Ode To Klas: Bohemian Restaurant Icon to the Tune of the Stone's "Last Time"

Klas is closing its doors.  Klas is located on the street named for Chicago's best known Bohemian Anton Cermak and therestaurant that once served as a meal/meeting destination for Al Capone. Another landmark Chicago family restaurant disappears.  

My God, what is next?  The magnificent Italian strip in the Heart of Italy?

The food was exquisite and atmosphere delightful.  It was no faux-hipper-than-thou foodie mecca surrounded by tinted glass, chrome and zinc bar affectations.  It was gloriously Old World - not global.

I will miss this place, already panged by the thought that another piece of solid Chicago is tossed into the Orwellian memory-hole.

Others feel the pain.  My pal Daniel Kelley, attorney and Chicago folklorist and Chicago's greatest historian Richard Lindberg forwarded this poem/parody to the tune of the Rolling Stones - last time.

Ode to Klas ( This Could be the Last time)by Jim A. Moran
“This Could Be the Last Time”

Well I told you once and I told you twice
I like my dumplings washed down with Weiss
Oompa bands try very hard to please me
Where the potato pancakes go down so easy
Well this could be the last time
This could be the last time
Maybe the last time
I dont know. oh no. oh no
Well, I’m sorry girl but I can’t stay
My beef ghoulash is on the way
When Klas shuts down there’ll be much sorrow
Gonna get weiner schnitzel there tomorrow
Well this could be the last time
This could be the last time
Maybe the last time
I dont know. oh no. oh no
Well I told you once and I told you twice
Kolackies are included in the price
But here's a chance to change your mind
cuz I’m going there for pork tenderloin
Well this could be the last time
This could be the last time
Maybe the last time
I dont know. oh no. oh no
Well, this could be the last time . . .

James A. Moran

Sounds like it is, Jim. 

Trampas or the Virginian: Trump and The Spooks and the Supine Media

 

Sworn Donald Trump enemy John McCain admitted Wednesday that he passed the dossier of claims of a Russian blackmail plot against the president-elect.
The Arizona senator issued a public statement amid mounting questions of his exact role in the affair - and how a document riddled with errors and unverifiable claims came to be published.
'Late last year, I received sensitive information that has since been made public,' he said.
'Upon examination of the contents, and unable to make a judgment about their accuracy, I delivered the information to the Director of the FBI.
'That has been the extent of my contact with the FBI or any other government agency regarding this issue.' The Daily Mail

“the document was prepared for political opponents of Trump by a person who is understood to be a former British intelligence agent.” Ben Smith Buzzfeed

Super. Pretty wet out there with all the leaks, Golden Showers, Sobbing spooks and CNN unabe to fathom the fact that the Electoral College worked the way it was supposed to work.

So yesterday the media and the clubby spooks got a nose bleed.

I immediately thought of Owen Wister's great novel - The Virginian.  This is a novel more about the constructive and community forming application of words, than it is about the single show-down and gun play.

The character known as the Virginian is opposed to the glib, cowardly and shameless Trampas.  The Virginian will allow a friend, a person with whom he has shared danger, laughs and a few drinks, to call him an S.O.B. any minute of the day.  He will not tolerate, however, any malicious tag to sit in his aura for a second.

Five or six players sat over in the corner at a round table where counters were piled. Their eyes were close upon their cards, and one seemed to be dealing a card at a time to each, with pauses and betting between. Steve was there and the Virginian; the others were new faces.

