIZARD...rabidly rocking things out of control...
As I got older, I got a little more adventurous, the G rated movies, were long gone, from our radar and I was skipping the PG movies, totally,and sneaking into the R rated movies, at about 3rd or 4th or 5th Grade...
I can remember, sneaking back into the Evergreen Plaza Theatre with my good friend, Johhny Howland(HOP) and maybe Danny Casey, as we saw a great Steve McQueen movie called PAPILLION...
It was this wild prison movie, also starring a very young Dustin Hoffman, that had Steve McQueen escaping from all these unbelievable exotic prisons, off the French Coast...Just some mind blowing stuff...Anyway, me & Hop had a great time, first wandering thru the Mall, munching caramel corn, devouring giant chocolate soft-serve ice cream cones, jumping on the escalators, like they were carnival rides...maybe even dropping a goldfish into the coin fountain....goofy kids stuff like that...
But then, as we got in our theatre seats and watched the movie unfold...we are scratching our heads, wondering, why is this movie rated R...???...There was no swearing, nothing beyond intense, that you wouldn't see in a PG movie...Where is the good stuff...???...
But then about 3/4 of the way thru, Papilion(McQueen) stumbles thru a dense jungle and comes upon this isolated, pagan jungle tribe, and all the women are completely naked...(for a good 10 minutes).
So, surely, when we rushed back to our ol' stomping grounds of 86th Street, grinning from ear to ear, we gave Papillion a huge thumbs-up, and said this R rated movie stuff...is gonna be on our agenda, quite a bit, from there on out...
Johnny "Hop" Howland was such a kooky, crazy, cool kid...He just had a wacky, wry, non-chalant, sense of humor...even at a young age...He was the one Howland boy, always catching the blame, from his parents, it seemed, but Hop, had his funny way, of rationalizing...any situation, in his pissed-off, who gives a damn, attitude...
Gosh...we had such a blast...all us 86th Street kids...stealing cigars, too, back then, from John's Liquors & Grocery, chomping on those stinky stogies as we built countless numbers of forts...playing ball like madmen, until the sun went down and of course...getting out of the neighborhood...to play miniature golf on 95th Street(then always stopping off at the Jack-In- The-Box for greasy, yummy, fried tacos) or catch a fun, fun movie, every now & then...Endless, endless hilarity...
Next 2 movies I saw as a kid, as I got older, are quite famous...JAWS & the EXORCIST....at the Ford City Cinema...around 6th Grade...with Slim, Eddie B, Johnny Murph, Fitz & Fees, Joey Devlin, maybe Bucky, probably Moodo, Don, Neil(Krull), Marty(Eck), Kevin(Ryan), Denny (Cusack), Bob(Kross)...
Oh yes...there's more...Tommy Duffner(Duff), Mike Mulligan, Jimmy Curley(Curls), Marty Rogers, Mike Powers (Pows), Jimmy Disbrow(Dizz), Jimmy Bandyk, just a whole crazy bunch of us, countless of others too, from our age group...from around Tommy More...could have been with me, the somewhat infamous, Jimmy O's, that day...
We all had to walk all the way to the other side of the neighborhood to catch the 79th Street bus...that took you...riding over beyond Bogan H.S. to the Ford City Mall...As the bus, let you off, you still had to walk about 5 blocks to get to Ford City...so we were quite exhausted from our adventures to and from Ford City...(but it was well worth it...)
JAWS...Wow...Jaws....what can you say...???....Just about the biggest, hyped movie of our time. The line to get into that movie was by far as I'll ever see...just wrapping around the block...Of course, we managed to sneak in at the door...and ran for our seats....and sunk in and watched the Shark terrorize the sleepy little ocean-side town...
It was an incredible rush, as everyone in the theatre had their hearts pounding, scared to death, that damn shark, was gonna devour everyone who came 15 feet within the water...Just an awesome movie, with that spooky, unrelenting shark music...pulsating thru you...transfixed on the mysterious shark that doesn't show up on the screen until well over an hour into the movie...
Egad...next up...The Exorcist....another movie, hyped to the gills...Suddenly, all the news was about demons and evil and such...And I'll say right now, if that movie pops up on my TV, I turn it off, in an instant...How scary was it...???....Terrifyingly scary...
When that possessed little girl, had the glowing, evil eyes, with the distorted evil voice, spinning her head in circles and spewing out a blast of green pea soup vomit...You pretty much, wanted, to cover your eyes and start praying that never, ever happened to you...
