Metra Board - If the Tribune Editorial Board Demands Your Resignation, It Is a Great Sign to Stay Put

Alex Clifford was plucked from sunny California and plunked down here in the Land of Lincoln where the weather and the politics shifts with the prevailing winds.

The Chicago Tribune Editorial Board would tell Newton that apples grow up from the rich and fertile soil, where toothsome maids gather up the fruity orbs with their delicate alabaster fingers and swaddle them in winsome aprons. Like the BGA, the Chicago Editorial Boards, are where clueless go to strangle common sense and abort the obvious.

The Metra Board, like other Illinois institutions fraught with problems that became editorial grist (CPS FAIL/Cop Bashing/ U of I Pay to Play & etc.) looked to a coast for a Champ.  We got a Ruth Love and Jody Weiss and a Michael Hogan - ubi sunt?  California Alex is yet with us. What passes for Illinois Intellectual Titans never stop to ask, " Will avocadi grow in Peotone; peanuts in Prospects Heights, or cranberries in Hegewisch?

Yesterday, Alex Clifford unleashed his Shakman Avocadonado on the Tribune Editorial and our Blue Ribbon Illinois Obtuse.

To say that California Al unloaded incontrovertible opinion is to do him damning praise.  His opinion was monumental.  The breaking of this wind no doubt sailed away the lithe, but singularly unpleasant husk that is Andy Shaw of the BGA clear in a popcorn field in Iroquois County, shook the mighty jowls of Thundering Dick Simpson.

The Tribune Editorial Board, captained by that former Wildcat disc jockey, Bruce Dold, went all Dutton Peabody in response to the Californian's allegations and  imprecations of Shakman Sinning!

We've seen little to suggest ( apples growing out of the ground again!)  they were unhappy with Clifford's job performance but plenty of evidence that they were aware of the behind-the-scenes acrimony involving O'Halloran and Huggins. One board member gave Clifford a heads-up that there weren't enough votes to renew his contract, then joined in the vote to send him packing.
Four of them have since written letters of recommendation to help him find a new job.
What good are any of them? They're supposed to be keeping the trains running, not taking care of politicians and their pals. But they're patronage employees themselves, handpicked by pols. They do what they're told in return for the paychecks they're clearly not earning. Getting rid of them is a nightmare; we learned that after the last scandal, which seems like yesterday. It takes eight board members to oust one, and it's not even clear whether the pols who appoint them can replace them mid-term. All of this is leading, once again, to talk about a legislative overhaul of the entire four-headed transit system.
Board members, save us all a lot of grief. Resign. Chicago Tribune Editorial

Well they have certainly gotten to bottom of things . . .as always.  Mark Brown of the Sun Times and Phil Kadner of the Southtown Star (Liberals unencumbered by limited I.Q.s) ovver thoughtful insights on the Metra testimony of California Al: each linked above.

California Al could not blossom and grow in Illini loam.  Andy Shaw of BGA, Mickey Shakman of Shakman Enterprises, and the Tribune Editorial board saw a mountain in this molehill, an opportunity bash somebody  and apples growing up betwixt them beans and corn.

Hoooooooooooeeeeeeeey!

Feeding the Watchdog after Waking Andy from His Snooze - It's a Shakman Thing

Pre-Metra Madigan Missive (above); Immediate Above Andy Epic Fail Shaw of The BGA!

If Andy Shaw told me that I was ' the coolest guy, that is what am,'  I'd leap as lordly as my lard-ass would allow away the pit of Despair and hit the nearest confessional and hope that the priest could talk me out of taking a Brodie off of the Skway Bridge into the 10th Ward.

More so, I have empirical knowledge of Andy Shaw's capacity for in-depth reporting, dating back to Terry Teel's resignation announcement.  Andy and his poor but amused cameraman for ABC burst into the Department of Planning and Development on the 10th floor of City Hall and Andy bleated to the patient woman manning the sign-in desk, " Andy Shaw, ABC 7 for the Teele Resignation."

The lovely woman smiled, " You are on the wrong floor."

Andy shrilled, as is his wont, " Terry Teele!!!  The Mayor's Zoning and Development Man!" and again the lovely woman softly informed the news hound, " Mr. Teele works for the Mayor and that would be on the 5th Floor?"

Can you say MICROPHONE!!!????


Of course not; nor would you.  Andy Shaw is the media, writ nasty,. . .well, the media without work which means a padded sinecure - The BGA. What set me on the Shavian Media-tation was Andy's cuddles with 560 Am- WIND's Joe Walsh Show which struck my fancy while returning from a wake in Indiana.  Giggled me up no end, it did.

On June 24th, as the saga goes Andy of BGA knocked the Bosses of Illinois to canvas with his exclusive Sun Times write up breaking wind all over the Land of Lincoln! I remember it like it was three weeks ago.
It's Metra scandal, I guess.  The California CEO Alex Clifford was sent packing with a chute full of moolah.

Heavens.  It turns out that patronage is the root of this evil. Mercy sakes.

Alex Clifford lawyer ed up with Goo-Goo Mogul and past master Machine Baiter Michael Shakman, LLc.

Michael Shakman is founder of Shakman Industries based upon the fairy tale notion that Government can be good and Politics well-scrubbed . . . of people who actually know what the hell they are doing. I can well imagine plutocrat Good Seal of Shakman kicking wideawake Andy to another Call to Doody,   " Howdy Andy, Andy, Andy Shaw!  Rouse yourself, gird your loins . . .your loins . . .there's mischief afoot and scoundrels abounding the rails . . .open wide; here's your feed. Now, scurry and scat!"

