Tales of the South Side - 'Hear Me Roar!' I Did and Called Out for More

"The first problem for all of us, men and women, is not to learn, but to unlearn." —Gloria Steinem


Caitlin Nolan-Kane called her husband Charlie F. Kane at work.

Charlie Works for Com Ed.

Charlie went to trade school, while Caitlin, his honey-haired sweeties went to De Paul Law School and they married after Caitlin passed the last of more than a couple of bar exams. Caitlin had credentials and Charlie had solid reputation as an electrician and solid citizen.

Charlie was in a cherry-picker basket high above an alley in West Beverly over by the Bank on 103rd & Western.

Caitlin Nolan-Kane was struggling with a problem at her dining room table.

The couple had been married for the better part of year and Caitlin was unsure whether or not she should be stay-at-home Mom, or a Cook County Judge.

Caitlin had passed the Illinois Bar Exam on the third go-around just before she married Charlie.

Caitlin's stay-at-home Mom issue was one of what might be, as she and Kane had no children. The odds were better of Caitlin becoming a Cook County Judge. Charlie put in a great deal of overtime.

The electricians cell phone rang repeatedly, because he was rather busy and he ignored doing anything unrelated to the task at hand. Caitlin was persistent.


The frustrated and perplexed young woman asked Charlie Kane, " Why didn't you answer?"

" I'm up in the basket, Sweetie," answered the devoted spouse and tradesman.

"Can you help me when you get home?"

"Sure," he replies. "What's the problem?"


"Well, I started a really hard puzzle and I can't even find the edge pieces."

"Look on the box," Charlie said. "There's always a picture of what the puzzle is."


"It's a big rooster," she said.

"I'll be home at 5, or 5:30, Babe."

"Don't stop with guys at Keegan's, Honey. I really want to finish this."

"I'll be right home once I get the truck back, Love. Try and relax. Do something else until I get home."

As good as his word, the forthright Charlie Kane put the Tahoe in the garage of their sweet home on Talman near Kean Gas. He removed his work boots and went straight to the dining romm table and surveyed the problem that confronted his pretty wife.

Having repaired rainbows of wires and circuits and conduits tangled and fouled and kinked in Gordian knots the electrician immediately assessed the problem, "Okay, put the corn flakes back in the box."

"Oh, My God! I took out the wrong box."

" These things happen."

Tales of the South Side - Police Officer George Newell and the Temptations

The "Classic 5" lineup of The Temptations: David Ruffin (bottom left), Melvin Franklin (top left), Paul Williams (top right), Otis Williams (bottom right), and Eddie Kendricks (center) circa 1965.

Chicago Police Officer George Newell* is a man of parts - husband & father, public safety professional, Leo Alumnus and civic minded neighbor.

I did not know until last night that George also drinks deeply from the Pierian Spring.

"You have two books out, Hickey."

Indeed, and read by tens of people.

" I wrote a study of the Temptations, the Temptin' Ts. This woman from a publishing house in New York liked my proposal and I submitted the manuscript: six hundred pages with notes and photos."

Hey, that's wonderful George. You are among the Leo Literary Lions, Dr. Lawrence McCaffery of Loyola authored many books on Irish history, Paul Somers is the author of the history of Lake Michigan Aircraft Carriers of WWII, Dr. Jack O'Keefe has published two best-selling novels and former Fire Commissioner Jim Joyce has a book about life on 79th Street in publication. You are standing in tall company with your brother Lions.

" There's a problem."

There always is in bringing any book to full-term, George.

" The publisher has a problem with my book. I love The Temptations!"

Who could not?

" I concentrated on the early years of the group. I tried to make a case for the cause of the many splits and personnel changes in the group, substance abuse, creative shifts in the R & B genre, the clash of ego, the train wreck of celebrity, the racism in the recoding industry."

All good topics of focus. What was the problem? Were they looking for a substantial treatment on some other point of discussion?

" No, they liked where I took the ideas fine."

Were there problems with point of view?

" No. not at all."

Was there a problem with your format?

"No, I handled that well - one-inch margins on all sides;double-space;courier or new courier font; no smaller than twelve-pitch; no more than 26 lines per page all that was fine."

What did they tell you was the problem?

"It was just my Pagination . . . running away with me!"

Uh,huh.

I continue to be a Ball of Confusion, much like the world today, Hey. Hey.

The hook slipped nicely into my gills; set with authority. George boated another fine bass-hole.

In the sobering words of the Dublin prose genius, Flann O'Brien, " out such events weaves the pattern of what I am pleased to call my life."


*

Newell, 45, of Morgan Park, has lived in the 19th Ward for 15 years with his wife and son, who attends Morgan Park High School. He grew up at 95th and Sangamon streets and attended St. Margaret of Scotland Elementary School and Leo High School. He has been an officer for 20 years, including the last nine with the 22nd District. He currently works as a school resource officer at Percy L. Julian High School.