A very, very funny side note to The Exorcist...I came home that night...and was surely spooked out of my mind...I eventually climbed into bed and hoped I didn't dare dream about that crazy stuff...Anyway, I woke up, about Midnight and went to the bathroom...
It was pitch-black when I got back to my room as I was just about to throw myself back into bed....Suddenly, my brother Joe...(remember James Bond)...well, he was laying on the floor, besides my bed, and grabbed hold of my ankles, like a vice grip, squeezing as tight as he could...
Well, much to my dismay, I thought I was being visited by some demonic force, wickedly about to send me into an Exorcist-like demonic rage....I was so, so scared, I couldn't scream, and I was pretty close to peeing on myself...
There I was, a frightened mess, as all I could do was muster up a tiny whimper of a scream...when my brother, Joe, jumped up and covered my mouth and dropped me onto the bed, and started laughing and laughing and laughing....
It was utterly hilarious...thinking back now...I don't even think Joe knew I saw that Exorcist movie that day...It was just perfect timing...on his part...
I also really felt lucky to hop on the Kedzie Avenue bus, with my buds, and head a mile north to the gritty, seedy, Marquette Park area, too, to the old, dilapidated Colony(59th street) and Marquette(63rd street) theatres...just crumbling old dinosaur movie theatres built way back in the 1920's...
Movies at those 2 theatres were only $1 and the movies were tepid, lack-luster, B-Flicks....like the Vincent Price horror movies, or the Richard Pryor movie, CAR WASH or more horror stuff, like PHANTASM & ORCA THE KILLER WHALE. We didn't care...That stuff was top-notch in our books...
I'll cover those theatres, more extensively, later on...as my teenage years progress...hopefully...
Most excellently, I saw plenty of great, great movies back then, with me and the Howland Boys, then me & my fellow chums from Tommy More grade school, too...Just an endless amount of exciting movies galore...that always left us always wanting some more.
For it wasn't just the movies, that held us in awe...It was getting out of our comfort zone, beyond Tommy More, and wandering new areas, across the whole south-side of Chicago, seeing new things...and yes, finding ourselves in plenty of mischeivous trouble...from time to time...along the way...
I didn't even get to mention great movies I saw like...
THE STING
BUTCH CASSIDY/SUNDANCE KID
TOWERING INFERNO
POSEIDON ADVENTURE
AIRPLANE
APOCOLYPSE NOW
KILLER TOMATOES
and on and on and on...
oh well, maybe we'll recall some of those later...(I'm sure we will...) because these memoirs have us merrily rolling along...and who knows...what will pop up next...
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Nephew---Eddie Haggerty....
Oh yes, gather yourself up, for the way-back machine, and zoom back 40 years ago, to the birth of my great little nephew, Eddie...Eddie Haggerty...He got his little intro to this world, back on July 2nd, 1969...and he never looked back...
I can remember Eddie, being quite a young, 6-month-old, toddler, at his Mom & Dad's(my dear sister, Kathy & Ed's) funky Marquette Park apartment...There, he defied the odds, by lifting himself up, off the ground and doing his little baby steps, by grabbing ahold to all of the furniture, to stabililize himself, as he did a complete circle around the entire room...His Father declared Eddie, a genius, and at that point we were expecting Eddie to grow up and be a Rhodes Scholar or an Astronaut.
Eddie, even way back then, had a bright, bright, happy smile and an equally bright and happy disposition. His thick & wavy blonde hair, big eyes and big, big, rosie cheeks...made him one of the healthiest looking babies around...
The following year, Eddie, was followed by his brother Mike, and then quicky Pat, jumped onto the Haggerty Wrestling team...and from there...the hijinx and madness...never ended...
I do wish I could just focus on Eddie, but the whole crazy crew of Eddie, Mike and Pat...were inseperable, and they just about ran all of us into the ground, with their boundless energy.
How boundless...???...Young Eddie, was up before the sun rised every day...Eddie was up before the moon disappeared...before the cows even yawned in the muddling dusk...even...
Boooom...!!!...
