Category: Chicago

Anything and everything about my beloved, fair city of Chicago.

Renaissance Faire


Queen Elizabeth

I went to the Renaissance Faire in Bristol, Wisconsin, in August. I enjoy going every year because I love the entertainment and the ambience of the venue. I used to go with friends or family. I even went on a first date to the Ren Faire. There was no second date. I’ll explain later.

The last few years, I went alone. I couldn’t find anyone who would go with me. I really wanted to return to the Ren Faire, so I went alone. Why should I miss out on this great event just because no one will go with me? The people I asked to ge with me thought I was weird, or that the Ren Faire was weird. I enjoy watching all the shows and watching the spectators enjoy the show.

Some people enjoy dressing up in Renaissance costumes. Of course, there are a wide variety of other costumes from fantasy or science fiction movies. And no one there thinks it weird that people dress up in their favorite character. It’s truly a no judgment zone. I don’t dress up in a costume myself, but no one judges me for that, either. Nor for being there alone.

I have a comedian friend, Kyle, who had never been to the Ren Faire. He and another comedian, Jay, suggested we get a bunch of comedians together to go to a haunted house for Halloween. Since it was July, I recommended that we go the Ren Faire first. Neither one had been, nor had any idea what it was about. However, they did think it was weird that I suggested it as a group trip. They asked who I was going with. I had to admit I was going alone. Because no one else was interested in going with me. Later in the summer, he asked me if I went to the Ren Faire, and I told him I did. For the past three years, he has asked me if I went, and I always answer yes. This year, Kyle saw me after I went to the Ren Faire. He told me, “I went to the Renaissance Faire this weekend. It was cool!” I was very surprised.

Regarding my going on a first date to the Ren Faire, my date Natalie and I, on our first and only date, went to the Ren Faire on a very hot summer July day. At first, I thought we would hit it off. But then she was too critical of everyone there. Things were progressing poorly until they got worse. That occurred when me met a man dressed as a Viking. Perhaps, “dressed” is the wrong word because he honestly believed he was a real Viking. Or perhaps he was an excellent actor. Well, my date, Natalie, if that was her real name I’ll never know, started critiquing his outfit, saying he shouldn’t have a squirrel pelt as part of his apparel. She also lambasted him for not being able to speak the Viking language, which not one of the three of say with certainty what language a Viking would speak. We continued speaking in English for the rest of the conversation. She ended our chat by telling the Viking that he wasn’t authentic enough, which offended him greatly. So much so, that he temporarily unsheathed his sword.

We left shortly after that. We agreed to call each other for a second date, but neither of us called the other. After that, I now go to the Renaissance Faire alone.

caricature of author end of post
DDR

Evel Knievel


Evel Knievel

One of my adolescent boyhood heroes was Evel Knievel.

I always spent a lot of time riding my bike whenever I was bored. Then I learned to do wheelies, ride down the park fieldhouse stairs, and see how far I could ride from home. I also delivered the afternoon newspapers riding my bike.

Then, I discovered Evel Knievel! By accident. And I mean that by coincidence, but also by accident. The first time I saw him on TV was on the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. They showed a video of his famous and disastrous jump at Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas. I was extremely impressed by how Evel had survived the crash and even gained notoriety from it.

This sounds crazy as I look back at my former teenage self, but I wanted to be just like Evel Knievel! Crash and all!

My father knew how much I admired Evel Knievel, so he asked if I was interested in seeing Evel Knievel jump in person. Of course, I was! Well, in February of 1972, my father and I went to the Chicago International Amphitheater to see Evel Knievel!

The place was packed. There was no stadium seating. In fact, there were no seats at all. A typical Chicago wood and wire snow fence separated the crowd from Evel’s Harley Davidson XR 750. Evel spoke to the crowd, and everyone tried to get closer to the fence. I was only five feet tall at the time, so I could only see Evel at the top of the ramp as he spoke, but not when he raced back and forth on his motorcycle.

My father wanted me to see, so we pushed our way through the crowd to get closer to the fence. We got up to a supporting steel beam where no one stood because of the poor visibility. My father had me go on his shoulders and hold on to the beam. My head was two feet above the crowd and now I could see everything!

My father asked me if I could see, and I said, “Yes! But now you can’t see Evel.” And he said, “That’s okay. I’m happy that you can see!” And see I did! Evel jumped over the cars. And then, as a surprise, he rode his jet-powered motorcycle that he would use to jump over the Snake River Canyon in Idaho. He wanted to jump over the Grand Canyon, but he couldn’t get permission.

