tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63151975469847051212024-03-12T20:54:05.862-05:00The View From Brule LakeBrule Lakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18064595420011193426noreply@blogger.comBlogger113125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6315197546984705121.post-50945062211478649612023-11-11T11:42:00.000-06:002023-11-11T11:42:08.815-06:00First in Shoes, First in Booze and Last in the American League<p> I believe I attended my first Major League baseball game in
1954, a White Sox game at Comiskey Park against a long-forgotten opponent. One
of them was not the St. Louis Browns, who had moved to Baltimore to become the
Orioles during the previous offseason. Despite not seeing them play, my
interest in the Browns was initiated by a 1952 Topps trading card for Les Moss
(one of the few if only from that season).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw4b7V1EUEAsAukJZ66eRinlBbXFT0YQVE45qBkW98jojoXuHu5poCl2ioUQnIfKdSiggXCNCGqGqWnr0NXnJcSqFBNYXd8hShv1Yt0o86BTxQjyq0BQiFxlLuniPjpq4Fz_yP7oLsKNsD06t2OF_CdYPgofP1N_u4qDQ-YQjD0MobYNa2KsAUyTkr-yI/s472/Les%20Moss%20card.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="472" data-original-width="336" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw4b7V1EUEAsAukJZ66eRinlBbXFT0YQVE45qBkW98jojoXuHu5poCl2ioUQnIfKdSiggXCNCGqGqWnr0NXnJcSqFBNYXd8hShv1Yt0o86BTxQjyq0BQiFxlLuniPjpq4Fz_yP7oLsKNsD06t2OF_CdYPgofP1N_u4qDQ-YQjD0MobYNa2KsAUyTkr-yI/s320/Les%20Moss%20card.jpg" width="228" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Les Moss, Topps Collection 1952</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Mainly a backup catcher, Moss broke in with Browns in 1946
and ended his career with the White Sox in 1957. With both teams, he was the
backup to Sherman Lollar. Moss served as the Sox’s interim manager in 1968 when
headman Al Lopez was out after an appendectomy. I wondered: what was this card
and what was this team?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The Browns were undoubtedly the most inept franchises in MLB
history, thus the title of this post. Founded as the Milwaukee Brewers as a
charter member of the American League in 1901, the team moved to St. Louis the
following season to become the Browns, after the Brown Stockings, the St. Louis
Cardinals’ name from the 1880s to 1900. In its 50+ years of existence, the
Browns won one pennant and no World Series, most often finishing at or near the
bottom of the American League standings. Their one World Series was the last
one played at only one ballpark (not counting 2020) – Sportsman’s Park– in
1944, losing to the Cardinals in six games. I was fortunate to attend a
Cardinals game in the stadium in 1965, shortly before the team moved to the new
Busch Stadium and the ballpark was demolished.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHqthvg6EerQSRPSEEdcdcul27s8rTRasiDjObfa7eMXZ3GGIhp4C33uONEM6Q6eCVFgGuOfRB7KrZwR6-DQpZBXQpmaXOsbk8ci_2NxXxoejcn1OmJJ0o9l7iRWeuIA0c21P6euf0btEd9OYFg8-s28xfJ0JYar9Ix3qSDJBT5cDevgkGTe8_u15mRuk/s377/Sportsmans%20Park.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="244" data-original-width="377" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHqthvg6EerQSRPSEEdcdcul27s8rTRasiDjObfa7eMXZ3GGIhp4C33uONEM6Q6eCVFgGuOfRB7KrZwR6-DQpZBXQpmaXOsbk8ci_2NxXxoejcn1OmJJ0o9l7iRWeuIA0c21P6euf0btEd9OYFg8-s28xfJ0JYar9Ix3qSDJBT5cDevgkGTe8_u15mRuk/s320/Sportsmans%20Park.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Sportsman's Park</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Of the 11 Hall of Fame members who played for the Browns,
only two logged significant years with the team: shortstop Bobby Wallace (1902
– 1916) and 1<sup>st</sup> baseman George Sisler (1915 – 1927). My uncle, Dr.
