A Wistful Few Moments With Marge - The First Girl in My Parish to Read The Female Eunuch

“Men are the enemy in much the same way that some crazed boy in uniform was the enemy of another like him in most respects except the uniform. One possible tactic is to try to get the uniforms off.”
― Germaine Greer, The Female Eunuch

In October of 1970, I was a freshman at Loyola University ( Lewis Towers) in Chicago.  I had had a great summer due to a great paying job as a second year janitor ( $ 2.75 per + T and 1/2 for OT)  and the brief but spicy company of Marge. That month a book came out that rocked our world - Germain Greer's The Female Eunuch/  Feminism.  You can't beat it.  You can nod to it, grant that it is there, see it for what it should be and what it is most certainly not and live your life.

Though not a woman, I can deeply appreciate the feelings of being objectified, patronized and fitted into clothing and undergarments that might be alluring, not never comfortable. I was forced to wear a turtle-neck sweater once, because the girl who purchased it for me thought I'd look like one of The Monkees - just a pathetic male adolescent wearing something he hated.

The girl's name was Marge.  She lived at 77th & Wolcott in Little Flower Parish. Her Dad was a lockesmith with shop between Hermitage and Wood streets.

Marge was a girl who blossomed early and adopted the dress and attitude of the greaser chicks who latched onto the 69th Street Loafers north of the tracks from us.  The Loafers were mostly Italian kids and we were largely Micks.  We got along, unless we were complete assholes.  The Loafer guys wore cabrettas, rat-stabbers ( Stacy Adams shoes) and greased their back like Elvis.  The greaser girls wore tight black slacks jeans, or skirts, tighter sweaters and their hair all cotton-candied up and large and supported by Alberto Culver hairspray.

We Micks tended to sport more of a Joe College Karol's Red Hanger look and buzz-cuts.  The girls wore attire straight out of Trouble With Angels Haley Mills/Mary Tyler Moore modest allure. The Greasers called us Doopers, or Wood Street.

We Doopers imagined Greaser girls to be a little bit slutty - they'd put out a little bit anyway. Not so.Some of our Meghan Mickleberry Haley Mills babes were positively Russ Meyers in attitude and deportment, while Shirley and Flo, though bedecked in Faster Pussy Cat, Kill,Kill,  fashion and accessories were as virginal as St. Agnes.  Never assume.

I flirted with my afore mentioned Marge, the locksmith's daughter, because I assumed that I might have my wicked way . . .within reason . . .with her.  She looked the part and by the 6th Commandment filled the part.
I was stunned!  You asked for it Bub and you got it.  Marge accompanied yours truly on several trips to Rainbow Beach and we smooched - à la manière de la sale français - up a storm.

Marge was positively black Irish gorgeous and built like a muscle car at Santa Fe Speedway.  Every impulse to explore the horizon of human copulation was aroused, only to be quieted by ethics and Catholic moral instruction.  As  St. Thomas Aquinas once said, " You knock-her up and you marry her."

I was bullied by better angels, while Errol Flynn whispered in my ear . . .not forgetting Marge was the whole package. She was nice.  I was and remain . . . complicated.

I determined that discretion was the better part of satisfaction and that bookish me was destined for Loyola University in few months time and the burdens of parenting were complimentary to four years of the Jesuits. I did what any male 17 year old goof equipped with a robust and operational set of nuts could do - I avoided Marge.  You know.  Disappear in plain sight.  Never call.  Never acknowledge.  Guy stuff. Birth control on the cheap.

I dreamed of Marge and went on my way.  So did Marge.

Years later, I ran into Marge at a party near DePaul University. Marge had moved up to the north side and was taking classes while working at  Earl Pionke's Earl of Old Town.  Marge still looked great, but had adopted the more exotic looks of a flamenco dancer and not a Hot Rod Mama.  This suited the radical cool guys and faux Hippies who lived in the hipper quarters of Chicago, or frequented its environs.  I still dressed and groomed like Dooper -close-cropped hair, crew neck sweaters and penny loafers. Dweeb chic.  Marge remarked that I had not changed and that was not a compliment.

The verbal punch out was taken it in cowardly good humor, because I had acted the cad.  No, Marge said it was not my Catholic school boy creepiness about love and passion but my insular and puritanical cowardice.  I was not liberated.  Marge said that she was liberated.  She had been given The Female Eunuch, by one of her older sisters and that book became her bible.

 Marge explained that men hated women and treated them horribly and women went along with it pretending that love and family really meant something.  Woman was better. Kids raise themselves. Mother is Man Word.  Sex is liberating only if one is liberated.

Okay.

I still wanted to see if maybe Marge . . . not a chance.  Marge was dating a guy from Canada named Guy - Geeeeeee -no kidding.  I mean she was shacking up with Guy, while she further evolved.

We parted ways. Decades of life vanished like ice cubes in a dog's mouth.

At one of the Little Flower summer reunions out at a south Cook County Forrest Preserve, I asked one of my balding compeers if he had any word about Marge. " Yeah!!!!!!!!  You tried to crack her britches; didn't you?"

Actually no . . .up to and including that possibility to be sure, but no.

The former football star and Mayor of Palos Hills said, " Marge.  She was all over the place. Married a bunch.  Screwed everyone and anyone.  Nutty.  Billy Fleming called her Million Man Marge."

Well, what happened to her?

" She's a feminist. Writes a blog or something."

Imagine that.

Tales of the South Side: Breakfast at Tiffany's Reviewed by Kondike " Moose" Cholak

Man, I took a beating in April of 1965. That was not my best year by far.  The Nun I had for the tail-end of Sixth Grade at Little Flower told my folks that I was 'retarded, obstinate, disorganized and destined for bad end.' To say that I was a miscreant little jerk is not a stretch and I remain less than anal retentive in my assault upon tasks. However, bad end?  I think not.  I have been saved by great folks.