“No place for amatures,” repeated the voice; and now I saw that it was the dealer’s. There was in his countenance the same ugliness that his words conveyed.
“Who’s that talkin’?” said one of the men near me, in a low voice.
“Trampas.”
“What’s he?”
“Cow-puncher, bronco-buster, tin-horn, most anything.”
“Who’s he talkin’ at?”
“Think it’s the black-headed guy he’s talking at.”
“That ain’t supposed to be safe, is it?”
“Guess we’re all goin’ to find out in a few minutes.”
“Been trouble between ‘em?”
“They’ve not met before. Trampas don’t enjoy losin’ to a stranger.”
“Fello’s from Arizona, yu’ say?”
“No. Virginia. He’s recently back from havin’ a look at Arizona. Went down there last year for a change. Works for the Sunk Creek outfit.” And then the dealer lowered his voice still further and said something in the other man’s ear, causing him to grin. After which both of them looked at me.
There had been silence over in the corner; but now the man Trampas spoke again.
“AND ten,” said he, sliding out some chips from before him. Very strange it was to hear him, how he contrived to make those words a personal taunt. The Virginian was looking at his cards. He might have been deaf.
“AND twenty,” said the next player, easily.
The next threw his cards down.
It was now the Virginian’s turn to bet, or leave the game, and he did not speak at once.
Therefore Trampas spoke. “Your bet, you son-of-a—.”
The Virginian’s pistol came out, and his hand lay on the table, holding it unaimed. And with a voice as gentle as ever, the voice that sounded almost like a caress, but drawling a very little more than usual, so that there was almost a space between each word, he issued his orders to the man Trampas: “When you call me that, SMILE.” And he looked at Trampas across the table.
Yes, the voice was gentle. But in my ears it seemed as if somewhere the bell of death was ringing; and silence, like a stroke, fell on the large room. All men present, as if by some magnetic current, had become aware of this crisis. In my ignorance, and the total stoppage of my thoughts, I stood stock-still, and noticed various people crouching, or shifting their positions.
“Sit quiet,” said the dealer, scornfully to the man near me. “Can’t you see he don’t want to push trouble? He has handed Trampas the choice to back down or draw his steel.”
Then, with equal suddenness and ease, the room came out of its strangeness. Voices and cards, the click of chips, the puff of tobacco, glasses lifted to drink,—this level of smooth relaxation hinted no more plainly of what lay beneath than does the surface tell the depth of the sea.
For Trampas had made his choice. And that choice was not to “draw his steel.” If it was knowledge that he sought, he had found it, and no mistake! We heard no further reference to what he had been pleased to style “amatures.” In no company would the black-headed man who had visited Arizona be rated a novice at the cool art of self-preservation.
One doubt remained: what kind of a man was Trampas? A public back-down is an unfinished thing,—for some natures at least. I looked at his face, and thought it sullen, but tricky rather than courageous.
Something had been added to my knowledge also. Once again I had heard applied to the Virginian that epithet which Steve so freely used. The same words, identical to the letter. But this time they had produced a pistol. “When you call me that, SMILE!” So I perceived a new example of the old truth, that the letter means nothing until the spirit gives it life. The Virginian Owen Wister (emphases my own)

The Media makes me want to shower.  The spooks ?  Who knows from spooks?

Obama's Long Goodbye and No, We Kant.

Gotta say, I am no fan of the President.  I set the bar of expectation for the man himself long ago.

 He rubbed me the wrong way, when I tried to secure scholarship funding for the families of Leo High School students in the mid and late 1990's, when young Mr. Obama was executive director of the Woods Fund and a director of the Annenberg Challenge.  I found him arrogant, snotty, full of himself and not very bright.  Each subsequent meeting with him lived up to my low expectations.

What do I know?  He rose to become not only an appointment on charity boards and an adjunct faculty member at University of Chicago, but an Illinois Senator, a United States Senator, Nobel Laureate, touted to be a Constitutional Scholar and a two-term, wildly popular American President.

I caught his farewell speech on WTTW.

Many first person singular  personal  pronouns and pious platitudes.

So I first came to Chicago when I was in my early twenties, and I was still trying to figure out who I was; still searching for a purpose to my life. And it was a neighborhood not far from here where I began working with church groups in the shadows of closed steel mills.
It was on these streets where I witnessed the power of faith, and the quiet dignity of working people in the face of struggle and loss.  

(CROWD CHANTING “FOUR MORE YEARS”)

I can’t do that. ( belly laughs abound)

Now this is where I learned that change only happens when ordinary people get involved, and they get engaged, and they come together to demand it.

After eight years as your president, I still believe that. And it’s not just my belief. It’s the beating heart of our American idea — our bold experiment in self-government.

And etc,


It was pretty much a validation of the opinion of himself that he shares with the thousands of people who waited in line, braving the Chicago low temps and cutting winds to clutch a single ticket for this speech and the legions of People Like You at WTTW, CNN, ABC,CBS, NBC, MSNBC, the chicago Tribune & Sun Times, Hollywood and with Goldman Sachs.

It has been a wild ride, alright! The President offered a litany of the great things he believes that he accomplished, set right,  shared and made just for the "the waitress, the laid off factory worker," who voted for Donald Trump and reminded America of Jim Crow and Atticus Finch and that politics is a battle.  Been there and heard that for years.

What plugged me between the horns was this, " It is that spirit — it is that spirit born of the enlightenment that made us an economic powerhouse."

Really?

Immanuel Kant was a founding Father?  Rene Descartes needs a musical too?  Johnny Locke and Spinoza were captains of industry?

I am going to miss President Obama's nattering, but not for real long.

Okay, what's for breakfast?  How about  McCann's?

 

  It is that spirit — it is that spirit born of the enlightenment that made us an economic powerhouse.  Now, that's enlightened!

Snow, Man, and'The Snow Man' Makes it Better! Behold Nothing That is Not There!

Well, so far I have had to use the trusty old MTD ( recently serviced by the estimable Mike Green) this winter.