Adolph Nachman, was among approximately 15,000 fans who witnessed the Browns greatest
pitching feat. On September 6, 1924, Urban Schocker, who had led the American
League with 27 wins three seasons before, started and completed both games of a
doubleheader vs. the White Sox in Comiskey Park, winning both by 6-2 scores
over Red Faber and Hollis Thurston. He would win one more game before being
traded back to the Yankees for the 1925 season; he tragically died just short
of age 38 of pneumonia at the end of the 1928 season. The feat of winning two
complete doubleheader games was accomplished only once after Schocker triumphs.
<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtTQDzNJsbopQFb6vr3XDzoQmaYy8a3xPLXgiMLaXStTkk2jfyMJHGwgGOpOB2mQQ6mo9qbkq7Kx9PyEEq3KiM98DCnJgIx5m2U0TKlVd0TTw3s-tniqRp7GAXG_UE91Mnz6nipba9JN5f3Cjv4bpe1RvC5DfhquBqJe209MZFR52ununj2IhPv1mSRuk/s271/Urban%20Schocker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="271" data-original-width="186" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtTQDzNJsbopQFb6vr3XDzoQmaYy8a3xPLXgiMLaXStTkk2jfyMJHGwgGOpOB2mQQ6mo9qbkq7Kx9PyEEq3KiM98DCnJgIx5m2U0TKlVd0TTw3s-tniqRp7GAXG_UE91Mnz6nipba9JN5f3Cjv4bpe1RvC5DfhquBqJe209MZFR52ununj2IhPv1mSRuk/s1600/Urban%20Schocker.jpg" width="186" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Urban Schocker</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The team is mainly known for two players with rather
significant handicaps: Pete Gray and Gaedel. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">With so many players off to World War II, the Browns brought
up Gray in 1945, an outfielder who had lost his right arm in a machinery
accident. He had played the previous two seasons with the Memphis Chicks of the
Southern Association. In his only MLB season, Gray hit .218 with no home runs
and 13 RBI. Ironically, 1945 was the last season the Browns had a winning record
until moving to Baltimore. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimJ-VjbqZMwdvVNOp7uWGO4Ham2D1aLKQ6LPNxNXjCU53Pw_k3-Va9YDrxxVYXsHw7s_9P3rI9ryDbSTTkhyphenhyphen4M-3W7fXTJD28mLwZCdEVZtWxkrcDY66kNoI9D_6m3Ei-2EcEZ9_mEIKdsCA-4yyTi4jRxhslCseA8kPbldYz8McLqPkrm3hKKoxRZe5o/s490/Pete%20Gray.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="490" data-original-width="344" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimJ-VjbqZMwdvVNOp7uWGO4Ham2D1aLKQ6LPNxNXjCU53Pw_k3-Va9YDrxxVYXsHw7s_9P3rI9ryDbSTTkhyphenhyphen4M-3W7fXTJD28mLwZCdEVZtWxkrcDY66kNoI9D_6m3Ei-2EcEZ9_mEIKdsCA-4yyTi4jRxhslCseA8kPbldYz8McLqPkrm3hKKoxRZe5o/s320/Pete%20Gray.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Pete Gray, 1945</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Eddie Gaedel, despite playing in only one inning of one
game, is the most famous Brownie. Bill Veeck, who had purchased the Browns in
1951 after owning the Cleveland Indians, vowed to revive the franchise and run
the Cardinals out of town. The Browns had the lowest of attendance in the
American League every season since 1946. As part of perhaps his greatest stunt,
the 3’7” Gaedel was announced as the pinch-hitter for Frank Saucier (who at age
97 is the oldest living former Brownie) leading off the second game of an
August 19, 1951, doubleheader. Despite umpire protests, Browns manager Zack
Wheat produced a legal contract for the player wearing number 1/8. He easily