Immediately following one of my numerous extra curricular Pre-May Crowning beat-downs by Sister Beautificus, RSM, I accompanied two pals Tom Scanlon and Bernie Weber eastward in  the alley between 80th & &79th Street.. In their company,  I took my first cigarette, actually my second, my first I got from Uncle Mike.  This was my first outside of the tribal circle.  My companions were considered a bad lot in the common-room of the school's convent,  whose families lived in the apartments along Ashland Avenue on the Little Flower side.  One guy, Tom, is now a retired school psychologist and the other, Bernie, became a much decorated Chicago fireman, also retired.  We all three had written satirical essays on the upcoming May Crowning, which offended Sister Beautificus, who asked me, 'What would your Father say if he saw this?'  I waited a second, timing is everything, " Who you think wrote most of its, S'ter?"  Flesh and bone was now open for business. Messy desks, slipshod arithmetic no SRA work done in weeks built the hooded Black and White into a Torrent of Spring Fury!  I took it on the cheeks, the ears, the snot-locker and even the gums, as did my boon chums.  We celebrated this blood-bond with a pack of Chesterfields snitched from Tom's Mom's purse. 

Upon the celebratory light-up, Bernie's Dad's car came bouncing through the then unpaved alley at a great clip.  Old Man Weber had seen us in the act,

 " Bernie, get your rump home now!  Immediately, if not sooner.  Hickey - I'll see your old man, when he gets off work and stops at Billy Ellis's.  Hi Tom!  How's your Mom?"

Mrs. Scanlon was a widow who worked for the Phone Company over on Stewart and was considered by every pater familias to be easy on the eyes. .

"Fine, Mr. Weber, "  Scanlon, obviously off the hook, spirited the rumpled pack of Chesterfield's in my jacket pocket and tore ass south at the intersection of Marshfield and the alley.  Mr. Weber glared at me, " You're as big a smart-ass as your Uncle Bart.  I told Bernie to stay the Hell away from you. Bernie, beat it!  You, Mr. Hickey, make yourself scarce."

Swell. A brace of great communications concerning the fruit of his loins to candy Dad's ears, prior to his twenty minutes at home before he had to go his other job at the Beverly Theatre.  Nun Battery followed by the manly art of snitching a nail.  "I am well and truly screwed," I determined with no prodding from the audience, whatsoever. Smart Lad!  I fired up another smoke and walked across Ashland Ave. to the Highland Theater - home of the Hercules versus Viet Cong and other B Movies.. There was always sexy and salacious movie posters to heighten a lad's trip to the Saturday Confessional.  Always, a grand idea to tempt oneself.

 I stood in the ticket bay of Highland Theatre on Ashland and smoked another Chesterfield with the existential fatalism of Sartre, jilted by some swell French Dame in tight sweater and tighter black slit skirt..  I looked at ads of upcoming movies that I would never see.  A gruff but familiar voice assaulted my pornographic musings, " Spit out that butt, Kid." Jesus!!!!!!!

Cop? Uncle?  No. Ignatius the school janitor?  Nope. I turned to see furrowed brows and dashing side burns, bushy eye brows and Goliath-like terror of none other than Klondike Moose Cholak - The Wrestling Foe of Man and Beast!.

The man eclipsed the waning western sun beaming on the tar roof of Billy Ellis' Wooden House, where the Old Man stopped for a Hamms and a Vinegar and Oil ( Seagrams VO Canadian).  The Star of Saturday afternoon pre-Confessional Wrestling, brought to me by Ben's Auto Sales on South Western Ave., snapped,  " Weed's for sissies, book-worms and sob-sisters, kid."

Uh,uh stammered I ,  " I just tried 'cuz the guys and me . . ."

Moose Cholak glared at me, " Hey, save it for Aunt Gertie!  You wanna end up being be some pencil neck, no good for anybody, salad eater, Boy?"

Given my proclivities of the tongue, I was more than familiar with the rhetorical question at this tender age and checked my natural tendency go all Noel Coward with Klondike Moose Cholak.

Rather, I penitently answered properly, "No sir."

With folded arms and a broad smile of avuncular approval, Klodike Moose Cholak ordered me to pick up the cast away cylinder of sin and put it in the cement ashtray near the curb like a good boy and then waxed poetic, " Breakfast at Tiffany's,  kid. That's what smoking'll do for you and our whole county. You know, that they made it a movie a couple years back with that skinny broad from My Fair Lady.? Now, pay attention! The guy who wrote the story about that  skirt what liked to shop and hang around with fairies and rich creeps, started smoking at your age.  I saw him on Suskind's TV show, when I couldn't go back to sleep last week and it stuck with me.  This tiny little bald  guy with a pixie voice said his mom was some hillbilly hooker and that he started smoking as a little guy and it stunted his growth, made his hair fall out and talk like a girl. That's no way, Kid. Now,  where's that saloon what's called The Wooden House?"

I pointed to the northwest corner of 79th & Ashland and corrected the wrestler, " We call it Billy Ellis's around here."

With a smile, Moose offered this valediction, " You got some lip on you kid. A  lip on you that' would trip a pig."

How could one come to bad end in this urban Arcadia?

I have not had a cigarette, since breakfast.

Tales of the South Side - Two Nuns Plus Two Jews Equal???? Come on -

In 1964, Sister Mary Sherry, RSM ( the former Grace Magdalen Conroy - Mercy High Class of1958 & B.A. from Mundelein College '62) accompanied Sister Mary Aoileach do Aghaidh, RSM  ( the former Peg Mahone of Galway -on community business, away from the forty children per classroom at Little Flower Grammar School located on Chicago's south side at 81st & Honore, to the bright lights Manhattan, NYC. 
                              Hoods universal -('Gasp) Do see the cheek of her!')