19th Ward.com

Mossy Harrington Explains the G-8/Nato Summits

For the life of me, I can not understand the benefit of, much less the logic behind, Chicago's hosting both the G-8 and the NATO summits in this our international city by the Lake.

Everything is hush, hush, or back pedaling, be it funding the event, or controlling the fruitcakes.

Fortunately, I spoke with City Hall legend - go-fer and counsel - Maurice "Mossy" Harrington. Mossy was born in BallyMcElligott where he was a handball champion mistaken for Mossy Horrington who informed on IRA men in the 1940's. Mossy Harrington could not convince local Republicans that his visit to Manchester, GB had been to play handball and not warn British Intelligence of a bombing on the docks at Liverpool.

By the time that Mossy's innocence was verified by the 'RA universal, he had already buggered off to Canada and illegally crossed into the States arriving quietly in Chicago. When the smoke cleared on his character, Mossy plunged into a most active role in all things Chicago and sundry. Mossy never chewed his cabbage twice, nor needed to do so.

Mossy went to work for the Old 18th Ward and eventually secured a job as an elevator starter in City Hall. His ability to offer no opinion on anything led to a job in the Mayor's Office making himself indispensable to Mayors Byrne, Washington, Orr, Sawyer, and Richard M . . . himself.

I ran into Mossy at 6:45 AM Communion service at St Cajetan this past Monday morning.

I asked if he was enjoying the January weather. " Can't say. Won't say,so. 'Tis fine now, I suppose. . . . not that it won't turn sour given half the chance, so."

I asked if he watched the Patriots beat Denver, " I might have at that. I might have at that. Then again, I might have watched roller derby. Great sport that."

Warming to such rock-sold considerations on matter mundane I ventured further, "Mr. Harrington what do you think is behind the need to host teh G-8/Nato Summits here in Chicago."

" The truth is it? Like your man who sold his brother for a pipeful of 'baccy, I know a bit from the Hall."

Mossy offered the most conspiratorial raising of his wildly thick gray white eyebrows, which matched nicely with his tufts of equally thick nostril and ear coiffs, " I'll say this, though Pat, and not a word to another. so; and, here's the long and short of it - Mossy held forth

Well, now! There was one time a Frenchman below, who got married here and settled down and worked with the rest of us. One day we were outside in the trawler, and there was a French boat anchored a bit of a way off. "Come on," says Charley--that was his name--"and see can we get some brandy from that boat beyond." "How would we get brandy," says I, "when we've no fish, or meat, or cabbages or a thing at all to offer them?" He went down below then to see what he could get. At that time there were four men only working the trawler, and in the heavy season there were eight. Well, up he comes again and eight plates under his arm. "There are eight plates," says he, "and four will do us; so we'll take out the other four and make a swap with them for brandy." With that he set the eight plates on the deck and began walking up and down and looking on them.

'"The devil mend you," says I. "Will you take them up and come on, if you're coming?"

'"I will," says he, "surely. I'm choicing out the ones that have pictures on them, for it's that kind they do set store on?"'

Afterwards we began talking of boats that had been upset during the winter, and lives that had been lost in the neighbourhood.

'A while since,' said the local man, 'there were three men out in a canoe, and the sea rose on them. They tried to come in under the cliff but they couldn't come to land with the greatness of the waves that were breaking. There were two young men in the canoe, and another man was sixty, or near it. When the young men saw they couldn't bring in the canoe, they said they'd make a jump for the rocks, and let her go without them, if she must go. Then they pulled in on the next wave, and when they were close in the two young men jumped on to a rock, but the old man was too stiff, and he was washed back again in the canoe. It came on dark after that, and all thought he was drowned, and they held his wake in Dunquin. At that time there used to be a steamer going in and out trading in Valentia and Dingle and Cahirciveen, and when she came into Dingle, two or three days after, there was my man on board her, as hearty as a salmon. When he was washed back he got one of the oars, and kept her head to the wind; then the tide took him one bit and the wind took him another, and he wrought and he wrought till he was safe beyond in Valentia. Wasn't that a great wonder?' Then as he was ending his story we ran down into Dingle.

" Do you see, now, Pat?"

Like Stevie Wonder, Mr. Harrington.

"Good man yourself, Pat; Fodhlí Dea agus sábháilte sa bhaile."

Back at you, Mossy!

apologies to J.M. Synge

Space, Time and Material + Earnest Effort - Forethought = An Existential Conundrum

Immediately, prior to this, the very last contract for the now defunct Two Guys Epimethean* Cement Finishing and Pavement Solutions, Roy, the assistant and junior partner, found a beautifully framed mirror lying on the street. Roy carried the mirror over to his boss Clyde, " Hey, I know this guy!"

Clyde, grimmaced while also peering into the reflected image and condescended to note, " Of course you know him, moron, it's me! Now, let's get these barriers posted. They won't get in by themselves."