Alex Clifford has Michael Shakman and Andy Shaw on his side, which means that he has deep thinkers like Carol Marin, WTTW, WBEZ, and the Abner Mikva Coalition of Hand-Wringers, Whistle-Blowers and Ambulance Chasing Bottom Feeders with his back Rep.Deb Nepotism (LGBTQ and 33rd Ward Landfill Blind Girl) with his back.

The way I see the Metra mess is this.

• A CEO with an Italian name does the Dutch Act
• Metra needs a Goo-Goo approved suit -Alex Clifford
• IL GOP is so screwed up it will nod with conviction when Andy announces a chance to hack Mike Madigan 
• The IVI-IPI already agreed to play nice with the IL GOP to beat the BossesIllinois newspapers will have Mike Madigan bon fire until Labor DayAlex Clifford will speak nasty about Metra Board, Madigan, Ward Bossism, Culture of Corruption
• Gov. Pat Quinn will attempt to kick Mike Madigan ala Charlie BrownThundering Dick Simposn will join Andy Shaw with a press conference about the latest UICC study Metra Bad/Mell Good/Mikva Good/ Paul Simon Institute polling
• The Red Line will be closed to working folks, without access to millionaires and lobbyists
• Andy Shaw will rail.in Pullman with the banjo activists Sheila Simon and Eric Zorn doing BoxCar Willie Hits in a display of Railroad Solidarity with Hobo-sexual panhandlers - A two disc set and video of this event for donations to BGA's RTA
• Carol Marin will narrate The Life of Alex Clifford by Michael Shakman
• Metra will provide transportation for summer travelers and working folks just the people Pat Quinn buys beers for at Stash & Stella's Stardust Saloon over by Midway.
• Mike Madigan will cut his lawn, go by the  Jewel on Pulaski over by Midway, smile wryly, because he is the only non-dope in Illinois government.
• Illinois Dems will continue to back dopes like Deb Mell, Toni Preckwinkle, Pat Quinn and whomever Boss Terry Cosgrove deems suitable to screw up Illinois further - Out of Chaos Comes More Chaotic Orders
• Illinois GOP will back dopes with less gravitas than Democrats.  BTW_ Personal PAC is pumping tons of moolah into the coffers of souless suburban GOP phonies (38.8%).
• Francis Cardinal George will continue to lead with his heart and head and maintain grace, calm and dignity amongst a Brookfield Zoo of ninnies clerical and lay
• Mount Carmel/St. Rita/Loyola and west suburban Montini will begin double sessions in August

I will continue to recover my breath after scanning the my pay stub choc full of Obama care padding to tune of less-$145 than the previous two weeks after taxes and marvel that a nice salary ain't what it used to be, while awaiting the next property tax payoff to Karen Lewis and Speed cameras every twenty feet on Western Ave..  

Like I said, if Andy Shaw said that it was hot today, I'd bundle up like Quinn the Eskimo . . . no relation to  Quinn the Governor. If Andy Shaw informed me that a bird pooped on my head, I'd say, "Call Me Blondie!"

The Providential Diagnostician:Dr. Kennedy and the Kinky Boots

Dr. James R. Kennedy, M.D. was no Justin Bieber and certainly no Dr. Oz. He was the last man an incompetent wanted anywhere near whatever half-assed anything is being performed.  Kennedy's thick eyebrows and soft eyes could cut deeper than any scalpel crafted by the most exacting  Präzisionsstahlrohre Handwerker.

Dr. Kennedy beefed me when one of his kids turned over an essay that I had graded.  " You gave this paper a B?" I nodded.

" You had better hold the paper closer to your eyes next time.  I found three spelling errors, any number of glaring grammatical errors and the punctuation stinks."

I kopped a plea that sometimes getting near to the assigned task was more encouraging for . . .

" You are not here to make kids feel good. That's my job as parent.  Imagine if I got close to doing a good job with your mother's liver, or father's bowels with my knife?"

Message received (circa 1976).   I hope I did better.  Seemed to anyway.

While working at La Lumiere School, Mary and I had added Conor* to the family Hickey in 1989.  He was healthy little guy and as happy as a baby at a boarding school full of homesick kids could be.  In 1991,  our neighbors three old baby died of an odd form of childhood cancer that manifested itself with the toddler's inability to stand.  The entire La Lumiere School and Notre Dame Parish of Michigan City was heart-broken by the parents' grief.

Almost a year after this tragedy,  I was lining the football field for an upcoming loss to South Central. Father Jay, Pat Mulligan, Head Coach Mike Hall and I were pulling the lines and walking chalk.  Soon our we saw my blue Ford Taurus come tearing ass down the hill between Becket House and Newman House.  Mary was driving, daughter Nora (8) in the backs et and in the baby seat Conor (3). Mary was devasted -" Get in!  Now. Drop the Goddam, liner and get in this car!"

I hopped in.  " Conor can't stand up! Oh, God."  We headed to the ER at La Porte Hospital.

We had been in the ER and an examining room with two doctors and three nurses for the better part of an hour and understood exactly nothing.

As in any medical emergency, everything moves like a kaliescope and sounds like the Sgt. Pepper album and nothing makes sense but prayers.  I had the presence of mind to call Betsy Kennedy at their house in Long Beach. " Jim and I will be there - I'm driving."