Young Sister Mary Sherry looked like Tuesday Weld and her Irish born superior resembled Charles Laughton in drag.  Sister Mary Sherry taught 1st Grade and Sister Mary Aches Do Ache taught me and my contemporaries in 7th grade.  Sister Mary Sherry had long alabaster fingers like a Dresden China figurine of a Teutonic Princess and Sister Mary Aches had a set of meat hooks on her that resembled a couple of unboned Mickleberrys.  Sister Mary Sherry held a Bachelor of Arts in English and was studying for certification at Parker Teachers College on 62nd & Stewart and Sister Mary Aoileach do Aghaidh could beat the living poop out of the coaching staff at Leo High School and her kindest murmur translated to " I'll Have Your Guts fer Garters!"

Having concluded their business for the community at some old Dutch law firm that held mortgages on some Mercy Nun properties in Mount Greenwood out in the sticks of the city, the pair of woman religious strolled Manhattan.

They passed two tall, dignified men with very long beards, sporting very nice black suits and matching Stetsons.

Sister Mary Sherry remarked, "Sister, those gentlemen are Hasidim  - devout Jewish diamond merchants."

Her porcine superior snorted in Galway-ese,  'Shtuff en Nonshensh. Thems Trappishts, er Carthooshians.  They's prieshtsss.'
(translation:  Stuff and Nonsense. They are Trappists, or Carthusian. They happen to be priests.)

After a dozen or so steps, Sister Mary Sherry summoned up the courage to suggest, ' Sister Mary - the two gentlemen were speaking in Yiddish.'

Her boss stopped and glared before pronouncing -' T'wash Ladin.'
(translation: It was Latin.)

The astonished but cowed little nunette awaited the full judgment and clarity of the homelier Bride of Christ, " Ladin! Da tung of da Chorch! One fella shez, ' Mincus . . .Pincus Fuctus!'  Dare Y'ar."

(translation: Hey, give it a try yourself!)

Tales of the South Side - Q (uirke) Erat Demonstradum

A Cajun, Tommy Quirke ( D' 68) and a Nova Scotian walked into a bar in Cardiff. . .over by Wales.


Tommy Quirke  never really experienced anything first hand in his life, as far as his converational skills could reveal. The amiable De La Salle Institute grad  T. Q. always referenced something heard on  the Q.T.
e.g.

Person -" Hey, Tommy did you notice that your fly is open?"

T. Q. - " No, but Butchie told me all about when I was coming out of the John."


Tommy Quirke  had, what one might call,  a Rich and Vicarious Life.

Recently, Tommy Quirke went on holiday in the United Kingdom where he charmed three vacationing gents like himself with Chicago Twice Told Tales ( at least)  .

In the beautiful Welsh costal town of Cardiff, T.Q. shared the vista taken in by millions from the Arthur of legend along with a Scot from Canada and a Cajun from Louisiana. They repaired to a pub and sampled the craft brews. The view was fantastic, the beer excellent, the food exceptional.

"Y'ken," said the Nova Scotian, "I still prefer the pubs back home. Why in Sayn Edmund's there's a wee bar called McTavish's. Now,the landlord there goes out of his way for the locals so much that when you buy 4 drinks he will buy the 5th drink for you."

'Aiyee! Mo chagren !" cried  the Cajun, " Getting down to my salle bière in  the Bayaou Teche,  Le Pecker Rouge, the barman there will buy you your 3rd drink after you buy the first 2."

"Ahhh, that's nothin," said Tommy Quike. "Back on the south side a' Chicago , there's Ryan's Bar, over by the Midas shop. Now,  the moment you set foot in the place they'll buy you a drink, then another, all the drinks you like. Then when you've had enough drinks they'll take you upstairs and see that you get laid. All on the house!"

The Scotian and the Cajun  immediately poured  scorn on the South Side Irishman's claims. But, the bold Tommy Quike swears every word is true!

"Well," said the Canadian Caledonian, "Did this actually happen to you?"

"Not me myself, personally, no," said the reliable Quirke, "But it did happen to me sister."

Quod Erat Demonstrandum.

Climbing Chicago - My Spring Break Ascent of the Dan Ryan Woods Hill.

Easy ascent in the Winter of 1965 - me and guys from 75th & Wood.

For the most part . . .except when Maury Lanigan decided to kamikaze guys and then rub their mugs in snow and threaten further outrages of a much more sinister nature were one to rat him out.
I am a man who enjoys a challenge and the testing of my male mettle with a vigorous assault on the senses and the spirit. I watched the entire Cheyenne Marathon presented on Encore Western channel only this Christmas break without taking meals and answering the call of nature with an Olympic dash and powerful discharge of uric fluids that fair shot me airborne during the Cheyenne Bodie Theme Song.



Yes, sir!

Yesterday Leo President Dan McGrath and I travelled to Kankakee to inspect vehicles that may be become part of the Leo Motor Pool.  Midwest Transit Equipment is largest purveyor of buses, shuttle wagons, casino caravans and vans for sale and lease to schools and charities. This vast surplus sales venue just north of the Kankakee County Fairgrounds reminded Dan of the Navy's Mothball Fleet which he passed daily as sports editor of San Francisco Chronicle

We had a productive visit followed by a meal of man-sized proportions at the legendary Longbranch in L'Erable, Il.

During the meal, we discussed our shared duties and obligations to Leo HS over the spring break.  Dan would man the ramparts development and organizational on Spy Wednesday and I would post myself visible in the hallowed halls on Holy Thursday.  We would both steward the school on Good Friday.

"What will you do with a day off, Pat?" asked my superior and friend.  I gave the issue of time-off some thought.  " I believe I will attempt a morning ascent of the hills of Dan Ryan Woods," I answered with my temperamentally uncharacteristic challenge to physical exertions.