"Lots of folks confuse bad management with destiny." Eddie Carrol, Roofing Contractor, Philsopher and Boulevadrier


*

The names for the four temperaments are unrelated to the humors, but go back to Nietzsche's use of Apollonian and Dionysian and to a similar appropriation from Greek mythology, Promethean ("Forethought") and Epimethean ("Afterthought"). The Epimethean does seem to be the most conservative of the temperaments. While Nietzsche would see the Apollonian as the most aesthetic, its possible asceticism now contrasts with a hedonistic or a rationalistic aestheticism with the Dionysian or the Promethean, respectively. Again, the details of this may be found in the Keirsey & Bates' book.

Moral Certainties at Keegan's Pub 11/26/2011

Retinopathy means "sick retina" and it is among the most terrifying of diabetic complications. What happens in retinopathy is that, with continual exposure to high blood sugars, tiny blood vessels start to grow in a disordered and out of control fashion in the retina--the part of the eye where nerves transmit light images to the brain.

After years of drinking and consuming every sugary substance on the cart, Red Edison went blind from diabetes. Red had been a steam-fitter with Cook County and worked at the Audy Home, until his retirement.

Red was a regular at Keegan's Pub -Club K- on south Western Ave. until last year when he went blind from the diabetes. In the mean time Red had undergone therapy and partnered with a beautiful German Shepherd guide dog - Fritz.

On Sunday, just befor ethe kick-off of Caleb's first NFL start as Bears QB, Red and Fritz wanderered into Keegan's where four big lads from Northern Ireland quietly quaffed pints of Magner's Cider and various foreign and domestic lagers. The bartender, a man from Belfast recently laid off as a carpenter, helped the blind gent to a stool near the door.

" Hi, Bernard!" shouted the tall red-headed sixty-eight year old pensioner who was disapponted to learn that not only was Bernard not on duty, but that his boon chums of days gone by had removed themselves not only from Club K but terra firma.

A powerful County Down voice answered the blind man, "S'all Leds fra' AnTRUM, ARM-ah en FurMAhna en Her." (trans. There are a quartet if young men from Counties Antrim, Armagh and Fermanagh Northern Ireland in this establishment).

"Can you say that in English?"

"Ull Nar-thurn Eye-Rush Leds. (trans. Gentlemen all from Six Counties under the Rule of Perfidious Albion)"

" Wanna hear a great joke about you Donkeys from Far Down?"

The cordial atmosphere thickened into a slushy and chilly silence. The bartender admonished, Red.

" LessUn,Mayt. Um Sex Fute Fife. Kee-Run's Sex Tree, Tummy's uh Beg Led unna Way't Lufter, Dermut's Uh ExtreeUM' Kuck Buxer, and Deck-Lun's wunted fer hes beyun wid th' 'RA." ( Be careful, my friend. I am 6'5" tall, Cian is 6" 3", Tommy lifts weights, Dermot is an Extreme Kick-Boxer and Declan is a rebel on the run.)
Yuh, Stuhl Wanna, Tull Yer Jok', Fulla?"

" Not if I have to explain the damn thing five times. An Orange juice with a straw, my Good man! Don't pet the dog , Kid; he'll piss all over your leg."

The Bears lost to Oakland, because Caleb failed to spike the ball within the parameters of time and good sense.

Tales of the South Side: Bubs Murtaugh Goes to Mission

Bubs Murtaugh had issues, as do we all, I know. Murtaugh's issues were legion. Bubs came from what was known back in the day as Scottsdale Area, after the Shopping Center with the Goldblatt's at 79th between Pulaski and Cicero.

As my legion of reader will recall, Bubs Murtaugh lived near Durkin Park in St. Bede the Venerable Parish, played football for Tom Cavanagh at St. Laurence High School in Burbank, got a full ride for football to St. Procopius College ( now Illinois Benedictine University) in Lisle, IL, guzzled Schlitz Tall Boys and reefer-ed his way out of that, got a job with Streets and San and lived with his Mom and Dad. N.B. - click my post title for more earnest and poignant yarns of this sort.

Bubs Mutaugh survived his parents and a savage lust affair with a babe - a busty graduate of Emeryk Zajack's Bartender Academy on Archer in Garfield Ridge and who worked intermittently at the Swap-a-Rama in Alsip. He had title to raised ranch of his parents in St. Bede's and kept up with the growing property taxes and the devaluation of the home and property. He was laid off his work on the trucks by the City and pensioned up. He had nothing but time and some cash to kill.

Taxes were not anywhere near the Centurion's in Murtaugh's Problematic Legion. His boozing and frequent brawls earned him a universal invitation to take his business to establishments east of Cicero, and then Pulaski, and nowhere between 111th & 63rd Streets. Bubs Murtaugh's welcome was as worn as the foreskin on an uncircumcised dry-humper locked in a porn shop. He was losing his teeth due to poor dental hygiene and pops in the choppers and was now at age 59 a poster child for dental implants.

When he and his paramour parted company for keeps, Bubs took stock. He still liked his cocktails, but he wanted a change in his life, but, like St. Augustine, not quite yet.