Inspired by Evel Knievel’s performance, I set up a ramp in the alley behind our house. The ramp consisted of an old picnic tabletop propped up by bricks. Since the table was two inches thick, I used a 1/8″ sheet of plywood to ride up on the picnic tabletop to have a smoother takeoff.

We started by jumping short distances and then increasing them until I was the only one attempting them once we got past six feet. The neighborhood kids would gather round to watch my jumps. Then someone suggested that I should jump over something to make the jumps more interesting. So, I put some empty cardboard boxes two feet tall to jump over. I figured since they were empty, they would collapse if I hit them. Boy was I wrong!

I wasn’t particularly good at math, and I had never studied physics, so I estimated the distance I could clear from my previous jumps. I finally reached about 25 feet. I decided to break the 1968 Mexico Olympic long jump record of twenty-nine feet, 2 1/2 inches by Bob Beamon.

I set up the boxes for thirty feet. I made a couple of runs past the ramp to build up the excitement, just like Evel Knievel. When I finally jumped, my rear wheel grazed the last cardboard box causing me to land front wheel first, crashing, and rolling like Evel Knievel. Luckily, I had learned to tumble correctly, so I tucked my head into my chest and arched my back allowing me to roll forward with the momentum. Surprisingly, I didn’t suffer any broken bones or scrapes.

And just to show exactly how tough I was, I attempted the jump immediately afterward. Of course, I made some mental adjustments. This time I cleared the boxes with room to spare!

I was so inspired by my feat that I wrote a letter to my local TV news station describing my stunt in detail. They always had a segment with local personalities. I typed it up so it would look more impressive. I wrote that I could perform my jumps for them. About a week later, I received a response. Well, not actually a response. They returned my letter with two handwritten notes on it. The first note said, “This would make a nice, light feature.” The second note said, “We do not want to encourage children to attempt this.”

That ended my career as an Evel Knievel wannabe. However, in hindsight, I now understand perfectly why they wouldn’t feature me on the local news.

caricature of author end of post
DDR

The two longest Chicago games


I’m a Chicago sports fan!

I was having lunch with my son Alex and my brother Danny when I thought that we should go to a baseball game. And I can tell you the exact date of our lunch. July 29, 2014. You will learn why I remember the exact date as you read on.

Anyway, we’re having lunch and I suggest that we go to a baseball game. I believe the only Chicago baseball team playing that day was the Cubs. My son and I are White Sox fans, but we’re not anti-Cubs fans. In fact, we’re Chicago fans! My brother Danny really isn’t into sports but has gone to baseball games with us as a family. So, I suggest that we go to a Cubs game that evening.

My son agrees, but Danny immediately says no. He says, “The last time I went to a baseball game with you, it was the longest baseball game ever!”

Then I remembered. It was my birthday and my youngest brother Joey suggested that we go to a White Sox game for my birthday. We went on May 8th because my birthday was the next day on May 9th. So, we, my father, brothers Danny, Jerry, Rick, Joey, my sister Delia, and I went to the White Sox game on May 8th , 1984.

Well, the game went into extra innings with a tie score and at midnight, the officials suspended the game to be continued the next day. We returned to Comiskey park the next day, my birthday, May 9th. The game finally ended when Harold Baines hit a homerun in the 25th inning for the White Sox victory of 7-6. This was the longest baseball game ever; it took 8 hours and 6 minutes to complete. And the regularly scheduled game for that night also went into extra innings!

Flashforward to our lunch with my son and brother. Danny says, “I don’t want to go to another long baseball game!”

“What are the odds of that ever happening again?” I asked. He still refused to go with us. “You’re going to miss out on a good game!” I said.

My son and I went to the Cubs game that night. You’ll never guess what we witnessed! The longest Chicago Cubs game in club history! My brother Danny called it when he refused to go to the game with us.

Well, the game lasted 16 innings and ended at 2:00 A.M. after 6 hours and 27 minutes of play. I texted my brother and he was joyful that he didn’t come to the game with us! I was ecstatic that I had witnessed the two longest baseball games in Chicago history.

A couple years ago, my son Alex told me that he really didn’t believe me about the longest White Sox game ever. But then he saw the replay of the game on TV. I didn’t watch the game, but I told him that the game ended when Harold Baines hit a homerun. It was only then that he believed me.

DDR

Duke


Duke, 2509 W. Marquette Road, Chicago, Illinois 60629

My wife keeps asking me which was your favorite dog? And I keep answering, “Duke!” She thought I would say Pluto or Earl, but I have very fond memories of Duke.