" Well, good luck to you."

Luck indeed.  Generations of Leo High School footballers and very few of Little Flower gridiron Argives ran the slopes of those challenging hills in full pads and helmets under the Spartan eyes of coaches Arneberg, Hanlon Foster, Lord and Houlihan.

The Dan Ryan Woods boasts the highest land elevation above the city of Chicago and at one time was the greatest toboggan slide in the world.

Below is an aerial view of the Woods within the City. Remember top is North and bottom south:



At 87th noted by the pine tree is the highest point above Chicago.

I tasked a Sherpa - retired Chicago Parks Supervisor and physical fitness director Marlin "Bud" Speed.  Bud Speed managed the field houses at O'Halleran Park at 1800 West 83rd Street, coached CPD Bee-Wee Football and ' ran the order' for the Leo Lights and Heavies between 1965-1975.


Bud knows these hills. Bud gave hundreds of Chicago lads lessons in the life vigorous.

I asked Bud Speed, " How should I best prepare for this ascent?"

"When's the last time you climbed?"

" 1966, or there about . . .No!  I just remembered I had to climb the hills at the Leo Freshman game with Gordon Tech this fall . . "

" I really don't give a shit.  What are you climbing the hills for anyway, old age made you soft in the head as  every where else?"

You any of you noticed that mobidly obese behemoths not only gulp gallons of Diet Pepsi, but also tend to commentary of every other person on the planet but elepant on the rascal?

Nevertheless, I had interrupted Bud's viewing of the latest edition of Jugs and Ammo in order to prep for the climb.  Ignoring the commentary on my sagging excess epidermal manifestations, I continued, " Should I carbo-breakfast or wait until completing my descent?"

" Eat first, Dipshit, that way you won't die hungry."

This AM, after taking my daughter Clare and two of her buddies for day Two of their Red Cross Safety Certification Classes at the Chicago AG School, I followed the master's instructions to letter with a Chicago Style Hot Dog ( 1 only & certainly no fries) and amended the dietary regimen by firing up a Marlboro Red.

I faced the summit and pressed headlong up the 40 Degrees incline. I thought of my friends and acquaintances who had endured this crucible during the dog-days of August Triple Sessions and laughed my ass off.  Thank God, I did not go to Leo.  I would have probably just faked an injury or submitted to the branding of "Pussied Out!"  Hurtful remarks make not a heart attack.

From the tree-walled summit I took in the majestic panorama of my native south side.  This is a happy place to have been raised.

While bending into my climb, my neighbor and Leo football veteran Mike Regan '70 cell phoned a number of retirees and Catholic League long-teeth.  Upon my descent, I was greeted with applause and well-done.  Mike had been exercising his dog, when he spied my exertions.

" What are you soft making that climb?  I still have Hanlon and Tony Kelly nightmares.  All that glue you used to sniff must have finally taken hold."

Not all.  I like a challenge.

Tales of South Side:Doc Brosnan and La Femme Rousse Artificielle

 Doc Brosnan has had a practice in Morgan Park for thirty years and he has seen everything from infantile croup to gerbils in the wrongest of bodily cavities.  He is a sharp-eyed diagnostician as well as keen general practitioner and surgeon.

Doc Brosnan serves on the staff of Little Company of Mary and consulted elsewhere. Let's drop back for this one.

One bright May morning at his office on Western Avenue across from County Far foods, he was stunned to find an absolutely stunning red-headed young woman of generous proportions waiting for him fully clothed and perched on the parchment paper covered examining bench.  She was new to his practice and Doc Brosnan carefully examined the chart containing her medical history, before engaging this Titian haired beauty.

" Ms. Soames, I am Doctor Teddy Brosnan.  Your medical history indicates that you are quite healthy; however, your statement here says that you experience excruciatingly shape pains in every part of your body," read and observed the canny sawbones.

" Doctor, I am in pain in every part of my body.  Please help, me."

In this litigious and sordid society, even a dutiful son of Asclepius is endangered.

The veteran practitioner and Catholic gentleman-to-the-backbone Doc Brosnan asked the young ginger goddess to demonstrate for him the points of pain.

The Sanguine Siren extended her long alabaster forefinger and poked her left breast emitting an anguished cry.  She then touched her elbow follwoed by sharp yelp.  The Foxy tressed babe's digit stabbed her cheekbone only to broadcast more physical pain - genuine and plaintiff, "See? Please, help me, Doctor!"

Dr. Teddy Brosnan nodded an informed estimation of the suffering beauty and remarked, " You are not a genuine redhead my dear woman."

The astonished Vamp asked, " How did you know?"

The kindly practitioner smiled and offered, " I am a man of medicine and a man of the world, my dear woman. Not only are you not a redhead, but you are a blond."

Again the bogus Scarlet Lorelei quizzed, " How did you know?"

Dr. Teddy Brosnan replied, You have broken index finger,"

Tales of the South Side Música Por La Mañana en Back of the Yards

Dios bendiga a todos ustedes, hijos de puta!

My first stop in my Leo van route is now 46th and Laflin where I wait for BK, a tough little Irish/Polish kid from a few miles west of St. Gabe's in Canaryville.  I had drained my morning's Dunkin Donuts coffee twenty  minutes earlier at Leo, before I hiked the # 7 grey Ford van west on 79th Street and north on Loomis to 47th Street.  Loomis is the cat's nuts for driving and should be on every south side drivers short list for alternate route, when the Ryan is glutted.  I wanted  to coffee up and reluctantly chose the Mickey D's.  McDonald's is to Dunkin Donut coffee as Span is to  jamón de bellota of Barcelona.

At the McDonald's located at 47th Laflin the crowd is treated to music by man in his thirties who stands almost as tall as his guitar.