walked on four pitches and was taken out for a pinch runner. Gaedel’s contract
was voided the following day.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0kmOnCUx7dZ2qMXFLlHBjQ-Tp58R1J0Jyzoj_xnADKxjmvZst7UbTrqNP23kRfmV2dlqAVVzbzI0aZ6o07MGFU5OZMoHIqhz8dGePSM8UEQwbEyzSQdRY3BuDX6aiX8KtPy7EU-uZxe5F3UA1YgUm5-sGiuFOKyAHwF0miRKgIsVrFA9Lt1FBB-a57Fw/s529/Eddie%20Gaedel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="529" data-original-width="386" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0kmOnCUx7dZ2qMXFLlHBjQ-Tp58R1J0Jyzoj_xnADKxjmvZst7UbTrqNP23kRfmV2dlqAVVzbzI0aZ6o07MGFU5OZMoHIqhz8dGePSM8UEQwbEyzSQdRY3BuDX6aiX8KtPy7EU-uZxe5F3UA1YgUm5-sGiuFOKyAHwF0miRKgIsVrFA9Lt1FBB-a57Fw/s320/Eddie%20Gaedel.jpg" width="233" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Eddie Gaedel after walking in his one plate appearance, August 19, 1951</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The diminutive Gaedel continued to serve Veeck after the
owner purchased his hometown Chicago White Sox in 1959. In one pregame stunt,
he was one of four spacemen who invaded Comiskey Park and sought to deliver ray
guns to infielders Nellie Fox and Luis Aparicio. Later, Veeck hired several
then-called midgets as beer vendors, promoting the idea that they wouldn’t
block fans’ views. Unfortunately, Gaedel and his cohorts lasted only one game, due
to the rigors of hauling heavy beer cases. After being assaulted on the South
Side in 1961, Gaedel died of a heart attack a few days later at age 36. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisy8cnGPUwGHZMfPmDVAxLxDQTiW5kxYoUqmK07xNnH6raA3P5Edard3xN6_iAk6sxtxfF72eM-2l69uoa2U8elgtSE5dlkiBceRuwhXCwpdmN6Q6zdQHZlTrdJX7y0hkCK1KiYhLRZeBA0zKV6Mc6GmV_hKGAbKhtPmwvrUH3fkortdNxLRdIxkodumI/s1010/Gaedel%20bobblehead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="1010" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisy8cnGPUwGHZMfPmDVAxLxDQTiW5kxYoUqmK07xNnH6raA3P5Edard3xN6_iAk6sxtxfF72eM-2l69uoa2U8elgtSE5dlkiBceRuwhXCwpdmN6Q6zdQHZlTrdJX7y0hkCK1KiYhLRZeBA0zKV6Mc6GmV_hKGAbKhtPmwvrUH3fkortdNxLRdIxkodumI/s320/Gaedel%20bobblehead.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Eddie Gaedel bobblehead and selected Browns publications</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A much less known but highly deserving of honor was Hank
Thompson. Futile on the field and playing before empty houses, the Browns
signed two Black players in July 1947, Thompson – the third African American to
play Major League baseball – and Willard Brown (more on Brown later). Thompson
eventually added the first of his many “firsts” to his long-forgotten
third. When Brown started his first game two days later, they were the
first two Blacks in one game. Less than a month later, facing the
Cleveland Indians, Thompson and Doby were the first Blacks playing on opposing
teams. The Browns gave up on Thompson and Brown in less than two months,
releasing them in late September. A second baseman, Thompson played in 27
games, with no home runs, 5 RBI and a .256 batting average. The first player to
integrate a team in each league, as a New York Giant facing Brooklyn Dodgers
Don Newcombe in 1949, it was the first time a Black pitcher threw to a Black
batter. Thompson become part of the first all African-American outfield, with