Long Beach near Michigan City and La Porte Hospital are about twenty minutes apart - Betsy was driving and that meant a fifteen minute trip.

Ten minutes later, Dr. and Betsy emerged from an elevator.

Doctor Kennedy consulted with the medical staff.  They wanted to run some blood tests, scans, probes and etc.

Doctor Kennedy greeted Conor -"How you doing, old buddy!  What's the problem, Conor?"

The little man looked up at his friend who always let him eat scads of KeeWee Frupes, " My legs can't somehow work."

Doctor Kennedy examined the boy's feet.

He asked Mary, " Wasn't your Mom up here last week?"

Mary told him that Alice, my sister-in-law Gail Cleary and her two boys Pat and Danny had spent the weekend with us.

Dr. Kennedy nodded,  " Did Alice buy these three cowboy boots?"

Grandma Alice had indeed bought the the three lad cowboy boots and summer sun suits cut to make them look like railroad men with caps to match.  I still fail to associate cowboy boots with railroad man wear, but then again I am no Grandma.

Dr, Kennedy announced, " Conor's fine.  He won't need the exams, unless you feel it would be good, but they won't find anything.  Betsy and I bought cowboy boots too."

Further examination and probes were not performed.

A great surgeon only applies the knife, after holding the patient very close to his eyes.

A great soul misses nothing.

We miss a great soul.

* Conor played football on that very field for the La Lumiere Lakers; l remains healthy and happy as member of Local 399 Stationary Engineers.

Religio Medici: Dr. James R. Kennedy M.D.at Home With Christ - Rest in Peace? That Will Be a Tough One.

I thank God, and with joy I mention it, I was never afraid of hell, nor ever grew pale at the description of that place. I have so fixed my contempla- tions on heaven, that I have almost forgot the idea of hell; and am afraid rather to lose the joys of the one, than endure the misery of the other: to be deprived of them is a perfect hell, and needs methinks no addition to complete our afflictions. That terrible term hath never detained me from sin, nor do I owe any good action to the name thereof. I fear God, yet am not afraid of him; his mercies make me ashamed of my sins, before his judgments afraid thereof: these are the forced and secondary method of his wisdom, which he useth but as the last remedy, and upon provocation;— a course rather to deter the wicked, than incite the virtuous to his worship. Religio Medici - Sir Thomas Browne 1635

 Dr. James R. Kennedy is an esteemed assistant professor of gross anatomy  at Loyola's Stritch School of Medicine. A retired surgeon, Kennedy is a 1960 graduate of the Stritch School of Medicine and has taught at the school since 1989. He has been on the medical staffs of St. Mary's Hospital and Riverside Medical Center in Kankakee and since 1989, has volunteered as a surgical consultant, medical student supervisor and physician recruiter for Loyola's cooperative program with St. Jude Hospital in the West Indies.  Loyola Stritch School of Medicine Award 2000

 Elizabeth “Betsy” Finneran Kennedy ’59SMC and Dr. James R. Kennedy ’57 of Kankakee, Illinois, will be presented the Rev. Louis J. Putz, CSC, Award. The Kennedys have established a well-baby clinic, a Montessori school, day care centers and youth swim teams for under-served families. They spent 10 years as medical missionaries in Saint Lucia, British West Indies, and provide service to the United Way, Kankakee Valley Theatre, Amateur Athletic Union, the American Cancer Society, Red Cross and the Diocese of Joliet. Notre Dame Distinguished Alumni Award 2005

Not even close. Neither will be this that follows.

The Gates of Heaven, if they ever really close, banged wide open yesterday when a soul left the body of a fine man in a hospice care center in Michigan City, Indiana, yesterday.

Dr. Jim Kennedy is a great man.  He grew up in Joliet, Illinois, the son of a lawyer for Greyhound Bus, who sent its fleet to the Jim Crow south to accommodate Freedom Riders and later U.S. Marshals. Jim Kennedy went to Notre Dame where he played football on the reserves under Terry Brennan and excelled as a student. More importantly, Kennedy wooed away the beautiful Betsy Finnerane of the Bronx, NYC who had been dating some poor schmo by the name of Phil Donahue, who ended up with a TV show of some kind.

 Graduating in 1957, Jim Kennedy was accepted to the Loyola University School of Medicine, where he took his Medical Doctorate and then residency at Cook County Hospital and managed to keep the arm of Betsy.  Kennedy was called into his country's service as Naval surgeon, serving with the Fleet Marine Force.

Now, it gets good,  Kennedy returned to Cook County Hospital and won the reputation as a great surgeon and general practice all purpose medicine man.  At Cook County Hospital Kennedy became friendly with the Chief Engineer and fierce defender of unborn Larry Hickey.  Bud Hickey ran all of the power plants and operations of this hospital and later butted heads with the Marxist Dr. Quentin Young over abortion.  Kennedy and Uncle Bud saw eye to eye on human life. Dr.Jim and Betsy Kennedy began their own Pro Life model in the 1960's by bringing eleven (11) beautiful, talented and much loved children into the world.


The Kankakee Kennedy's at Hoosier Hyannis Port ( Long Beach, IN - Stop 28) Even then the Chicago costs of living must have been epic; the Kennedy's moved to Kankakee, Illinois.



