I’m not a superstitious person by nature. However, I truly believe that it’s bad luck to talk about car accidents while driving. I’ve already had two car accidents while talking about car accidents while driving. Both cars were totaled. So if you’re ever in a car with me, don’t talk about car accidents. If you do, I will tell you to shut up. If you continue talking about car accidents, I will punch you. If we then get into a car accident, that will prove my that my superstition is true. All because you were talking about car accidents!
He’s tireless. And that’s what makes him a great salesman.
He stands on the corner of 103rd Street and Western Avenue perpetually waving his $5 Hot ‘n’ Ready Pizza sign. He wears a baseball cap over his gray hair, but he’s much more energetic than his age would indicate. He’s effective because he makes eye contact with potential customers driving by. I’ve bought a few pizzas because of him. My sons see him and immediately want me to go into the mini strip mall parking lot as the sign guy points the way.
Whenever he’s not there, his younger substitutes aren’t as effective or as tireless as the regular sign guy. One day as I drove past Little Caesar’s, I missed him when I didn’t see him out there hawking pizzas. But then, as I drove past 103rd Street and Kedzie Avenue, I saw the sign guy holding a different sign and directing future customers into the gas station on the corner!
Today, I saw two dead squirrels in Mount Greenwood and two more dead ones in Beverly. I find this unusual because I rarely see any dead squirrels. What happened to them?
Three looked like they were killed in traffic, but one was on the sidewalk at the bottom of a tree. Is there some kind of epidemic? As I was driving home this afternoon, I saw a squirrel in the middle of the street eating an acorn. I would have run it over if I had not swerved to avoid it. It didn’t even budge!
In Chicago, we have a great rivalry between the south side and the north side. Such a rivalry has not existed since the American Civil War. As a boy, I often heard White Sox fans say things like, “It’s a beautiful day in Chicago. The Sox won and the Cubs lost.” Sox and Cubs fans are naturally inclined to hate each other during baseball season. Nothing causes greater family strife than having a family member who is a fan of the opposing team. It’s the classic case of brother against brother, wife against husband, and so on, all due to being the fan of the opposing Sox or Cubs. I knew of one ardent, fanatical White Sox family who ran DNA tests on their son to see if he wasn’t switched at birth all because he turned out to be a ardent, fanatical Cubs fan, the only one in the family for three generations.
Here is a joke that illustrates the rivalry among Chicago sports fans:
A group of Chicago sports fans are out hiking. One is a Blackhawks fan, one a Bulls fan, one a Bears fan, one a Sox fan, and one a Cubs fan. They get to the top of the cliff and behold a majestic sunset. It is breathtaking. Soon, though, they get to arguing about Chicago sports and who among them is the most dedicated fan.
The Hawks fan cries, “This is for Bobby Hull and the Hawks of the ’60s!” and throws himself off the cliff.”
The remaining fans are impressed by his dedication, but the Bears fan shouts, “Oh, yeah? Well, this is for Ditka and the ’85 Bears!” and throws himself off the cliff.
The Bulls fan is not about to be outdone. He shouts, “This is for Michael Jordan and the Bulls of the ’90s!” and also leaps into the abyss.
This leaves just the Cubs fan and the Sox fan. At which point, the Sox fan says, “This is for the South Side!” and pushes the Cubs fan off the cliff!
When I was a boy growing up in Chicago, I had to decide early on whether I was a Sox or Cubs fan. As Cub Scout, one of our first field trips was to a White Sox game. From then on, I was a diehard White Sox fan. However, our next-door neighbors, and I mean the entire family, were hardcore Cubs fans. In the summer of 1969 when the Cubs had a winning record in mid-summer, everyone–even Sox fans–was excited about the prospects of the Cubs going to the World Series. If I think about names of Chicago baseball players from my childhood days, I remember more Cubs players than Sox. For the White Sox I remember Wilbur Wood, Ken Berry, Luis Aparicio, and Carlos May, but that’s about it. As for the Cubs, I remember Ernie Banks, Billy Williams, Randy Hundley, Ron Santo, Glenn Beckert, Ken Holtzmann, Fergie Jenkins, Don Kessinger, and manager Leo Durocher. Now that I think of it, this is pretty sad that I, as a Sox fan, don’t remember more White Sox players from that era. But we were all excited about having such a good baseball team in Chicago despite our allegiances. Unfortunately, the Cubs soon collapsed, and they dropped out of contention for the playoffs.