Pluto was my wife’s dog that she bought years before we married. So Pluto was actually my step-dog. I loved Pluto a lot, but I kept recalling Duke everytime I played with Pluto. I took such good care of Pluto that he soon was promoted to my dog from step-dog. My wife was a little jealous. Pluto lived to be 18 years old. My wife was very distraught at Pluto’s passing.

She insisted that we get another dog, but I liked not having to walk or care for a dog. I enjoyed the freedom to eat in peace. My wife kept insisting that we get another dog. When her birthday rolled around, she said, “If you get me a dog for my birthday, you won’t have to give me any other birthday presents!” Reluctantly, we went to PAWS Chicago to adopt Earl, a rescue dog from Austin, Texas. I can only imagine why they named him Earl. Probably because of the troublemaker from the TV show My Name Is Earl.

I must admit that I enjoy having Earl because he was easy to housebreak and he is a lot of fun to have around. My wife loves Earl so much that she says that Earl is the best dog she has ever had. So my wife asks me, “Is Earl the best dog you have ever had?” I think about it for a while, and then I remember Duke. I say, “Duke was the best dog I ever had.” My wife is surprised and disappointed by my response.

Well, Duke was a stray street dog that found us in 1970. We lived at 4405 S. Wood Street and we attended Holy Cross School at 4547 S. Wood Street in Chicago. My brothers and I always walked to and from school together. As the oldest brother, I was charged with the safety and welfare of my little brothers while our parents were at work.

One day on our way home from school, we see a dog standing on the southeast corner of 45th and Wood Streets. He looks friendly and he waits until we reach him. We pet him for a while and then we continue walking home. Surprisingly, Duke willingly follows us home. At home, we didn’t bring him into the house, but we did give him a bowl of milk with bread in it on the back porch. We play with him in the backyard until my mother came home. My mother doesn’t believe us when we tell her the dog followed us home. She orders us to to take the dog out of the yard and close the gates so he wouldn’t come back.

The next day, we’re walking home from school again, and we see the dog waiting for us on the corner. We pet him and then start walking home. The dog follows us home again. We feed him and play with him in the backyard until my mother comes home. Again, she orders us to get rid of the dog and we do.

That weekend, I went to Divine Heart Seminary for a visit to see if I was interested in attending the seminary. I learned that I wasn’t interested at all. When I returned home, we were eating dinner when I noticed the dog was under the table. I was very surprised to see him in the house because my mother was adamant that we would not have a dog! I asked my mother, “What’s he doing here?” She said, “He’s our dog now!”

DDR

California Dreaming


Cloudgate

I have always enjoyed going to California, but I’m always happy to come back home to Chicago. I lived in California for three years while I served in the United States Marine Corps. I was tempted to move to California after my honorable discharge, but something didn’t feel right. The people were friendly. The weather was nice.

However, I was also discouraged by the natural disasters: droughts, floods, fires, and earthquakes. Not to mention all the serial killers. But those were the least of my concerns. I just didn’t feel like I fit in, but I wasn’t sure why. So I decided to come back home to Chicago.

My sister and my sister-in-law now live in southern California. Everytime I visit them, they try to convince me to live in California. They tell me that I would love living in California. I remind them that I had already lived in California for three years when I was in the Marines.

I wondered what it was that I didn’t like about California. I finally figured it out. No one had any family out there. And everyone I met was from somewhere else in the U.S. I think that’s why my sister and sister-in-law always try to entice us to move there. They have no family there.

When I lived in California, 1978-1981, No one I knew had family there. I went to a few parties and no had any family members present. They were from somewhere else and they moved there on their own. Most people moved because they like the moderate weather. Me? I liked the weather, too, but I had no complaints about the hot Chicago summers or the freezing cold Chicago winters. I was fully acclimated to living in Chicago.

Thinking back, what I really loved about Chicago was the fact that we are so family oriented. In high school, I would visit my friends and I would get to meet some, if not all, of their family. Totally different from California. I like going to downtown Chicago hearing someone from my past calling my name. If I go to a party, many times I will meet friends and maybe their parents or even grandparents. I like being surrounded by people I know even I don’t see them often.

I think that’s why I felt like I didn’t belong in California. No one really had a long-established connection there. Maybe I’m just too parochial. So when I go to California, I go visit the people I know there. I go to a party or two, but there is only one generation of each guest. No one has family roots there. At least, not the people I meet there.

After all these years, I realize that I feel right at home in Chicago!

DDR