We have been promised Snowmageddon again.  The Farmer's Almanac predicted a real bone snapper.

Thus far, but a dusting this A.M. - can't worry about accumulation. All a body can rightly do is praise the Lord and plow.

It's winter neighbors.  We get snow.

Here is a brilliant way to get over ourselves and revel in God's winter weather work - The Snow Man by Wallace Stevens.

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;  

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter  

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,  

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place  

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Like a snow man, Stevens built upon three - five triplet stanzas.  Each 'snowman' relies upon 'perspective.'  We each and everyone of us look at the cold hard facts out there and each of us comes away with a different perspective.  The facts are supposed to dominate us, like a Tom Skilling warning of 'temperatures at Zero and wind chills down to negative fifteen.'  Tell that to a troop of eight St. Cajetan fifth grade boys on a snow day and the chance to sled down Beacon Hill at 107th & Longwood Drive.  Tell that to their teachers who have a day off! McNally's, Ladies!

Science, hard facts and snow mean something.  Never the same thing.

12 Years is all that is Required to Examine Obama's Presidency and You Thought Getting His College Records was Tough

           

   

By late morning Tuesday, Chicago seemed to have been taken captive – albeit willingly – by plans for an enormous election party in the city’s front yard, Grant Park, where Senator Barack Obama, would spend election night. Monica Davey reported throughout the day from park. By the time of Mr. Obama’s victory speech, according to city officials, an estimated 240,000 people had gathered in the park and its surrounding streets.  New York Times November 5, 2008

 But consider, too, the intangibles of his legacy, things that Chicagoans share and will pass on about Obama to our next generation because we were there from the start.
No matter our political ideology, race, gender, religion or income, we have a story to tell. We were there when a state senator from Hyde Park with a funny name catapulted from Springfield to the White House — with a brief stop in the U.S. Senate — all in the span of about four years.
A Chicagoan broke a racial barrier and became the nation’s first African-American president. And then he won a second term, running both national campaigns from headquarters in downtown Chicago.
We can’t sugarcoat this: Chicago has been grappling with persistent problems with violence these years while Obama has been in the White House. The city’s longstanding, race-related problems and festering issues with the police department did not vanish just because Obama was the president. There were 780 murders in Chicago in 2016.
That doesn’t diminish the fact, though, that Obama is “indelibly in the fabric of Chicago, the history of Chicago,” said Bill Daley, a former Obama White House chief of staff who is part of Chicago history himself as the son and brother of Chicago mayors. " He Made us all proud"  Lynn Sweet Chicago Sun Times January 8, 2017

Sorry, Lynn. Just not seeing it.

President Obama's Legacy is vanishing.  Not because of Trump, or Republicans, but because of the very thin-skinned and prickly man himself.

His last days in Office have been tantrums, terrorist releases, land grabs and brag fests to his pet media lap-dogs, like Carol Marin and other sycophants.

He believes that if you want to know about him, ask Hollywood, watch South Side With You  and the up-coming box-office stinker Barry, ironically about top-secret college days.

The genuine man, the man I have met, spoken with and remain thoroughly underwhelmed by, is pretty much the man I refused to cast a vote for in 2008 and 2012 - a thin-skinned, prickly, egoist with a genuine lack of gravity, substance and people skills. I found him to be rather a dim bulb, as well. That's just me.

His term of office never let me down. I had set a very low bar for him long before he announced for President.

Historians and regular people who deeply and passionately fell in love with the man image, fabricated by Valerie Jarrett, Desiree Rogers, David Axelrod, Rahm Emanuel and the Brothers Daley between 2004-2008, remain so and may never know what happened in America for eight years. They will not be moved, but they will forget.

Obama had his college records disappeared, he had his work for Bill Ayers and the Annenberg Challenge suppressed at University of Illinois Chicago library and last July did the same for his Presidential records.

Obama ordered his Presidential Records to be suppressed for Twelve (12) Years:

The letter, released to POLITICO on Friday under the Freedom of Information Act, also indicates that Obama is exercising his rights to put many of those records off-limits for 12 years after he leaves the presidency later this month. While the move could be seen as at odds with Obama's frequently stated commitment to transparency, it's a step other recent presidents have also taken before leaving the White House.

Well his legacy will vanish of its own accord.  Eventually the passionate people who wept real tears of joy in Grant Park  and around America on November  5th in 2008, or thousands of Chicagoans who stood in single digit Chicago arctic wind outside of McCormick Place to secure one (1) ticket to Obama's Farewell Speech tomorrow night, will wonder what exactly was it that Obama actually had done for eight years, besides, party, vacation, golf, bow, divide races, fire military leaders, bitch slap America's history and people, draw red lines and smirk.