Bubs Murtaugh went on a toot in Blue Island, Il that became the stuff of legend. Bubs boozed , befriended, borrowed from, betrayed, beat up, and was beat down, by nearly every carbon footprint on New Western Ave. and Old Western Ave. between 119th Street to the north to across the tracks on Western to the trailer park on the other side of Our Lady of Sorrows.

When not closing or awaiting the opening of a joint, Bubs Murtaugh caught a few dreamless winks in bars at closing time, or on the CTA. It was an Odyssey fueled and sailed upon the amber waters provided by the good folks of the Miller Brewing Company.

One night,incidit in scyllam cupiens vitare charybdim*, or between Vincennces and Vermont Street, the sea-monsters and whirlpool of pilsner got the best of the booze blind Bubs. His sense of awareness returned in the lock up of the Blue Island police station at 13031 Greenwood Avenue. He was taken to Markham Courthouse and charged with robbery.

Bubs was in a genuine jackpot. Blacked out he had robbed a young couple of $ 45 and a take-out meal from Restaurante Tenochtitlan (Desayuno Tenochtitlan... $9.50: Steak topped with 2 eggs and a Choice of Salsa(red,green or chipotle),Served with Rice,de la Olla Beans,One Grilled Jalapeno Pepper and Tortillas)and was transported to Cook County Jail.

His cousin from his Mom's side received the plaintive phone-coded message and bonded Bubs out three days later. His court date was thirty-days in his immediate future.

The man dried out. He paced his basement, watched his Boxed Set DVD Collector's edition of the great Matt Helm Series because the cable was shut off, slept fitfully and prayed. On floor of his living room under the front door's mail slot were piles of bills, ComEd and People's Gas red cards notifying him of impending utilities terminations and gorgeously painted presented cardboard notice of a mission given by a Capuchin who had the power of healing. Father Payton Hester ,O.F.M. Cap., at St. Bede's. Bubs could stand a miracle. Bubs stepped in and was prepared to step-up!

Th young and muscular Capuchin said, "Anyone with 'special needs" who wants to be prayed over, please come forward to the front by the altar."

With that, Bubs got in line, and when it was his turn, the smiling scion of Fra Matteo Bassi 1495-1552 - founder of the Capuchins wlecomed Bubs. The smiling Preacher asked, "My son, what do you want me to pray to Our Lord and the Virgin Mary about for you?"

Bubs replied, "Father, I need you to pray for help with my hearing."

The brown cowled friar put one finger of one hand in Bubs's ear, placed his other hand on top of Murtaugh's head, and then prayed and prayed and prayed. He prayed a "blue streak" for Bubs Murtaugh, and the packed pews of St. Bede's joined in with great enthusiasm.

After a few minutes of enchanting and uplifting quiet, Father Payton Hester, OFM, Cap. removed his hands, stood back and loudly and angelically asked, " Bub's Murtaugh, how is your hearing now?"

Bubs answered, " I don't know. It ain't 'til next Thursday."

Ita fit verum et fertur

Hat tip to Max Weismann of the Center for Great Ideas

*Scylla and Charybdis
Ulysses had been warned by Circe of the two monsters Scylla and Charybdis. Also can be meant as 'between a rock and hard-ass.'

How Many? Q & A in the Parishes

Q. How many guys, what had jobs with the city, but don't any more and still know some guys that are heavier than whale poop, does it take to screw in a light bulb?


A. I dunno exactly, but my brother's girlfriend's father's boss's secretary's sister's next-door neighbors' priest's cousin's union shop steward's uncle's Knights Of Columbus, over by Father Perez, Sergeant-of-Arms's nephew's best friend did it real cheap for me once. You didn't hear it from me - Shakman and all. Call the guy, but on the quiet. Who's Marist got this week?

Tales of the South Side - The Truth Will Always Out; Loud Mouthed Nosey Bastard!

Mossy Enright had been drinking at Keegan's Pub from bell to bell. Dark-haired Bridget finally said that the bar is closing, "Mossy, come up for air. Time to call it a day.' So the sixty-three Vietnam Vet stood up to leave and fell flat on his face. Mossy tried to stand one more time; same result. Bridget the bartender pleaded, "Mossy let me take you home, or call you a cab."

"Tut, BurrRidge-it. I make . . . my own way, Charlie never called me a cab in Quang Tri. Thanks Hunny.Showa Vet some Respect, Kiddo."

Mossy figured he'd crawl outside and get some fresh air and maybe that will sober him up. Once outside, he stood up and fell on his face again. Short trip home - no sweat. Mount Carmel football was tougher than this.

Mossy(which is Irish for Maurice) Enright had been in tougher situations and so the much decorated grunt decided to crawl the four blocks home. When he arrived at the door. he stood up and fell flat on his face. He crawled through the door and into his bedroom. When he reached his bed. he tried one more time to stand up. This time Mossy managed to pull himself upright, but he quickly fell right into the bed and went sound asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. The REM cycle blew a flat.