He is a Mexican gent who the City workers, cops, Leo Van drivers and the lay-abouts all with campesino tunes - the Irish would call these Culchie tunes and Americans hillybilly music.  This morning the hardest working man in Mexican folk music broke into a tune done by the Gipsy Kings:  Campesino:

No te vayas tu de miNo te vayas por favorNo te vayas tu de miEl mundo seria en florUn mundo mejor
CampesinoCampesinoCampesino sono yo
CampesinoCampesinoCampesino sono yo
Que campesino que campesinoQue campesino que sono yoQue campesino que campesinoQue campesino que sono yo
No te vayas por favorNo te vayas tu de miNo te vayas por favorUn mundo sera mejorUn mundo en flor

translates to -

Do not go 'bout me
Do not go, please
Do not go 'bout me
The world would be in bloom
A Better World

peasant
peasant
Farmer sono I

peasant
peasant
Farmer sono I

That peasant farmer
That peasant sono I
That peasant farmer
That peasant sono I

Do not go, please
Do not go 'bout me
Do not go, please
A better world will
A world in bloom

Tell me about it.  Now this is way to wake-up the human juices and get the old nose out of one's belly button.

This little guy is fully No Se, Ingles and carries a battered guitar with cut-gut strings which he thumbs out the bass notes with a thick plastic thumb plectrum and works blistered and gnarled fingers with the delicacy of a Segovia and gives full-throated appreciation of tune an lyrics.

After I got my coffee, I listened to the song and offered my Spanglished appreciation, "Maravilloso! Que dulce el canto, Senor!" I duked him three bucks and my manly grip in Adios, Bub!

What was marvelous, in all of this was the man's pride and dignity.  He stood all of four feet and change and locked smiling eyes on all of us.

¡Qué hombre!

Tales of the South Side: The Late Svebjon "Hike" Sorben Returns to Ground

Svenbjom "Hike" Sorben ( 1939-2012) - Suddenly

Fans of low hurdles were saddened to hear of the passing of The Saltating Swede, Svenbjom "Hike" Sorben who wowed the crowds of Old Calumet High with his bounding athleticism on the track and field cinders and across many lawns in the Highland section of Chicago's Auburn Gresham neighborhood in the mid-1950's.

Hike Sorben was  the only son of Tilda and Torbjorn Sorben, who operated a Swedish meats, herring (smoked pickled & creamed), pickle and cheese store at 85th & Racine. Svenbjom leaped over footstools and toadstools, mattered not.

While in grammar school at Cook Elementary, Svenbjom took on the name Hike while playing prairie football in the vacant lot between the houses in the 83 Hundred Place Block on Morgan Ave. with his pals Spats Cullina, Dibs Thompson, Nose Banacheckovich, and Just Plain Bill Smith. Every  time the word 'Hike' was called by Dibs for Nose to snap the pigskin young Sorben would bound over not only the offensive line but the defense as well.

At Calumet High School, Hike Sorben single-handedly accounted for more track and field points than any athlete in the school's history capturing high and low hurdle, as well as, low, long, and high jumping honors.

A poor student, Hike never matriculated to a quality post secondary education, nor did his short-lived military career as an Air Force mail-sorter burnish his once sterling record of achievement.  Sorben was asked politely to leave the military two years earlier than his required enlistment agreement due to his penchant for bounding over base shrubbery, barbed wire fences, barracks bags and napping Airmen.

He became a US Postal letter sorter and moved to Wyoming in 1970, where he competed in local track and field events until his 2012 visit to the Grand Canyon.

Services closed to the public and family.

Tales of The South Side: Garage Band Aid - My 1960's Tour Bus was CTA

I was taller in real life . . . or, so I am told.

Smilin' Jack Merrins was two years ahead of me, at St. Augustine Minor Seminary* in Holland, Michigan where I spent the first three years of high school.  Like four of my classmates from Little Flower Grammar School Class of 1966, ( JC, SB, PO'C, & PM,), PFH thought of becoming an Augustinian Brother.  We were recruited by the late Father Dudley Day O.S.A.

I improved my smoking habits, participated in athletics with gusto, completely avoided any familiarity with chemistry, physics. math and the lesser sciences and learned Latin, Spanish, Literature, History, Government,  as well as more chords on the guitar and how to sing into a microphone. We had a band. In fact, we had many bands.  We had many bands in order to use up the few minutes of the day where mortal sin might become an issue.  We were by circumstance and indoctrination celibate.

Smilin' Jack Merrin was from St. Louis, Mo, where he fronted a band call Le Clades Blades - an eight piece rhythm and blues rock band of guitar, bass, Farfesa organ, drum kit and brass & reed. Smilin Jack vocalized.

Here at St. Augustine's -Smilin Jack's ax was Sax and Vox.  I played guitar, Lurch Palauskas -the Lithuanian Lover -banged keyboard and Brian "Bing" Bell hit the skins and did back-up vocals.

We covered these hits -

1. "Mama Get Your Hammer (There's a Fly on Baby's Head)," by the Bobby Peterson Quintet.
2. "When There's Tears in the Eyes of a Potato," by the Hoosier Hot Shots.
3. "I Like Bananas Because They Have No Bones," by the Hoosier Hot Shots.
4. "She Was Bitten on the Udder by an Adder," by Homer & Jethro.
5. "A Bowl of Chop Suey and You-ey," by Sam Robbins & His Hotel McAlpin Orchestra.
6. "I've Got Tears in My Ears From Lying on My Back in Bed While I Cry Over You," by Homer & Jethro.
7. "How Could You Believe Me When I Said I Loved You When You Know I've Been A Liar All My Life," by Fred Astaire and Jane Powell.

8. "I'd Rather Have a Bottle in Front of Me (Than a Frontal Lobotomy)," by Randy Hanzlick, M.D. 