Eddie Haggerty, was up, bright-eyed, and bushied tailed, waking up his cohorts, Mike & Pat, demanding the day to get off to a wild, walloping start...Oh gosh, sometimes, we'd be all up at the Lake House, and sure enough, you'd hear this thunderous roar of tiny footsteps, bounding down the stairs, from the bedroom, into the kitchen, at 5:30am...where their Mom, Kathy, had to whiz up some Captain Crunch with Blueberries or Cocoa Puffs or Fruit Loops for her young hungry, urchins....in nothing flat...Kathy truly was a living saint, with this wild bunch keeping her buzzing, going completely bonkers, doing an endless mad scramble, trying to make things roll as smoothly as possible...
I'd finally roll out of bed at 10AM...and go downstairs, and I was met, with the powerhouse, Haggerty tag team, attacking me, ready to roughhouse, right out of the box, piling on top of me, or just throwing themselves at me, so I'd have to pick them up, off the ground, and throw them onto the blue, living room, couch, crashing, one at a time...on top of each other...
Me and the young Haggerty's had such a blast...because they were truly, non-stop, wild boys, just bursting with their trademark energy...with usually Eddie...plowing straight ahead, with a great big smile...
How crazy were these 3 boys...???...Eddie & Mike & Pat...
It was not unusual for me to show up at their house, over on 79th & Artesian, in Tommy More, and find the entire refrigerator, completely, torn apart...Mike, throwing pickles around like little mini green frisbees and Pat, using yellow mustard to paint some Picasso creations on the wall...
Where was Eddie...???...Eddie, was there, wandering around, chomping on a stick of butter, like it was a Snickers chocolate candy bar...Yes, butter...and yes, just not one stick of butter, but the whole damn carton of 4 butters, were clearly on Eddie's snack menu, that day...
MMMMmmm buttterrrrr.....!!!!!!....
This next story, is the truth, I cannot tell a lie...just like George Washington...We were up in Lake Geneva, middle of summer, the Haggerty boys about 8, 7 and 5 years old at that time...and they grabbed ahold of these croquet mallets, and began bashing away at our giant lilac tree in our backyard...
Now you are thinking...Croquet mallets...They are not a good choice to try to cut down a tree, because they are flat and dull, wooden hammers...but these 3 lumberjacks, were not buying that philosophy as they whacked away at that beautiful lilac tree, until they broke thru the bark, and then got excited and bashed away until they heard a SNAP....and there the lilac tree...took a tumble...timmmbbbbberrrrr....to the ground...
Gramma came running out...mortified, her beautiful tree that smelled so beautiful was a casualty of war...but I personally was glad, because that Lilac tree, always attracted bees with its pungent flowery smell...and its location was right next to the hitter's box for our special whiffle ball games in the backyard...You could always see all of us kids, swinging our bat, hoping to smack a bee in mid air.
(....batter up.....bbbbbzzzzzzz.....!!!....get away from me...you stupid, stupid bees....!!!...bbbbbzzzzz....!!!...Smmmaaccckk...!!!...)
Oh there's more...I can recall, Eddie, just getting a crazy notion to tear out all my tomato plants along side the Lake House...Ripppp...Ripppp....Ripppp...Ripppp...Ohhh, how I loved those tomato plants because I'd soak those suckers everyday with lots of water & Miracle Grow...
uuuhhhh ohhhh....One by one, the large bountiful plants came up, roots and all...but Eddie, didn't realize I was coming barreling down, in a psychotic rage towards him at warp speed, ready to unleash a beating, like no other.
There Eddie stood, smiling, quite amused, then his amusement turned to horror...
...HOLY CRAP...!!!...IT'S UNCLE JIM...!!!...
BOOM...Eddie takes off screaming & screaming & screaming for dear life and I'm like Dick Butkus, ready to pummel him into the ground...but honestly...You really couldn't hurt Eddie, cuz' he was rock solid muscle...Needless, to say, Eddie and all the Haggerty's were great, great fun. We had such hilarious riotous times, doing crazy things...
I gotta stop there with the crazy Haggerty stories...and save some...for Mike and Pat...
Eddie...today...believe it or not, is an outward, gregariously fun guy, a Precinct Captain for the Saint Cajetan's area on the South Side...He was just elected to be on the board for the highly prestigious South-Side Irish Parade wearing a super special, green blazer...when he was inducted last week...The huge Irish parade, of hundreds of thousands of people, itself, runs every March, down Western Avenue, only 4 blocks away from his house, where he lives with his wonderful wife, Megan and their 3 adorable rug-rats...Meara, Phelan & the mighty, might, Griffin...who reminds me exactly of Eddie so much...