Mossy was awakened the next morning to his high school sweet-heart Annie, the Flower of Longwood Academy 1967 who married Mossy before he went to 'Nam and welcomed him home and helped him adjust, finish at De Paul with an accounting degree, father kids, work up the ladder of the biggest firm in Chicago and live for decades in West Beverly's St. John Fisher Parish and retire comfortably. Annie was standing over him, shouting, "SO YOU'VE BEEN DRINKING AGAIN!"

"Jesus, Annie, I ain't deaf."


Putting on an innocent look, and intent on bluffing it out he said, "What makes you say that?"

"Bernard just called from Keegans; you left your wheelchair there again!"

In This Summer Swelter, Consider the Cognomen Carmen at Keegan's Pub

Chicagoland and most of the continental United States is under a dome of heat and humidity, not experienced since 1999.

"It's a two-footer," my Old Pappy used to say, because on nights like these urban Chicagoans of yore would often post their feet on the window-sills and catch a cooling gangway breeze. The more fortunate south siders along Garfield Boulvard might pack up all the kids and sleep in the grass for miles along the tree shaded parkway - folks from Visitation and St. Basil's parishes between Wentworth to Western Avenues.

Did I mention that it is a trifle warm? Early this AM, as I wandered in search of a 20 oz. coffee, I passed several Georgians, bungalows and raised ranches with lawns sporting a sign for Carroll Roofing. Eddie Carroll is Carroll Roofing and a finer man never hitched up his strides in the pride of knowing that he remains not only a craftsman of Old World quality, but a roué of Old World manners and sensibilities to charm the affections of women - 16 to 60, blind, crippled or crazy. That last is much, too much a heavily layered jape. Suffice it say, Eddie Carroll is the Morgan Park Maurice Chevalier. Thank Heaven for little, mid-sized and Botticellian proportioned Girls!


Recently while quaffing a pint of iced soda water and lime with my pugish nose tucked into the leafs of Rilke's prose collection Die Aufzeichnungen des Malte Laurids Brigge, my peripheral gaze caught the sight of the affable contractor, Eddie Carroll himself, saunter through the black doors of Keegan's Pub ( 10618 S. Western Ave.)and amiably call for a round on him. Another soda water for me and some pink concoction for the young woman sitting on the North ( Protestant) side of the bar beneath the poster of Irish balladeer Christy Moore. She was the sunny side of forty and fetching in a summer weight frock with Auburn tresses that adorned the thick athletic whiteness of breasts that betoken the bounty that is woman.

Eddie Carroll immediately noticed this young lady at the bar on her own. After requisite cooling swallows of malted grain beverage, he decided to offer her another drink and make the afternoon light with small talk and the broad promise of mutual affection.

"What's your name?" Eddie aked after opening gallantries regarding her habiliments and the tautness of her frame.

"Carmen Needham," she replied.

"That's a lovely and operatic name," he said. "Did your mother or father name you for Georges Bizet's tragic gypsy who scornfully tosses the ring Jose gave her only to take his blade -Cette bague, autrefois? I absolutely live for dance and the Dionyisian spark of music! Did mother and Dada so name you?"

"Neither parent was responsible," she said. "I changed my name when I was 18 from Sharon to Carmen."

"Odd that -As Sharon betokens the the fertile plain of Israel, why did you do that? " he asked.

"Well," she explained, "I like men and I like cars, so that is how I got my name. What's your name?"

"Mr. Beertits Quickly," the affable contractor replied.

I thanked Eddie for the bonus cocktail and returned to Rilke.

Is it warm. or is it me?

*

Carroll Roofing & Construction
Carroll Roofing & Construction
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10912 S Western Ave
Chicago, IL 60643

(773) 445-5756

The Bottled Voyage of Morgan Keaty, CPA (ret.)

But at the corner I stopped to take my last look at the crew of the Narcissus. They were swaying irresolute and noisy on the broad flagstones before the Mint. They were bound for the Black Horse, where men, in fur caps with brutal faces and in shirt sleeves, dispense out of varnished barrels the illusions of strength, mirth, happiness; the illusion of splendour and poetry of life, to the paid-off crews of southern-going ships. From afar I saw them discoursing, with jovial eyes and clumsy gestures, while the sea of life thundered into their ears ceaseless and unheeded. And swaying about there on the white stones, surrounded by the hurry and clamour of men, they appeared to be creatures of another kind—lost, alone, forgetful, and doomed; they were like castaways, like reckless and joyous castaways, like mad castaways making merry in the storm and upon an insecure ledge of a treacherous rock.

Joseph Conrad


Morgan Keaty retired as an accountant in 1999, after thirty five years with the City of Chicago. Morgan spent his days puttering around the classic Chicago bungalow at 106th & Claremont in Beverly that he purchased in 1965 for $35,000. Morgan and the beautiful Grace Keaty (nee Walsh) raised four daughters in that warm and lovely home.
The nest had been empty for some time, save the monthly family feasts following a Sunday Mass at St.Barnabas. Morgan and Grace delighted in their grandchildren and lavished love on the little ones.