At no time did we violate ASCAP or BMI regulations

(Dr. Demento says Hanzlick is--or was, as of 1980--a real internist in Atlanta, who writes songs for a hobby). 

http://www.hollandsentinel.com/news/x132294923/St-Augustine-Seminary-graduates-bring-spirit-of-history-to-reunion

http://www.ascap.com/

*“I got a great education here,” said Edd Boyd of the class of 1963, one of the 60 alumni at the first overall reunion of the St. Augustine Seminary, a Catholic high school from 1949-1977 on what is now Shore Acres Park in Laketown Township. “I enjoyed the four years I spent here. It was rather idyllic.” . . . The property was originally the home of Dorr Felt, the inventor of the first adding machines. The Augustinians bought the property in 1949.
The order sold the property to the state in the late 1970s and the buildings were converted into a prison. Laketown Township bought the mansion and surrounding land in the 1990s and the prison was leveled. The mansion is being restored to the Felt-family era and the grounds around it are now a park with a disc golf course, trails and access to a beach on Lake Michigan.

Morgan Park's Eddie Carroll Roofing to Scale Mt. Everest

Carroll Roofing & Construction
10912 South Western Avenue Chicago, IL 60643‎

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(773) 445-5756

The above is a basic sketch for Eddie Carroll Roofing & Construction Mt. Everest Climb fleshed out by Master Sherpa and engineer Framin' Eamon Cosgrove for the trip up Everest's south face.

Having topped the summits of Mount Greenwood, ( Georgians, Cape Cods, Raised Ranches and the odd Chicago Bungalo) philosopher, roofer, gad-about, swordsman, Big band leader  and adventurer, Eddie Carroll will dominate the top of the world, Ma!

Carroll Roofing and Construction - the surname of quality and Old World craftsmanship ( "I hire only DPs") - will soon best the name of Hillary, not the long suffering Mrs. Clinton, but Sir Edmund the Kiwi Rock Jock. Like Sir Edmund, Citizen Eddie will take the much tested south ridge route from Nepal.

I asked the raffish adventurer what possessed him to assault the 24,000 + ' summit and he cocked an eyebrow and rejoined, " I like it on top, Patrick, my boy; I like it on top."

I had expected nothing less.

To continue, I mentioned the perilous 1996 expeditions that ended in the deaths sixteen persons, but Mr. Carroll was not nonplussed.  He's often not nonplussed. Conturbent me Non Nihil! -(Perplex Me Not With Nothing!) should be Eddie Carroll's family crest.  I, on the hand. am nonplussed enough for everyone, let alone anyone.

Mr. Carroll continued to wax practical, "I'm using scaffolding . . .lots and lots of scaffolding . . . Pat, I take safety as seriously as President Obama takes his oath of office, maybe more so.   Look, if you skimp on costs in material quality, customers will skedaddle pronto . . .not to mention funeral. . . .well, burial anyway, maybe not the whole Bob Sheehy, but certainly the burial . . . expenses for the husky immigrants going up with a load of lumber, or shingles. No, Sir, I am scaffolding my way up Everest on Badger Quality*!"

God Speed, Eddie Carroll!!!!!!!!!!!

* Badger Ladder and Scaffolding -

1-5/8", 5' x 6'7"Steel Tube Scaffolding

The Outside Diameter of this frame scaffolding is 1 5/8". This high quality steel frame scaffolding is built tough to handle the demands of your work load. Fast Lock, lock system to help decrease assemble and disassembly time. Coupling Pin with NO collar included. The LF6R Scaffold Package is Painted Red. Each One of these Scaffold Packages Include: (2) 5' x 6'7" Steel Frames (2) 7' Cross Braces (4) Stacking Pins

Item # CROSS BRACE OPTION Price Qty LF6R 7' $145.00 LF6R-10 10' $159.00

http://www.badgerladder.com/index.aspx

Roofer & Philosopher Eddie Carroll on Chinese Astronaut Babes

"Well, mine is pretty nice . . ." Eddie Carroll

As I pulled into my drive-way on 108th Street at Rockwell, I spied a neighborhood icon starring up at my roof.  It was none other than Eddie Carroll, President and CEO of Carroll Roofing -'Old World Craftsmanship - We hire Only DPs from Eastern Europe and pass the savings on to you.'

Roofing Contractor Eddie Carroll, as readers of this Blog (Seb Costin and Aunt Aurelia) will recall, is a Morgan Park father-figure, accomplished but always discreet sexual swordsman, wit and master of disguises. Eddie eyes scanned sky-ward and peripheral vision took in my approach signalled by a beckoning arm.

" You have some pinched tiles up there, Patrick My Boy; when did you last have your home shingled?"

2000, Eddie.

" I need not ask who did your work as it is as plain as the nose on a homely Serbian girl's face.  It is clear that you did not engage Carroll Roofing and Construction"

As you might recall when I tried to engage you at that time, you indicated that your charitable work with Air Icelandic took up far too much your time.

" Spot on, Patrick!  Sorry for my pique. Those poor girls at least had a place to hang their natty-flight caps after long, tiring and lonesome flights from Reykjavik to O'Hare.  Carroll House was more than a home to those blue-eyed and shapely waifs, it was welcome, warmth and one hell of a workout.  The funding ran-out quicker than some of the more timid stewardesses, thanks to the Bush Economy inherited by My President."

'Tis so.How long before I need a cover? The last one was a tear off.

" It was a rip-off you mean.  That roof should have been good until 2015 - honor bright.  Let me quote you and I'll stick it in your mail box by the end of the week. Your children sleep beneath this shoddy work. Skimp not, as a father."

Eddie never once took his eyes off of the roof but they now elevated towards the heavens.

" Heaven is our destination, whether we gain entry or not is up to what we do here on earth.  I do what I can and certainly know that you do the same given the work that you and Dan do for the young gents at Leo.  We are all too often our own worst enemies, Patrick. Sin begets sin and we must always be aware that sin is what it is and not something else."