Eddie is the biggest White Sox fan and me and him, can be found bidding on White Sox stuff on E-Bay all the time...He throws that huge Saint Paddy's Day party every year, for one and all, before the parade, where the cold & frothy Guinness & stinging Jameson Irish Whiskey are flowing at 6am, that day...
By the way...I have this cool 2005 photo of Eddie, shaking hands with Mayor Daley, while he's got his White Sox cap on...at some lakefront ceremony...only a few days before the Sox won the World Series...
And in that photo, it shows that both Eddie & Mayor Daley, are on cloud nine, brimming with delightful smiles, drinking in the wild excitement of World Series action, we all had never seen before...on the South-Side...
Anyway, Eddie is now an Electrician these days, in charge of the lighting for the city that runs along the Chicago lakefront and can be found, digging thru the mess of electrical wires inside Buckingham Fountain, quite often, making sure, it remains a jewel of the city...for all the visitors...to stop by...and take their picture, there...
Oh yeah...Don't be surprised, if you are listening on the radio...and hear...Eddie Haggerty, you were our 12th caller and have won tickets for a weekend getaway to a water park or tickets to a movie...Eddie just loves that kinda stuff. He just has a knack for winning silly stuff over the radio...Surely, me & Eddie, are truly crazy and think we gotta shot...every single time,,,
Eddie Haggerty, South-Sider, Family Man & Sox Fan...and also just one of my many, many kooky little nieces & nephews who grew up, alongside me...so long ago...Well, we won't say when...will we...???...
I can remember Eddie, being quite a young, 6-month-old, toddler, at his Mom & Dad's(my dear sister, Kathy & Ed's) funky Marquette Park apartment...There, he defied the odds, by lifting himself up, off the ground and doing his little baby steps, by grabbing ahold to all of the furniture, to stabililize himself, as he did a complete circle around the entire room...His Father declared Eddie, a genius, and at that point we were expecting Eddie to grow up and be a Rhodes Scholar or an Astronaut.
Eddie, even way back then, had a bright, bright, happy smile and an equally bright and happy disposition. His thick & wavy blonde hair, big eyes and big, big, rosie cheeks...made him one of the healthiest looking babies around...
The following year, Eddie, was followed by his brother Mike, and then quicky Pat, jumped onto the Haggerty Wrestling team...and from there...the hijinx and madness...never ended...
I do wish I could just focus on Eddie, but the whole crazy crew of Eddie, Mike and Pat...were inseperable, and they just about ran all of us into the ground, with their boundless energy.
How boundless...???...Young Eddie, was up before the sun rised every day...Eddie was up before the moon disappeared...before the cows even yawned in the muddling dusk...even...
Boooom...!!!...
Eddie Haggerty, was up, bright-eyed, and bushied tailed, waking up his cohorts, Mike & Pat, demanding the day to get off to a wild, walloping start...Oh gosh, sometimes, we'd be all up at the Lake House, and sure enough, you'd hear this thunderous roar of tiny footsteps, bounding down the stairs, from the bedroom, into the kitchen, at 5:30am...where their Mom, Kathy, had to whiz up some Captain Crunch with Blueberries or Cocoa Puffs or Fruit Loops for her young hungry, urchins....in nothing flat...Kathy truly was a living saint, with this wild bunch keeping her buzzing, going completely bonkers, doing an endless mad scramble, trying to make things roll as smoothly as possible...
I'd finally roll out of bed at 10AM...and go downstairs, and I was met, with the powerhouse, Haggerty tag team, attacking me, ready to roughhouse, right out of the box, piling on top of me, or just throwing themselves at me, so I'd have to pick them up, off the ground, and throw them onto the blue, living room, couch, crashing, one at a time...on top of each other...
Me and the young Haggerty's had such a blast...because they were truly, non-stop, wild boys, just bursting with their trademark energy...with usually Eddie...plowing straight ahead, with a great big smile...
How crazy were these 3 boys...???...Eddie & Mike & Pat...
It was not unusual for me to show up at their house, over on 79th & Artesian, in Tommy More, and find the entire refrigerator, completely, torn apart...Mike, throwing pickles around like little mini green frisbees and Pat, using yellow mustard to paint some Picasso creations on the wall...
Where was Eddie...???...Eddie, was there, wandering around, chomping on a stick of butter, like it was a Snickers chocolate candy bar...Yes, butter...and yes, just not one stick of butter, but the whole damn carton of 4 butters, were clearly on Eddie's snack menu, that day...