Morgan also built ships in a bottle. He had a collection of over forty frigates, corvettes, galleons,clippers, timarans, barquentines, dhows and dinghys of all sizes and shapes on the mantles, tables, sideboards and in cases, curios and even the buffet. Grace boxed away many of the nautical themed ewers, at first with bridal good humor and eventually the direct and commanding efficiency of a Xanthippe.

The dignified accountant's virtues became grayed and dusty with his active manipulation of sails, mizzens, booms, gunwales, and poop decks. " Why don't you give the shipyard a rest, Morgie, there's no more space! For the love of God walk up to Keegans and have a beer with the Murphy Brothers like a retired gent had ought."

With as much dignity as he could muster the septuagenarian shipwright, put down his tweezers and cleared the hobby desk of tools and turned out the magnified light. He put on a windbreaker, grabbed six twenties from the top dresser drawer, kissed Grace on both cheeks and wandered west of 60643 to 60655 and at 6:37 PM into Keegan's Pub at 10618 S. Western.

In the warmth and welcome of this neighborhood watering hole Morgan reacquainted with friends of his youth and young manhood. He quaffed cool pints of Smithwick's and learned of grandchildren, games and God Awful villainies.

At 1:45 AM, the young bartender Joe announced last call and Morgan accepted. It was time to go and Morgan's sails were full!

Young Joe walked Morgan Keaty to the corner traffic light on 107th at Western and pointed the saturated gentlemen eastward. " Make a left on Claremont, Mr. Keaty, safe home!"

With careful gait, the shipman numbers cruncher, father of four, Catholic Forester, KC 3rd Degree, and pensioner navigated the stormy sidewalks and gamely grabbed the the nearest arboreal capstan to keep him aboard his concrete deck and out of a pitching sea of grass. The decks awash with briny foam? Well, yes they were. In this passage from hobbyist to aleman, Morgan Keaty had swallowed the brewers bounty and clung to the parkway trees as his ship of state seemed destined for Davy Jones' Locker.

A pattern of Blue and White light signalled the arrival of rescue.

" Hey, Dad, you have a load on," said the handsome African American blue-coat who appeared before the the befogged eyes of Morgan like James Wait aboard the goodship Narcissus of Conrad's novel The Children of the Sea: A Tale of the Forecastle, now bowdlerized for political correctness.

Human concern is Conrad's theme and Officer Newell helped the aging hobbyist to unburden himself of the tree. Officer George Newell of the 22nd District ( Morgan Park) asked of the besotted sailor, " Hey, where he are you going at this time of night?"

Morgan Keaty cleared his cobwebs and replied,"“I am going to a lecture about alcohol
abuse and the effects it has on the human body”.

Officer Newell then asked,“Really? Who is giving that lecture at this time of night?”

Morgan replied, “My wife Grace and it will be a dandy.”

Rescued from the storms on the sidewalk Officer Newell piloted Morgan Keaty in the safe harbor of Hurricane Grace.

Morgan Keaty is in drydock.


Huge Hat tip to Mike McQuade of California!

Aloysius "Turk" McArdle gets His Last DUI

Aloysius "Turk" McArdle is a tough guy who takes back-sass from no one. However, . . . South bound Dan Ryan at 87th Street . . .

A Chicago cop pulls over McArdle's speeding car. The officer says,' I clocked you at 80 miles per hour, sir.'

The McArdle says, 'Gee, officer, I had it on cruise control at 60; perhaps your radar gun needs calibrating. '

Not looking up from her knitting McArdle's wife says: 'Now don't be silly, dear -- you know that this car doesn't have cruise control.'

As the young officer writes out the ticket, the Turk looks over at his wife and growls,
'Can't you please keep your mouth shut for once !!?'

The patient and devout Gert McArdle smiles demurely and says, 'Well dear you should be thankful your radardetector went off when it did or your speed would have been higher.'

As the Esposa Simpatico Officer makes out the second ticket for the illegal radar detector unit, Turk, a former Catholic League third string lineman, glowers at his wife and says through clenched teeth, 'Woman, can't you keep your mouth shut?'

The Officer Martinez frowns and says, 'And I notice that you're not wearing your seat belt, sir. That's an automatic $75 fine.'

McArdle says, 'Yeah, well, you see, officer, I had it on, but I took it off when you pulled me over so that I could get my license out of my back pocket.'

The long-suffering and pious Gert says, 'Now, dear, you know very well that you didn't have your seat belt on. You never wear your seat belt when you're driving.'

As Officer Martinez is writing out the third ticket, the driver turns to his wife and barks, 'WHY DON'T YOU PLEASE SHUT UP??'

The officer looks over at the woman and asks, 'Does your husband always talk to you this way, Ma'am?'

Gert smiled pertly, 'Only when he's been drinking.!!'

Huge Hat Tip to Iron Mike McQuade, Veteran and Patriot!