How do you mean?

"At the height of the Spanish Civil War, Time Magazine asked Pope Pius XI what was the greatest threat to the church - Soviet or Fascist ideology. Time always a rabid anti-Catholic rag like the Chicago Tribune attempted to play the pharisee to the Pope -Vicar of Christ. His Holiness confounded the sneaks and said 'The Church’s worst persecutors have been her own unfaithful bishops, priests, and religious. Opposition from outside is terrible; it gives us many martyrs. But the Church’s worst enemy is her own traitors.'


"You see?  Sin takes no sides.  We like to believe that while we sin we are somehow doing good. Chesterton remarked to a similar sneaky question posed him when he was welcomed into the Faith - Why are you becoming Catholic?  The rotund wag rejoined, 'Why to have my sins forgiven.' It is only through the Mystical Body of Christ that sin may be forgiven.  Sin is not expunged by a committee of nuns, or some guy named Sister Farley with a best seller about Catholics and Sex; Oh, no my friend.  The Church is as fixed in its doctrines as your roof will be."

I see that you have read Father Schall's latest piece from The Catholic Thing! And these observations -roofing, the heavens and sin - will be merged shortly?

Look heaven-ward, Patrick - I never miss that Jesuit's insights -beyond your roof.  Heaven is fixed -our destination.  Shortly two Chinese fighter pilots sans the old marriage tackle* will fight gravity and ascend to the Empyrean.  I recall reading as a young lad in the barber shop over by Damen - Casey's about Chinese Babes who were Commie Jet Jockeys in Korea.  . . .

These Mig Maids went against our John Glenns and Ted Williams in Sabers over the Yalu River.  I believe it was Argosy, True Men, Flame or some other testosterone fueled periodical - while getting clipped and butch-waxed that lit my loins on this issue of preter- feminisim. Babe Jet Jockeys and Asian Babes to boot.

Often the white male's burden.

" I have sampled the Asian buffet, beyond the fine fare at Chi Tung over on Kedzie, my boy. I am fully delighted to see that Red China is meeting the template of Korean era combat yet again. Have you seen the two babes selected to Red Star Voyage?"

I have not.

"Mine is pretty nice, but your's . . .is probably a damn fine pilot."

With that his neck and head returned to the concrete and clay of our lives.

" I'll get that estimate to you by Friday."

I am awed on a daily basis.

*One of two female fighter pilots will become the first Chinese woman inspace later this month, after the two were shortlisted for a place in the three-person team that will blast off in the Shenzhou-9 spacecraft, the state news agency Xinhua said.
Chinese media described Major Liu Yang, from Henan, as a "hero pilot" who achieved a successful emergency landing after a dramatic birdstrike incident spattered the windshield of her plane with blood.
Meanwhile, her rival, Captain Wang Yaping, from Shandong, is said to have flown rescue missions during the Sichuan earthquake and piloted a cloud-seeding plane to help clear the skies of rain for the Beijing Olympics in 2008.
"They are selected as members of the first batch of female astronauts inChina because of their excellent flight skills and psychological quality," said Xinhua.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-18410501
http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,1974793,00.html

http://www.thecatholicthing.org/columns/2012/the-churchs-worst-enemies.html

Tales of the South Side: Scorcher O'Malley's Final Exam

Scorcher O'Malley was leaving Keegan's Pub when he was run over by a bus. 


The late Scorcher was enrolled in, but never attended Brother Rice, Leo, Mount Carmel Catholic High Schools and received his high school diploma from Calumet Public High School in 1971.  Scorcher was so named because he burned every bridge constructed during  his life.


Scorcher owed everyone, but no one ever expected re-payment for loans granted.  Scorcher lived life fully to his own talents and inclinations, which happened to be the laws of physics and the mechanics involved in draining a beer glass.


Upon gulping his penultimate pint prior to Paradise purchased by patrons of the pub, Scorcher stepped out onto the public pavement and again into the bustling thoroughfare that is Western Avenue at 10618 south.


Scorcher saw the approach of two bright beams belonging to the Chicago Transit Authority and then a great welcoming light luring Scorcher to a Tall Fisherman with a fabulous set of keys.


Scorcher was at the gates of heaven and St. Peter informed  him that he may not enter the Pearl-Perfect Gates  unless he passed a test.  Never having taken one in his entire time on Terra Firma. Scorcher cast a quizzical mug attached to a cocked noggin. 


What choice did he have, O'Malley agreed to give one a whirl. 
.
St. Peter decided to go easy on him, 'What has 5 fingers and is made of black leather?' he asks. 


O'Malley scratches his head, thinks hard and finally gives up." Hell,. . . I dunno."


 'It's a glove says St. Peter.'

'Glove, yeah.'

The Rock-like patience of the Fisher of Men coaxed out a smiled, 'Let's try again.  What has 10 fingers and is made of black leather?' asks St. Peter.


 O'Malley's jaw dropped. After a few minutes of pacing in a circle and scratching his head, the Scorcher  gives up.


 'Why it's 2 gloves - don't you see 10 fingers, black leather, . . .?'  says St. Peter amazed.

Being in a generous mood and recalling his own walk on the water, St. Peter deigned to give O'Malley yet another chance but thinking of an even easier question. 'Who is the patron Saint of Ireland?' asks St. Peter, thinking he can't miss this. After all, Three had been the salvific charm in Peter's own bout in the Garden. 

'Hey, I gotcha now! It wouldn't be 3-gloves, would it?' says O'Malley.


'Yeah, St. Three-Gloves . . . get your ass in!'