Willie Mays and Monty Irvin, in the 1951 World Series, and also played for the
1954 World Series champion Giants.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz-bqvy4WASeYUyP34SISti2XDHt2oyP1h5IWUwZc5GfDBSPTplNm9ESNB-UJkbcjuemwhzMlpaz8k5BxpTnau9wetH_dvIeIzNL3WBP9zTrqeeiE62a_v-Vm-c-ni3NLuPOQqIwbiOyERE2Y6E5Z28LyCJ-2-Yd8-xLv6p8VDNn1ra8nszLrmfnDLFAU/s92/Thompson%20Browns.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="92" data-original-width="81" height="92" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz-bqvy4WASeYUyP34SISti2XDHt2oyP1h5IWUwZc5GfDBSPTplNm9ESNB-UJkbcjuemwhzMlpaz8k5BxpTnau9wetH_dvIeIzNL3WBP9zTrqeeiE62a_v-Vm-c-ni3NLuPOQqIwbiOyERE2Y6E5Z28LyCJ-2-Yd8-xLv6p8VDNn1ra8nszLrmfnDLFAU/s1600/Thompson%20Browns.bmp" width="81" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Hank Thompson, 1947</div><p class="MsoNormal">Some thirty years ago, I stopped in a sporting-apparel store
at 2234 N. Clark Street. One item immediately caught my attention: a Mitchell
& Ness replica St. Louis Browns jersey the team wore from 1946 to 1951, the
only M&N jersey in the store. After returning home with my purchase, I
found it was marketed as a number 15 Roy Sievers jersey, the Browns’ 1949
American Rookie of the Year who was traded to the Washington Senators after the
team’s final season in St. Louis. Subsequent research revealed a Hall of Fame
outfielder also wore number 15. The others that wore 15 before the Browns
changed uniform designs in 1952 were mostly fringe players.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTtRVFB-P1ChmnL3ZR9xRv23n1CKE9v6dwdmqhsEDX4lpJst5DLTTgdHOcSSQgTOnkJBSvFYf4O15Kyw8uJxXjU3nq4LljCX5x_q2kpZz57msY7UEDaqEcI43CYCLI8BBz2TvIi-62oHRMfaTkkyNAanZ8tCNe0ttNsnHq2s8XkjYOzvfkZ1Z-Mqzjj1A/s3384/PC221506.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3384" data-original-width="2428" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTtRVFB-P1ChmnL3ZR9xRv23n1CKE9v6dwdmqhsEDX4lpJst5DLTTgdHOcSSQgTOnkJBSvFYf4O15Kyw8uJxXjU3nq4LljCX5x_q2kpZz57msY7UEDaqEcI43CYCLI8BBz2TvIi-62oHRMfaTkkyNAanZ8tCNe0ttNsnHq2s8XkjYOzvfkZ1Z-Mqzjj1A/w144-h200/PC221506.JPG" width="144" /></a></div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhRvZb3x1XudwD9ODMZQPipVZxywxheHsLbCcVVMKy6gRU4SaSWjJyu0M9y5WXLhkV5fmomFGT5YgV_FbVENJeCCElxp0f_7KHsiJh3_zRSEwH9r76Pb5vMI0w2ACfNYUXB2xarKHRZUd48F4D0zVbDw6ZQ_JeUlc1S7cN3OnLPrOEsJ9DjgcvDTfRZdw/s3362/PC221505.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3362" data-original-width="2688" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhRvZb3x1XudwD9ODMZQPipVZxywxheHsLbCcVVMKy6gRU4SaSWjJyu0M9y5WXLhkV5fmomFGT5YgV_FbVENJeCCElxp0f_7KHsiJh3_zRSEwH9r76Pb5vMI0w2ACfNYUXB2xarKHRZUd48F4D0zVbDw6ZQ_JeUlc1S7cN3OnLPrOEsJ9DjgcvDTfRZdw/w160-h200/PC221505.JPG" width="160" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Mitchell & Ness St. Louis Browns, 1946 - 1950 jersey</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As noted above, Willard Brown was the fourth African
American to play in the Major Leagues. He debuted professionally with the
Monroe Monarchs in the minor Negro Southern League at age 19 in 1934 and moved
up to the legendary Kansas City Monarchs in 1937. Brown was the first Black to
hit a home run in the American League, an inside-the-park blast vs. Hall of
Fame Detroit Tigers pitcher Hal Newhouser. He had borrowed the bat from Jeff