Ed Vrdolyak First to Kick In for Kordas! Get Your Kick In Counted on Sunday, Sept. 27 at Bourbon Street

What: Kick in 4 Kordas

When: 2 to 7 p.m. Sunday

Where: 115 Bourbon Street, 3359 W. 115th St., Merrionette Park.

Cost: $30

Information: Tom Kordas (773) 330-8224 or www.kickin4kordas.com.

I love the south side of Chicago. The very best in human instincts towers above the nonsense, agendas, snobbery, self-interests, disinterested morality and ethics and societal narcissism. I am sure many other communities boast fine human qualities and, empirically speaking, I have experienced similar qualities in other towns and states. However, the close-knit ethnic ( read Catholic), tribal, fiercely loyal southside of Chicago nurtures the very impulses that sparked Chicago's 'do-gooder' imitations - Settlement Houses/Community Organizing/Social Services & etc.

Jane Addams took and imitated the work of the Daughters of Charity's work with the poor and homeless more than she did from the Malthusian Settlement Houses of England.
She also took more from Ward-healer bosses, like Ald. Johnny Power than from radical Progressives.

At this morning's Salon at Kean Gas on 111th & Talman I talked with Tommy Kordas who lost his sister-in-law, Sue to cancer just weeks ago. His brother Pat is a Chicago Fireman and the single-Dad of three lovely girls and a teenage boy. I know the drill. I have been twelve years a widower and my kids are still home with me.

When a south side neighborhood loses a beautiful person to disease or disaster, the tribes band together and kick-in to help the bereaved. My family and friends overwhelmed me with their love and showers of support. When Mary died of brain cancer, the Kordas/McPolin Family swarmed in to help.

Sunday, every family and friend within driving, walking and in some very touching cases carrying distance of Bourbon Street will thicken traffic and bedevil the laws of physics to get into that venue in support of the Kordas Family.

While gulping dark roast with the intellects and Worthies of Kean Salon, Tom Kordas spoke of the first guy in line at Sue Kordas's wake - former Alderman Edward Vrdolyak. Public people tend to make a great show of arrival at wakes and generally have coat-holders pop-in early to set the buzz. Mr. Vrdolyak's early arrival is indicative of a genuine courtesy that too often evades elected and appointed personalities. On the south side, kids are taught that it is better to be a 'person than a personality' and kids learn by the example set by gentlemen like Ed Vrdolyak. Tommy Kordas told me, "Eddie V. and his son stood in the parking lot until all the family had gotten in and waited to offer his condolences, but later I got a call."

You see Ed Vrdolyak is not a WTTW Type and though a political antagonist of many of the Irish pols in my neighborhood is nevertheless one of us. You see, Joyces and Sheahans also take the trip to Hegewisch for such sad matters as well. After all politics is blood sport -life is and doing good at the most radical of levels is what is important.

The call sent Tom Kordas to 35th Street near Sox Park and to a sports memorabilia store to pick 'autographed photos and jerseys.' Gayle Sayers hand picked many of the items. These items are worth thousands of dollars and will be available as part of the silent auction and raffle prizes. Tom said he went with a check to purchase the items with seed money, but was told 'It is all taken care of.'

Ed Vrdolyak lives over in Hegewisch, which requires that a St. Cajetan resident get on the Ryan at 111th, drive north to I-94 take the Bishop Ford to 130th East to Burnham Ave. along the South Shore to & etc. In short, while Ed Vrdolyak and his family live on the south side, to be sure, they live a hell of long way from the Irish Riviera of Morgan Park/Beverly.

The Croatians, Serbs, Mexicans, Poles, Lithuanians and African Americans of the east-south side have the same culture of support as the Mick-thick Morgan Park/Beverly/Mount Greenwood and Evergreen Park folks.

They are not very Progressive politically - they are wonderful.

Get over to Bourbon Street tomorrow, drop a minimum of Thirty Bucks - eat and drink comes with your kick-in -but otherwise enrich yourself through association with the best people on earth.

Click my post title for Rob Rakow's touching Daily Southtown ( Southtown Star) feature on the Sue Kordas Benefit.

Tales of the South Side - Bubs Murtaugh's Shrimp Snack

"Hey, Hickey! What's going on there, son? I hear you been hitting the 8:30 Masses with the roll-outs from Wrong's Tap*. Last time I was in that bucket o' blood was after Janey graduated from Queen of Peace. I was in there with three guys from the Assessor's Office and was still handcuffed to Mr. Booze. Twenty years. I miss it not. Saw your cousin Willie at that benefit for the Madden kid that got hit on his bike over by Monroe Park. Tommy, the fourth grader at St. John Fisher - he's Okay but he has to wear that Halo Gizmo for his neck. Willie's boy is in Paraguay with the Peace Corps, I hear . . ."