One year at our Rodriguez family picnic, we played volleyball, as we always do, picking teams. We try different ways to set up teams, such as north siders versus south siders, American born versus Mexican born, the sober versus the drunk, etc. Then someone suggested, Sox fans versus Cubs fans. I thought it would be lopsided because I always stereotype Mexicans as Sox fans. Wow was I ever wrong! In fact, both teams were evenly balanced in number and talent. I was amazed. Well, we played two games, and the match was tied. We were in the middle of playing the third game, tie score, when a thunderstorm stopped our game. We immediately went home to avoid getting struck by lightning. I’m sure this was some sort of divine intervention. Otherwise, who knows how high the body count might have been.
A couple of years ago I was at my sons’ little league picnic where one of the raffle prizes was an autographed baseball by White Sox designated hitter #25 Jim Thome. Well, a young White Sox fan won one of the first raffle prizes, so he was able to choose any prize from the table. He chose the autographed baseball since he was an avid White Sox fan. Unfortunately, his parents were both avid Cubs fans. When the boy proudly showed the baseball to his father, the father began shouting at him. He wanted his son to exchange the baseball for another prize, but the raffle organizers didn’t allow any exchanges. This man was so upset with his son that he ignored him for the rest of picnic. However, the boy proudly showed the baseball to all his friends. I wonder if his parents had DNA tests performed on their son.
I, unfortunately, hail from the much-maligned south side. And, I have been a White Sox fan for as long as I can remember. The 2005 World Series Championship was something that I waited for all my life. But don’t get me wrong. I’m not just a White Sox fan. I’m also a Chicago fan. No matter who’s winning in Chicago, I support the team. Even now as the Chicago Cubs appear to be headed to the playoffs, I support them and cheer them on, but as a Chicago White Sox fan. Hopefully, the Cubs won’t disappoint us again!
Once, while traveling in the country, Mark Twain saw a sign that read, “Junk bought, antiques sold.”
To my mother, junk wasn’t merely just junk. To this day, I realize that there’s junk, and then there’s Mexican junk–there is no Spanish word for junk, although I did see a sign that read “Yonke” in my travels through Mexico).
My mother managed to salvage just about everything she found in the alley. No chair was so splintered, no dresser was missing too many handles or drawers, no bed frame was so rusty or bent that they could not be repaired, refurbished, or rehabilitated with a little paint, elbow grease, and TLC. If my mother found something that was too heavy or bulky for her to bring home, she would come home to get me and between the two of us we would put it into the back of her red Volkswagen Squareback station wagon.
My mother always knew some Mexican or an entire Mexican family who had just come from Mexico and needed furniture. She would help them set up a home by giving them whatever furniture she had found. She genuinely loved to help people and she would never ask for any money in return. Occasionally, someone would offer money, but she would refuse it saying that they could repay her when they were settled down. People would come from Mexico and look for my mother because they knew that she would help them.
When I bought my four-flat house in Bridgeport, I attempted to help Mexicans on a smaller scale than my mother. I only helped my Mexican tenants and a few of their friends. When my brother lived in one of my apartments, he wanted to get rid of his living room set, but didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t know anyone who needed furniture at the moment, so I told him to put it out in the alley only he didn’t want to throw it away. I explained to him that if we put it in the alley early Sunday morning, the Mexicans going to church would see it and take it home with them. Sure enough, all his furniture was gone within an hour.
When I got divorced and I needed to refurnish my new house, I got most of my furniture from my brother and sister. Sometimes I feel so Mexican!
Chicago USA 