Heath, who proceeded to splinter it after Brown returned to the dugout. It
turns out Heath was superstitious and believed there were no more home runs
left in the bat; Brown noted Heath was one of the more cordial teammates. Like
Thompson, his stay in St. Louis was brief: 21 games, batting average .179 and 6
RBI to go with his 1 home run. Returning to the Monarchs that season, Brown
ironically led the Negro National League in batting average (.377) and RBI (64)
in 48 games. He would play in Canada, Mexico, Puerto Rico (won the 1947 – 1948
Winter League Triple Crown with a .432 batting average, 27 home runs and 86 RBI
and repeated the feat two seasons later), Dominican Republic and Venezuela
before retiring in 1958. Willard Brown passed away in 1996, missing his 2006
election into the Baseball Hall of Fame.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqKmLb-wQfGMvfWj2SZMzmmw0adF7THanOHlI8m4P2u0lW-68Og2yZoIbxBbAGERm05EgscnwRuwatJh5Jm_N8MIVcQ2TekwRCM2LNKd83MUlASeIL7bFwE1I5R_NnRyL9VFVbmgRIcy6wNMFXe7SeMYZ6uXvwWTRvrTHnd_topg2Tg8NOcf4s8wqT_g4/s1080/Willard%20Brown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1038" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqKmLb-wQfGMvfWj2SZMzmmw0adF7THanOHlI8m4P2u0lW-68Og2yZoIbxBbAGERm05EgscnwRuwatJh5Jm_N8MIVcQ2TekwRCM2LNKd83MUlASeIL7bFwE1I5R_NnRyL9VFVbmgRIcy6wNMFXe7SeMYZ6uXvwWTRvrTHnd_topg2Tg8NOcf4s8wqT_g4/s320/Willard%20Brown.jpg" width="308" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Willard Brown, 1947</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">American League owners were all too happy to rid themselves
of Bill Veeck and the inept Browns franchise. After Anheuser-Busch acquired the
Cardinals in 1952, it became obvious to all the Browns would have to move. An
effort to return to Milwaukee was thwarted by the Boston Braves, who moved
there in 1953. Veeck’s earlier negotiations with Baltimore Mayor Tommy
D’Alesandro (Nancy Pelosi’s father) initially were nixed by fellow club owners,
but the sale of the team was finally approved for the 1954 season, without
Veeck retaining an ownership stake. The Orioles registered its winning season
in 1960 and won the American League pennant in 1966. With a subsidiary envelope
company in Baltimore, my father (the CFO) and his friend and partner (the
president) figured early October would be a good time to check out its
operations . . . and attend Games 3 and 4 (both 1-0 victories) of the O’s World
Series sweep of the Los Angeles Dodgers from behind the Orioles’ dugout. The
company’s previous owner was among the investors who brought the team to
Baltimore, and the company retained his tickets.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9mOGL7zuA_BRgZrXRkQRpXTpCYjgcAM1MxyyhCKbjLaEk_EdsrCKCHhxu-usyScqDojlCnrCVQoUEjxtNQdRwyhL1HJ7Zf0KgYKq7UfLMfdFsX_JIEBiiM4D9pJ3Rrh4TsOSF6CTL7v7OWvkrmy82IFtH8-vtUerXMaLuiZUqqQMN6CleYiOCVGprgQU/s2148/World%20Series%201966.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2148" data-original-width="1682" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9mOGL7zuA_BRgZrXRkQRpXTpCYjgcAM1MxyyhCKbjLaEk_EdsrCKCHhxu-usyScqDojlCnrCVQoUEjxtNQdRwyhL1HJ7Zf0KgYKq7UfLMfdFsX_JIEBiiM4D9pJ3Rrh4TsOSF6CTL7v7OWvkrmy82IFtH8-vtUerXMaLuiZUqqQMN6CleYiOCVGprgQU/s320/World%20Series%201966.jpg" width="251" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Baltimore Orioles 1966 World Series program</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’m still fascinated with the Browns since those early