In 1975, I signed a contract with Father Ken Yarno, CSV to teach and coach at Bishop McNamara High School and among the freshmen students was Jim Kennedy,  a tow-head with great basketball chops and razor wit.   Dr. and Mrs, Kennedy liked what I was doing for their son.  We became friends.  Dr. and Betsy were everywhere.  Betsy could bury any NFL roster Endomorphs with her lightening pace and Mary Poppins work ethic in a week.  Doc worked two hospitals and on his days off he attended burn clinics.

I met my future bride when she was helping Betsy with the kids. Betsy shoved Mary Cleary under my nose at every opportunity, but I was serial dating at the time.  A year later, Mary's charms, grace and sarcasm and Betsy's raps on the back of my head -"What's wrong with you?" - took hold.

Mary's grandfather happened to be the first surgical patient Dr. Kennedy operated upon in St. Mary's Hospital. Oliver Duval was a epic-ly evil-eyed, mean old bastard of Frog Eater.  He had penchant for swallowing peaches whole, it seems, and the pits did no good to the Old French villain's GI tract. When young Dr. Kennedy, fresh from Cook County ER, was served up Oliver on gurney - the Herscher farmer pulled up his gown and emitted a fart of Gargantuan proportions in salutation - " How's Those Peaches, Irish?" They remained an emergency room Roland and Oliver with Oliver blowing the trumpet. " Here's another kiss for you Kennedy!"

Dr. Kennedy often walked to his rounds from his modest home in east Kankakee's St. Theresa's Parish to St. Mary's and even Riverside Hospital.  A solid stretch of the legs of three to four miles.  One evening following a shotgun duel in St. Anne, the ER at St. Mary's and attending physician were overwhelmed and panic set-in.  A nurse on duty that night told me that Dr. Kennedy appeared as if by magic and pulled everyone together and no one died. Deus ex Machina?  Nope. Dr. Kennedy.

My catalog of stories is as thick as a Calcutta phone book.  Dr. Kennedy supervised the care of my wife when she was stricken with brain cancer. Betsy and Doc never left our sides through the two years of agony. For that I am most thankful.

Dr. Jim Kennedy went home to heaven.  He trained two of my best pals, Dr. Rick Clark and Dr. Mark Manning, to be Kennedy-esque doctors- Rick is an Internal; Medicine Honcho at Resurrection in Chicago and Dr.Maj. Mark Manning, MD, USAF(ret.) maintains surgical practice in Del Rio, Texas and over the border. Dr. Kennedy admitted students to Loyola's Medical School when the ravages of Parkinson's Disease prevented a genius with scalpel from practicing his art.  Kennedy demanded that students admitted to Loyola Med have CVs that witnessed commitment to others.  " You maintained a 4.0 GPA from high school through college, but you never played a sport, performed in a band, acted in a play, volunteered to help the poor?  You will do fine at University of Chicago or Northwestern; best wishes for a great medical career."

That is the religion of a doctor - a Catholic Doctor.  Try and take it easy, Doc. I talked to Betsy this morning and she said for you skip morning rounds and sleep-in. 

Divvy Chicago: Orders from Der BikeStag ( formerly Chicago Dept. of Transportation)

Now, I am a close-knit ethnic, Roman Catholic, meat eating (fish on Fridays),  south side dwelling heterosexual and then some, moderate-to-savage cigarette smoking, fossil-fueled motoring, tax-paying and tubby middle aged male - not cool. Unless. of course, I change and change utterly . . .Nah.

I hear tell of mean folks.  People who shout, "Hey That's My Bike!" whenever they spy two or more persons  aboard a Schwinn and out for a two-wheeled speed. Just mean.

I mean bikes are okay. If Jesus rode a bike he'd look like this -

 but He did not and the Romans nailed Him to Cross. Hey, I'm just sayin'!
Another morsel from the Right Sides of History - The Axis Armies used bicycles extensively in WWII



The Bataan Death Ride April 1942. Those ain't G.I.s aboard them Mitschwinbitsis.

I rode bicycles up to my twenty-fifth year on Mother Earth.  I took a header when the front tire of ten-speed blew like Susan Sarandon in White Palace.  I was biking back from a morning's fishing under Warner Bridge Road in Kankakee County, when this mechanical misfortune took me off the ten speed aficianado demographic for keeps.  

The hike back to Kankakee City which followed my ergonomic tossing of the bent frame in a big-assed dumpster somewhere near the Parkway Inn Tavern (above) in the region known as Altorff.  Fine folks there about the Brady family dominates the woods along the river -taught most the children, I did. Bandaged and spirited the seven mile perambulation to my windowless apartment above Home Appliances on Station Street was dedicated to Peace with Bikes.

Bikes are fine.  Most cyclists are grand folks, but every NPR listening jerk with a trust fund deemed it most important to become a mirror image of the bicycle messenger on PCP.  Congested,gentrified hipster communities attract bicycle fascists quicker than Obama makes a federal regulation. In recent years, after the new millenium, the bike lobby hooked Richard M. Daley through the gills and boated that bass.  Lance Daley cleared the way for Critical Mass activism to its supreme achievement (be like Seattle) -turning the Chicago Dept. of Transportation in Der  BikeStag.

I have nothing against bicycles nor the people who choose to ride them.  I have a universal dislike of jerks, JOs and Janissaries of agendas large, loud and limited.