MMMMmmm buttterrrrr.....!!!!!!....
This next story, is the truth, I cannot tell a lie...just like George Washington...We were up in Lake Geneva, middle of summer, the Haggerty boys about 8, 7 and 5 years old at that time...and they grabbed ahold of these croquet mallets, and began bashing away at our giant lilac tree in our backyard...
Now you are thinking...Croquet mallets...They are not a good choice to try to cut down a tree, because they are flat and dull, wooden hammers...but these 3 lumberjacks, were not buying that philosophy as they whacked away at that beautiful lilac tree, until they broke thru the bark, and then got excited and bashed away until they heard a SNAP....and there the lilac tree...took a tumble...timmmbbbbberrrrr....to the ground...
Gramma came running out...mortified, her beautiful tree that smelled so beautiful was a casualty of war...but I personally was glad, because that Lilac tree, always attracted bees with its pungent flowery smell...and its location was right next to the hitter's box for our special whiffle ball games in the backyard...You could always see all of us kids, swinging our bat, hoping to smack a bee in mid air.
(....batter up.....bbbbbzzzzzzz.....!!!....get away from me...you stupid, stupid bees....!!!...bbbbbzzzzz....!!!...Smmmaaccckk...!!!...)
Oh there's more...I can recall, Eddie, just getting a crazy notion to tear out all my tomato plants along side the Lake House...Ripppp...Ripppp....Ripppp...Ripppp...Ohhh, how I loved those tomato plants because I'd soak those suckers everyday with lots of water & Miracle Grow...
uuuhhhh ohhhh....One by one, the large bountiful plants came up, roots and all...but Eddie, didn't realize I was coming barreling down, in a psychotic rage towards him at warp speed, ready to unleash a beating, like no other.
There Eddie stood, smiling, quite amused, then his amusement turned to horror...
...HOLY CRAP...!!!...IT'S UNCLE JIM...!!!...
BOOM...Eddie takes off screaming & screaming & screaming for dear life and I'm like Dick Butkus, ready to pummel him into the ground...but honestly...You really couldn't hurt Eddie, cuz' he was rock solid muscle...Needless, to say, Eddie and all the Haggerty's were great, great fun. We had such hilarious riotous times, doing crazy things...
I gotta stop there with the crazy Haggerty stories...and save some...for Mike and Pat...
Eddie...today...believe it or not, is an outward, gregariously fun guy, a Precinct Captain for the Saint Cajetan's area on the South Side...He was just elected to be on the board for the highly prestigious South-Side Irish Parade wearing a super special, green blazer...when he was inducted last week...The huge Irish parade, of hundreds of thousands of people, itself, runs every March, down Western Avenue, only 4 blocks away from his house, where he lives with his wonderful wife, Megan and their 3 adorable rug-rats...Meara, Phelan & the mighty, might, Griffin...who reminds me exactly of Eddie so much...
Eddie is the biggest White Sox fan and me and him, can be found bidding on White Sox stuff on E-Bay all the time...He throws that huge Saint Paddy's Day party every year, for one and all, before the parade, where the cold & frothy Guinness & stinging Jameson Irish Whiskey are flowing at 6am, that day...
By the way...I have this cool 2005 photo of Eddie, shaking hands with Mayor Daley, while he's got his White Sox cap on...at some lakefront ceremony...only a few days before the Sox won the World Series...
And in that photo, it shows that both Eddie & Mayor Daley, are on cloud nine, brimming with delightful smiles, drinking in the wild excitement of World Series action, we all had never seen before...on the South-Side...
Anyway, Eddie is now an Electrician these days, in charge of the lighting for the city that runs along the Chicago lakefront and can be found, digging thru the mess of electrical wires inside Buckingham Fountain, quite often, making sure, it remains a jewel of the city...for all the visitors...to stop by...and take their picture, there...
Oh yeah...Don't be surprised, if you are listening on the radio...and hear...Eddie Haggerty, you were our 12th caller and have won tickets for a weekend getaway to a water park or tickets to a movie...Eddie just loves that kinda stuff. He just has a knack for winning silly stuff over the radio...Surely, me & Eddie, are truly crazy and think we gotta shot...every single time,,,
Eddie Haggerty, South-Sider, Family Man & Sox Fan...and also just one of my many, many kooky little nieces & nephews who grew up, alongside me...so long ago...Well, we won't say when...will we...???...
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