Mass on Sunday, coffee salons at Kean Gas Station on 111th, grocery stops at County Fair on Western Ave, Kennedy Park softball, and Mount Greenwood Hardware trips invariably get sauced by piquant tales that eventually and satisfyingly meander to a point. Yesterday, at 10:30 Mass on the Feast of the Ascension provided this yarn from a former Cook County insider, Vietnam War hero, member of AA, and practitioner of the dying art of south side giggle weaving. Allow me to pick up the thread. I merely punctuated the yarn with nods of assent or stutters of laughter; therefore, this should be taken as a soliloquy.

". . . Big Boy. Hell, of a football player and I can not understand why he did not get a ride somewhere, but his brain works OK, I guess. I'll bet the CIA or NSA is grooming the kid to be spook. True. That's why all the spooks doing the spy stuff seem to come from the Peace Corps. Didn't know the kid had Spanish. Like I was saying, the last time I was in Wrong's Tap was twenty-five, or thirty years ago. Remember Bubs Murtaugh? Murtaugh with U. He was a few years older than me, when you and Willie and Terry played Irish tunes in Sons of Reilly's Daughter at Boz's joint? Bubs went to St. Lawrence and played with Neusback. He was from St. Dennis Parish and lived near the tracks on 83rd and the Southwest Highway.

Bubs got full ride to St. Procopius, well it was St. Procopius and it's now Benedictine out in Lisle. He was an animal; started boozing in 5th Grade and sniffing Bell's Cleaning Fluid. His Old Man threatened to send him back to the Old Country and work the farm and shit. Bub's finally got tossed in his senior year at Proco and his Dad got him on Streets and San. Old Man Murtaugh was a Raw Jaw from Mayo, who had some drag with Jackie Daley and Kellam when he was alderman in the 18th.

Bubs was a good earner for the Ward and got a job after a few years in Finley's Office, just when all that money grabbing crap hit the papers. Bubs had only been on the job for year or so and G had eyes on him and three others and it looked like he might get tagged and have to sit for a few semesters up in Club Fed, Wisconsin. We went out to forget his troubles and Bubs marinated his brain, along with the rest of us Mike Quinlan, Traffic Cosgrove, Bubs and me.

We're at Wrongs after closing Touch of Green and Chez Joey and I got polio of the brain from the pitchers and the Happy Cossack shooters, so Mike Quinlan takes me home . . .I think. Quinlan could have taken me back to my old house in Visitation and I would of woke up to breakfast with the Washington family, but he was not yet the mean bastard that he is today. Quinlan goes back to Wrong's, after slowing down to thirty and dumping me on the lawn and Bubs is blubbering to Traffic and Q-Dog, like a fat girl not going to prom.

'I ain't took a dime! I woulda. . . but them tight, fixed bastards that is . . . never gave me chance a the gelt and, now, my Old Man is pissed at me for killing a good job and I told him I DIDN'T DO NOTHING!' And on and on, I guess, . . .like I said, I'm at home sleeping in my clothes on the basement couch and awaiting the for-sure execution from Marnie, when she sees the cut of me in the morning.

Now, Bubs has been named on TV by Ron Magers and his name was even mentioned in Royko and he's a public figure now. He's an innocent, drunk lard-assed public figure. A giant sized Victim and Patsy all set for the shafting to come.

So Bubs, a practiced Drunk Driver, who has taken out more than several sections from the fence that eats cars on 111th over by Mount Olivet, gets in his Pontiac and listens to the little wizard in the brain control tower telling him it's a great idea to go buy a dozen shrimp and off he goes to the Calumet Shrimp Shack on 95th & Chicago Ave**. by the bridge on the Harbor.

The Angel F#$%ing Gabriel takes the wheel for Bubs and drives the Ponty over east without killing anyone.

Bubs and the Guardian angel drive the shrimp back, somehow, back to the neighborhood to dine je suis ivre behind the steering wheel and Bubs shoves the greasy catfish bait loaded with coctail sauce into his hole and tosses the sauce heaped tails!

Now, Bubs has gallons of Old Syle, about a pint of vodka shooters and a good pound and change of sauce-soaked shrimps packed into him and he goes 'night-night' with his giant buffalo head on the driver's side window.

'OH SWEET MERCIFUL MOTHER! He's BLOWN HIS BRAINS OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

There's about ten neighbors and his Old Man yanking Bubs out of the drivers seat.

It's Daylight and Mrs. Higgins was walking her dog Chappie over to the tracks on Southwest Highway for his morning constitutional and sees Bubs' Giant Head covered in red! With Red smeared all over the driver's window, because Bubs never opened the window while tossing his shrimp tails! There's cocktail sauce all over the window and bits of shrimp! They thought Bubs pulled the Dutch Act because of the spotlight on him!'

Never, was charged. His Old Man beat the living shit out him for the scare he tossed into him, and he had a hangover that would kill a Polish girl. Bubs retired two years ago and still lives in his folks' house over in St. Bede's near Durkin Park.

Yeah, I stay out of Wrongs Tap. How's your kids, Hickey?'

* Click my post title for Wrong's Tap

**
http://www.centerstagechicago.com/restaurants/calumet-fisheries.html