Divvy is owned and operated, I think, by the City of Chicago in the same way that Chicago owns the Skyway and Parking Meters. The concept is swell:

• Ride Public Transporation
• Be a Divvy
• Bike away traffic
• Bike the shopping
• Bike the dining
• Bike the concerts
• Bike to court to bring suit against the Mexican Lanscapper you cut off when giving the finger to an elderly Jewish lady trying to cross Dearborn over by the Newbury library
• Bike the bars- you will not be charged with DUI unless you hit and scratch up Ald Cappleman's PriusLock the Bikes and make sure you lock it according to the code, People!
• Be Bangor, Be Bangalore, Be Bejing!

Already the the south and west side communities are Bike Deserts.  Is it Progressive, is it Hip, is it Coo, Is it Chicago Proco Joe to deprive people whose ancestors survived Maafa, Jim Crow and CPS the opportunity to Divvy? Is it Chicago values to break out Break Away Everyday in white upper class arugula and Whole Foods communities?

Divvy stations are taking up parking spaces - no parking -no driver - no customer at Wicker Park gin mill but walk-in trade. N.B. Biker peddlars don't tip

Bicyclists are as rare as Progressive philanthropists here in Gresham, Englewood, Roseland and even Chatham.  The bike lanes on Vincennes Ave. have faded like the last Rose of the 2012-13 Bulls Season.

Gov. Pat Quinn, Folks! I've had warts go away faster than him.

"When you point your finger at others there are three fingers pointing  back at you . . .unless you are Governor Pat Quinn" said Governor Pat Quinn.

"This is an emergency. This is a crisis. This requires the full attention of those elected to the General Assembly, Gentlemen we must protect our phoney baloney jobs!  I wannna hear a Harrumph!!!!! " Quinn said.

"They cannot take time away and ignore this issue," Quinn said. "The best way to do that is hit them in the wallet. The way I hit everyone else in this State"

This guy kills me . . .not just the State of Illinois.

This is Important!

I anticipate making the tigh tright hand turn off of 79^th Street at Sangamon into the tight cul de sac pavement that aprons the Leo High School staff and Alumni parking lot. I anticipate up a storm. I can see the chimney of Leo High School before I even get to Damen Ave. and it dominates the eastern skies of the Gresham neighborhood, suggesting welcome, safety, brotherhood and opportunity.  To arrive at that Holy Have requires grit, fore-thought and eyes on the mirrors.

I try to keep my eyes in rear view mirrors, especially to my immediate right. 79^th Street is a truck path between the Dan Ryan Expressway and the freight and rail yards that begin west of Western Ave. and continue to trucking and warehouse village of Hopkins in Archer Ave – Rt 171. 

Not only is there a legion of cars, SUVs, vans and hillbilly Cadillacs of all shapes, sizes and wheel fixture, but forty-foot tractor trailers and utility vehicles of monstrous size and intimidation insinuating their collective will upon my lightly armored vehicle and filo pastry thin heart.

The turn, as I said is tight, tighter than the pockets on a fat man’s pants, because 79^th Street is a wholly theoretical two lane street with bus and turning lane –east bound and west bound.   I longer take Vincennes to Halsted to 79th Street, avoiding a disasterous left hand turn at Sangamon altogether.

Like the theoretical crossing lanes at each intersection, two lane traffic, with right lane observances to ordinance and good manners, have become an urban venial sin – noted, but largely ignored. Most citizen-workers modestly follow the lane and speed limit; nevertheless, there are Byronic types for whom no law or ordinance stays they need for speed and avoiding the sight of tail-lights –universal.

Since 1995, I have been singularly fortunate to avoid collision on this thorough-fare. At Morgan I merge at at peril - courage helps an undoomed man. Others not so fortunate.  I have witnesses duels between motorists with the lane sober driver speeding up with the corsair driving with no plates. Several times, to my delight, the existentialist got crushed into a parked City vehicle. There are no bicycle enthusiast peddling 79^th Street – odd that. Why enter a lion's cage wearing a pork-chop suit?

In response to all of this haste-makes-delays driving and drivers, I have but two words –

“Trombone Shorty!”

Montaigne on the Brain and I Dream in French

"Je suis un rêveur. Je dois rêver et atteindre les étoiles, et si je manque une étoile puis je prends une poignée de nuages​​."
Mike Tyson

Many cultures attribute prophetic significance to dreams (an example of this can be found in the story of Joseph in the book of Genesis). Others are more skeptical. Aristotle wrote a treatise on dreams 2400 years ago in which he stated that "most so-called prophetic dreams should be classified as coincidences" On Prophesying by Dreams. Aristotle, translated by J. I. Beare,

My dreams mirror me.  Most of the time they look like this:

Sometimes they reflect my sadness over the loss of a quality Network Television program, like Pan Am -late of ABC:

Or, a dream (s) may  have much to do with cautionary tales themed accordingly in devotional readings before night-night.

I made the mistake of reading Michel De Montaigne the French Joseph Epstein whose 'sentences' are bon-bons for the mind.   I read Montaigne on facing my own mortality

Je veux que la mort me trouve plantant mes choux.*

And off I winked all forty

Things were looking mighty mal and so I hit the fast forward REM cycle, remembering this quote from Montaigne

e veux qu'on me voit en ma façon simple, naturelle, et ordinaire, sans étude et artifice; car c'est moi que je peins...Je suis moi-même la matière de mon livre.**

As Dan Savage always says, It gets better! So did the dreams -

*Translation: I want death to find me planting my cabbages.

**

• Translation: I want to be seen here in my simple, natural, ordinary fashion, without straining or artifice; for it is myself that I portray...I am myself the matter of my book.