NATO - Experience Chicago's Neighborhood People Eddie Carrol Suggests

I met Eddie Carroll, the Morgan Park neighborhood Philosopher, Gad-about Swain and Roofer to the Stars in the very long lines at County Fair Foods at 108th & Western.  The after-Mass crowds of shoppers from Sts. Barnabas, Cajetan, John Fisher (east of California) and Walter parishes were especially active this Sunday.

Mr. Carroll is best known as the CEO of Carroll Roofing - the haberdasher to our homes. Eddie is to roofs as Optimo is to fine head wear.  Mr. Carroll is a committed bachelor often beset by toothsome young women intent upon his sole attentions. Alas, Eddie Carroll is cosmopolitan universalist with regard to affections - courtly though cavalier and considerate without constancy.


 I asked Eddie about the upcoming NATO Summit and what Chicago could do to welcome the salt-water Belgians, Brits, Spaniards Germans and Gauls.

Eddie said that Chicago has the most beautiful skyline, because of our lakefront and the imagination of the sons of Burnham, a world class playground for tourists complete with Beans and fountains old and new.
He grew more thoughtful than usual and soon decanted his latest vintage  of thought on this matter.

" Pat, this is one great town for kids, sport, art, literature, music and stand-up comedy.  I hope that our European guests will avail themselves of the first class wits and humorists featured at Chicago's fine light entertainment venues - Second City, Zanies, of course.  But they might also take in the laughs at blue-collar neighborhood taverns and saloons - Stash's Dot U Again?, Lou's Change, Bar Nun, the Flags, Fluke's Wrong Wit U? out here and  away from the dry Urban Center.  Here is some of the side-splitting drollery that our guests might hear here* from the likes of any one of the comic genius gents coming out of the head after leaving a bucket o' beer for the Water Reclamation District.  A McKinley Park MadCap, or Canaryville Cut-up, or Hegwisch Humorist  with a shirt-tail pecker protruding zipper high to play Panatloon- we are an earthy lot given to free expression and damn the outcomes and costs. I heard ourt own local wags offer these droll insights - exemplum gratia . . .


 

The English are feeling the pinch in relation to recent terrorist threats so they have raised their security level from "Miffed" to "Peeved." Soon though, security levels may be raised yet again to "Irritated" or even "A Bit Cross." Londoners have not been "A Bit Cross" since the blitz in 1940 when tea supplies all but ran out.


Also, the French government announced yesterday that it has raised its terror alert level from "Run" to "Hide." The only two higher levels in France are "Surrender" and "Collaborate." The rise was precipitated by a recent fire that destroyed France's white flag factory, effectively paralyzing the country's military capability.

It is not only the English and French who are on a heightened level of alert. Italy has increased its alert level from "Shout Loudly and Excitedly" to "Elaborate Military Posturing." Two more levels remain: "Ineffective Combat Operations" and "Change Sides."

The Germans also increased their alert state from "Disdainful Arrogance" to "Dress in Uniform and Sing Marching Songs." Two higher levels remain: "Invade a Neighbour" and "Lose."

Belgians, on the other hand, are all on holiday as usual and the only threat they are worried about is NATO pulling out of Brussels.

Lastly, the Spanish are all excited to see their new submarines ready to deploy. These beautifully designed subs have glass bottoms so the new Spanish Navy can get a really good look at the Old Spanish Navy.

Pat, I sure hope that our NATO guests and all of the foreign and domestic journalists, Wobblies, Reds, Anarchists, Occupiers, Michael Moore, Susan Sarandon, Noam Chomsky, and other humorlessly worn-out folks get a chance to bump into real Chicagoans and get the full favor of this our City of Neighborhoods. We are a droll folk."

I thanked Eddie for the wholesome and thoughtfully pleasant use of  time in the line. Eddie stacked his selections onto Donna's check out converyer belt - organic vegetables, brown rice, Fava beans, soy curds, plain Greek yogurts, Perrier, and a 16 oz. bottle of Pepto Bismal marked down to $ 2.75.  Eddie remarked, "That is value, Patrick. That is value.  I see you have a basket full of empty calories, salty and sugary snacks, canned soup - Progresso naturally, Flamin Hotz, and Slim Jims. Looks like a five dollar Billy Buck's ( equal or exceeeding $ 100 in goods) day for the Hickey Household. Yet, no Pepto Bismal. No Pepto Bismal.  Think of that."

With that signal blessing we parted.




http://www.chicagonato.org/what-is-nato--pages-188.php

http://www.jokes.com/stand-up-search/jokes/?keywords=nato
http://www.countyfairfoods.net/

An Idea That Just . . .wait a minute . . . I'll get back to you

There’s demand for more luxury housing in Mumbai, India, and the architecture firm of James Law is pitching its design for a huge residential complex. Among its features are small pools off the balconies that seem to hang in mid-air.The beautiful Aquaria Grande residential towers, currently undergoing construction, will be equipped with one of the most stunning architectural feats when the project is completed, transforming standard balconies into swimming pools.

The residential location consists of two 37 story towers located in Mumbai, India. The Aquaria Grande Tower was designed by Wadhwa Group, and will feature several different amenities including a car park, fully equipped clubhouse, and a sustainable podium garden.

Let's see. You walk out on the balcony and take a dip. You are on the top floor and the 36 floors under you are residents.

Wrap this around your tiny brain, there, Hickey. Okay. Glass pools. In the photo the residents look like swimsuit models.

Picture this for apartments along 111th between the Metra east and Kmart to west, or down Pulaski from 111th to let's 103rd.
"Hello (frosty and abrupt) . . .Mrs. Nelligan. This is Mrs Tansey from cross the street. First it was your Bill and now all of your kids and their friends? Every morning? You people don't seem to understand what exactly a balcony is for . . . I am minding my own business! You should mind you. . . (click)."

Think Thompson Center when your kid says he wants to be an architect.

Other than that, should be a hit. . . .In Mumbai.