Chicago Poet - JJ Tindall: Wallace Stevens Without The Insurance Plan and Ezra Pound With All of His Marbles

 

My pal, Chicago poet JJ Tindall smoking a corn-cob pipe ( dang!).  My mistake reciting his brilliant poetry to a worthy audience.

Poetry is math. 

R-CALCULUS     by Jonathan Holden of Kansas

               "The child is the father of the man." 

                        -- W. W. Wordsworth

     Back then, "Calculus"

     was a scary college word,

     and yet we studied it

     from the back seat, we studied   

     the rates at which

     the roadside trees went striding  

Sound and Sense kids!  Poetry ain't poetry without  'em.  Poetry is math -  Math for the guys who cannot make their way through Algebra.  The lyre and the slide-rule were very often the tools for clever kids sent to the Lyceum and hang around with the smart guys in order to pick up  useful applications for living the examined life.

Every culture has poets, bards, shops, shapers, singers and bar-flies caging a few wet ones for the price of a song.  Some people will argue ( wrongly, of course) that any culture is equal to the other.  That is nice and very WTTW and all but about as wrong as Ald. Proco Joe Moreno on a full breakfast.  Shakespeare is superior to Charles Bukowski, the late-Lil Jo Jo, and anything by Katha Polite.

Poets must pass the finger test - e.g. dactylic hexameter if you wish to go Epic. Six feet of DAK tills - A long syllable followed by two short syllables ( Dumb-Diddy) The Greek word dactyl has two meanings 'finger/toe -thus, a metric foot. English is spoken in

 Iambs; thus iambic pentameter Ta Tum/Ta tum/Ta Tum/Ta Tum /Ta tum - five feet to the measure.  Are you bored shitless by now? It is timing, beat, measure matching mood and meaning. That's the math.

Try this by Seamus Heaney 

Digging.

Between my finger and my thumb   

The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.

Under my window, a clean rasping sound   

When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:   

My father, digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds   

Bends low, comes up twenty years away   

Stooping in rhythm through potato drills   

Where he was digging.

.....

Seamus Heaney is the real deal.  In the last century (20th -remember that one?) there were three truly outstanding American poets - TS Eliot, Ezra Pound and Wallace Stevens.  TS Eliot was pretentious creep: a St. Louis Hoosier affecting the speech of the British upper classes who had his brilliant and talented wife slapped in the looney bin. Great poet, but a louse that regular guys would love to slap around. He passes the finger test for meter and the one fipped by people of goodwill in direction of cads, bounders and creeps.

Ezra Pound was a sho nuff Hoosier from Indiana who so immersed himself in his art that the art took over - Pound did radio broadcasts for Mussolini, because he liked the trappings of fascism -columns, daggers, legions & etc.  William Butler Yeats was no different from Pound and avoided a trip to hotel silly only because Eire was neutral in WWII and he happened to die in 1939. But like Pound, Yeats, to quote Pope Pius XII, was "as crazy as a shit-house rat."

Our third poet, in my estimation, was best of the lot. Wallace Stevens demands your fullest attention as a man and as a poet.  I'd hang out with him at Beachwood Inn, Chip Inn, Home Run Inn, or Stash's Never Inn any day.  He was one of the top Hartford Insurance Salesmen and practiced his art outside of the public eye.  Stevens' family only learned of his fame as a poet after his death.  By all accounts, Wallace Stevens was not only a brilliant poet, but a great guy.

Here's Chicago's Wallace Stevens without an Insurance spiel and Ezra Pound with his marbles carefully maintained.  JJ. Tindall folks!

Chicagoetry: A Wren in a Wreath

By J.J. Tindall

A Wren in a Wreath

So: there's this ghoul

in my soul,

a wren in my wreath.

In a heart full of holes

lurks a golem of grief.

A compendium of flaws,

a contraption of of fate, he.

He's not everything,

he's just a part of me.

Of course, I have forged

a life mask with a modicum

of charm and finesse

(God! To get through the day!)

and crowned my fell heart

with a laureate's wreath

for endurance under duress.

Like us all, I swirl

with embattled selves.

Within croaks a ghoul

with an elephant's memory

for bleak humiliation

and roiling defeat.

I've christened him

the wren in my wreath.

He commands a gallows

of heartworn dreams, caretakes

a graveyard of botched ambition.

He embodies my Elephant Man:

swollen skull of cracked, grey leather,

hair-sprouting warts, drooling lips,

a vocabulary of phlegm-wracked slurs.

Yep: like a drunk

just a shot away.

I don't like him

but I must love him.

Because he's there.

Stress, fatigue

and crude draughts of relief

enable the guy

with the elephant grief.

Garlanded elephant

with a wren mahout

straddling his blades

and whipping his flank.

OK: not one wren

but a chime of wrens

like a murder of crows

with a case of the bends.

He's there, my wren,

my wrench in the works.

This Eve of All Hallows

I'll drag my life mask to the gallows

and for this night

I'll let the wren reign.

Yep: I'll purge the wrath

and savor compassion

for all ravens, rooks and knaves.

This night shall go judgment

to the grave.

To dawn

and the Day of All Saints

I bequeath

my shabby heart, my wren,

my wreath.

-

J.J. Tindall is the Beachwood's poet-in-residence. He welcomes your comments. Chicagoetry is an exclusive Beachwood collection-in-progress.

JJ Tindal has the great good sense to imbibe Pierian Beers at Beachwood Inn with American Journalist and Pintsman Steve Rhodes.

-

Chris Zorich and The Angel

Chris Zorich in less ugly times . . . for him.

Chris Zorich's lawyer noted that the ND Hall of Famer, NFL Star of 1990's Chicago Bears. 'Must Have' Charity Draw and Urban Prep Board Director is more than flat-broke.

Chris Zorich — the former Chicago Bears star whose tax problems landed him in federal court — is broke, his attorneys said Wednesday.
Zorich, 44, has a net worth of $302,000, but owes $348,000 in a case the Illinois attorney general brought over the questionable finances of his charity — and likely more than $90,000 more in IRS interest and penalties, his lawyers said in a court filing.

The comments about this great hearted and obviously very trusting young man are about as mean-spirited and thoughtless as one can expect from unhappy people.  They read about the serial killing New England Patriot and the other twenty seven felony raps garnered by NFL this post season and mold the identical pecksniffing meme.

All of this ugly information makes people, with nothing much else to do, want to sleep-out on sidewalk until the Federal courtroom opens on July 12th when Chris Zorich is sentenced for misdemeanor tax-evasion.  The Angel whom Zorich helped is invisible, because the Chicago media only looks at what it is told to look at and goes stone-cold blind on command.

Who served on the board of directors for the Christopher Zorich Foundation?

I think that Chris Zorich had a job done on him, because a protected angel took advantage of his good nature, but that's just me.

I remember Chris Zorich when Lou Holtz commanded Notre Dame football.  Lou Holtz did not use athletes, he educated them.  Chris Zorich was a powerful athlete with a puny CPS education K-12.  Had Chris Zorich been a lither, nimbler and much taller athlete he would have had an outstanding career at Simeon and University of Miami and with NBA. He played football.

Lou Holtz ensured that his players were tutored, if they were deficient.  Chris Zorich was tutored, by an ex-Navy officer and PhD candidate in English literature.  Chris Zorich graduated with a degree from University of Notre Dame - that still means something even in our idiotic gladiator culture of sports.

Chris Zorich was not a Mongo, nor was he a Gary Fencik.   He was a gentleman-athlete who behaved like a gentleman.  He was not arrested on gun charges, or for beating women in Clubs on Lake Street.   Chris Zorich had no diamonds in his teeth to go with a recreational drug and vodka habit.  Evidently Chris Zorich managed to leave the violence on the field on any given Sunday and avoided larceny seven days a week. He made a pretty good buck as a pro.  Chris Zorich's football injuries ended his pro career. He took care of his Mom and created Christopher Zorich Foundation. 

With his NFL salary and benefits Zorich seemed to try and do some good for other people.  When  any one tries to do that, the grifters, creeps and frauds crawl out of the societal and social woodwork.

Chris Zorich, like many other pro athletes, wanted to do some good for poor kids and philanthropy always produces charity lamprey eels. They are always media protected and affiliated hipsters who always seem to have powerful political friends of family.

I noticed, at the turn of this century, that Chris Zorich had become associated with a guy who had run the finances of Hales Franciscan Prep into the ground  in five short years, but managed to avoid any public inquiry concerning his mismangement. Oprah called the guy 'an angel.'

Well this Old Divil got up in the Angel's Grill, as the lads at Leo are wont to say.

In 1996, I was asked to attend a meeting of Catholic high schools that serve the inner city to discuss a strategy for sustained support, hosted by Oprah's little angel himself at Hales.  The stategy was this -" Share your data base with us."  There thoughtful nods, and murmurs of ascent from my colleagues.  I looked and Pete Doyle, Leo Principal' for the go ahead nod and offered, " Are YOU out of your @#$%ing Mind? ( GASPS ALL AROUND!!!)  Leo gives its Alumni list to no one. Not only is that just stupid, but complete abrogation of fund-raising principles."

Waxing full Franklin with a direct quote The Angel cried " If we do not hang together, we will all hang separately!"I laughed, " Hang and be damned! Let's blow, Pete."  And blow we did.   Hales suffered the Angel's lifestyle and legacy to Hales finances only because of the heroic efforts of Talk Show host Jenny Jones, the late Don Hubert and especially The Big Shoulders Fund. The Angel flew off before the rope could be made available with announcement of his 'retirement' on WBEZ. In 2000 Hales Franciscan with The Angel's flight to greener clouds, was in the hole . . . .a very deep hole. Everyone agreed that the Catholic high school for African American boys was under water, but no media questioned just how the ship was scuttled.

The Angel even took Hale's colors, dress code and student handbook with him, but no blame for its perilous condition. Hang separate!

That financial jackpot became an urban mystery.  Jenny Jones helped Hales.

Who's Jenny Jones?  Chicago Trib:  "Talk show host Jenny Jones continues her quest to keep Hales Franciscan High School . Jones has donated another $125,000 to the school."

The Angel attached himself to the Charter School Movement and Chris Zorich. Zorich coached football for The Angel, hosted poker tournaments with D-List celebrities like Richard Roeper and golf tournaments that attract celebrity wannabees and photo dopes. Kewel!Made some money. An anonymous gift that was to be matched up to the amount of $1M pops up all the time in annual reports. I wonder who that might be, or have been, but that is a matter fiduciary confidence. We won't know and none will wonder.

A foundation is tough to manage - especially with every mission competing with every grift in its proximity.  With an Angel whispering in the ear of a trusting soul it gets even tougher - even Federally tougher.

I'm no angel, but I suspect that Chris Zorich's foundation problems just might have a lot to do with the Angel in his wallet. That particular Angel will disappear and scrub his association with Chris Zorich as much as he did with Hales, in my simple man's opinion.

The Angel will be fine because no one looks at him.  Chris Zorich will be sentenced on July 12th and that is sad.  Chris Zorich will remain a good, trusting man.

Celebrate Liberty - Eat the Roasted Flesh of Hooved or Cloven Beasts

"Whatsoever hath the hoof divided, and cheweth the cud among the beasts, you shall eat." Leviticus11:3 - Douhy-Rheims

"Meat first and spoon vittles to pour on! - Mark Twain

"Yeah there was ham an' there was turkey, there was caviar 
An' long tall glasses, with wine up to h'yar"  - Leo Sayer

Feast like a Patriot, this 4th of July.  With moistened eyes, tuck away in celebration of Valley Forge, Yorktown, Princeton and Monmouth.  I intend to honor our Liberty with libertine's portion of roasted flesh - hog, swine or beef. I will not eschew fruit du mer swimming, crawling or clinging if so offered, let me just tell you. I am a Patriot.

That first Fourth of July is believed to have taken place at City Tavern, the Philadelphia public house that hosted many a gathering of the founding fathers. Tavern Chef Walter Staib says the menu likely would have been based on the recipes of British culinary authority Hannah Glasse, whose book “The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy” dictates not only every dish of the three-course dinner, but where it should be placed on the table.
Glasse’s July menu suggests the signers of the Declaration would have supped on roast turkey and fricasseed rabbit, pigeon, crawfish and lobsters. There would have been tongue and turnips and lamb testicles. And for dessert, apricot tarts and roasted apples, plums, jellies and custards.

Because Philadelphia was a major port, the meal likely also would have included delicacies from abroad, Staib says. Limes from the West Indies were used for lime curd. Exotic fruit such as mangoes, pineapples and coconuts might have been available, as well as spices such as cinnamon, nutmeg, mace and vanilla. Plus, there was local seafood, such as salmon, sturgeon and oysters.

Don't say nothing about no salad.



Let Freedom . . .digest with ease and contement.  Happy 4th of July, Citizens

Will Traitor Edward Snowden Seek Asylum in Chicago, Our Sanctuary & Laundered Life City?

Billy, tell Eric Z to 'call' me; I thinks I gots a place for that kid, Snowden.  How's retirement?  I see you are doing side-walk marketing for Liberty Tax Preparations - pensions sure ain't what they was! "- Stanley Ikernberry Uof I Utility Grifter

A spokesman for Russian President Vladimir Putin said Tuesday that Snowden had withdrawn his request for asylum there because of Putin’s (dubious) requirement that Snowden stop doing damage to the United States. WikiLeaks announced Tuesday that he’s still seeking asylum from 20 countries, including such bastions of freedom as China, Cuba and Venezuela. Dana Milbank - Washington Post


Chicago is the only only city in the world where a law breaker can get square deal.

Milton Bradley, formerly of the Chicago Cubs and MLB, parted our sanctuary city for the sunnier coast. Between 2011-12 he tuned up his bride, because he was smokin' loud in front of kiddies.  He will now go away for six semesters. Had Milton not been the obstreperous lout with a lousy batting average, he might have avoided incarceration altogether and garnered an academic posting at De Paul University, or as an Urban Translator along side of Gator Bradley in Wrongful Conviction Heater Trials.

Milton, you should have stayed put, Son!  Tio Hardiman's missus has been 'induced' to drop the Brown Hand Procedure charges.

Wife beaters get work in Chicago - columnists and anti-violence activists.  Charges disappear like magic.

Any malefactor can get work in the City That Works for Some. Cliff Kelley is a disc jockey.  America's domestic terrorism Mr. & Mrs. North - Billy and Bernardin Ayers & Dorhn helped kill cops and blew up buildings only to become Distinguished Professors at Cement City (UICC) and Northwestern University.

There are ex-con Aldermen and ex-con Obama strategists, like Bob "the Shank" Creamer - Terra Haute Alumnus and Schakowsky Spouse. Chicago is a sanctuary city for illegal aliens, but more so the de facto sanctuary city of Progressive Blessed Criminals. Rahm ordered Chicago be the Welcome City! More so, Chicago provides The Laundered Life!

Chicago is not unlike a medieval church where felons find not only shelter but a comfortable income.

Why would Edward Snowden opt to end his days in banana burgs like La Paz, Quito, or Caracas, when he could Lou Malnati his way to a quiet grave right here in Chicago - via the Laundered Life.

My advice, to Snowden would be

1. Dump Glenn Greenwald and seek the patronage of Stanley Ikenberry ( Bill Ayers' Chinaman U of I Utility Grifter)
2. Have Dad make a drop to the Re-elect Pat Quinn Campaign, Personal PAC, or WTTW
3. Reach out to Carol Marin for a series of heart-tugging columns about your being bullied by Pipe-fitters and Cement Finishers
4. Wear Cubs gear in the Russkie airport
5. Advocate for Gay Marriage . . .after you leave Moscow of course

In no time at all,   Eric Snowden will be a resident and distinguished fellow of Something-or-Other at De Paul,  corned beef stacking judge at Manny's, WTTW panelist, BGA Whistle Blower Lecturer and roof-top seating life member, Hyde Park Neighborhood Watch Member and permanent guest of Chicago: The Sanctuary City!  Be as big as your dreams and as big as the lies.