years, to the point where I’ve been a member of the St. Louis Browns Historical
Society and Fan Club for several years. This very active organization has
multiple programs and publications; the website is <a href="https://www.thestlbrowns.com/">The Official Site of the St. Louis Browns
Historical Society and Fan Club (thestlbrowns.com)</a>. Someday I may make it
down to the city for its St. Louis Browns Annual Reunion Luncheon.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYNk_XX5dOJA_yR0uHHk_cHsFyjYpCU8-yBtVGQV8GFfXd_yog-Y7znoDa-cgmziOot7tIvgsb2IRv2xfMq3Y_gsaBPRAXk_IUuAiSLh5V3Oq25lQvWBMwbcvVp1gSGHwy_EP0ynLf3g-S-84McVUsdi9AWOL3L3H53461laBETjrberCiY_c0qDsM3hk/s3266/St.%20Louis%20Browns%20HS%20&%20FC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2481" data-original-width="3266" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYNk_XX5dOJA_yR0uHHk_cHsFyjYpCU8-yBtVGQV8GFfXd_yog-Y7znoDa-cgmziOot7tIvgsb2IRv2xfMq3Y_gsaBPRAXk_IUuAiSLh5V3Oq25lQvWBMwbcvVp1gSGHwy_EP0ynLf3g-S-84McVUsdi9AWOL3L3H53461laBETjrberCiY_c0qDsM3hk/s320/St.%20Louis%20Browns%20HS%20&%20FC.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Brule Lakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18064595420011193426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6315197546984705121.post-22269888875730961922022-06-23T10:07:00.000-05:002022-06-23T10:07:24.110-05:00Confirmations: 1932 and 1965<p>Ninety years ago this month, my father was confirmed from
South Shore Temple. The family had gone from Orthodox (First Roumanian
Congregation) to Conservative (South Side Hebrew Congregation) to Reform (South
Shore Temple) in the span of only two generations. I have two keepsakes
commemorating dad’s confirmation.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc0G8YFp1r25BOJTpQQ7n1K-YcQn5-FPDhZCvzF0KLTDE4740-1a6slpghBTl-7hMuQMuLfeMkxA4WoMR2JS5-Bv1Rwb1iyswibR7jIvy94nKS76t9NyXkX9J0mjy_jXICQzbiiesafSmc9pmcGFTqlXW9G7TQJBzhYFi24EEYnKkhDPayZx2oCDj3/s3386/P3242196.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3386" data-original-width="2624" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc0G8YFp1r25BOJTpQQ7n1K-YcQn5-FPDhZCvzF0KLTDE4740-1a6slpghBTl-7hMuQMuLfeMkxA4WoMR2JS5-Bv1Rwb1iyswibR7jIvy94nKS76t9NyXkX9J0mjy_jXICQzbiiesafSmc9pmcGFTqlXW9G7TQJBzhYFi24EEYnKkhDPayZx2oCDj3/s320/P3242196.JPG" width="248" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">First Roumanian Congregation, 1352 S. Union St.</div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The first is his <i>Union Prayer Book</i>, presented by
the president of the congregation, whose fancy script signature I can’t make
out beyond “Michael.” This revised edition was published in 1924 and contains
sections Services for the Sabbath (Evening, Morning and Afternoon services),
Services for the Three Festivals (Evening and Morning services), Services for
Weekdays (Evening, Evening at the House of Mourning and Morning) and Prayers
for Private Devotion. By the time we
started attending High Holiday services, the prayer book had been revised
again.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZA6OH0t2Q_wY7oKg44vCIzdt5APNJmTgVHlq2YATmhacaGJuCuqRjvGAWDttSGKzTu4CaZnaQrdISx75jNE4BaXgP2QYJHL50qiiFotzCEXbxhAY8ORmWAxx2sRMXIL8B_8qLTa56BPLBg52Wwfz6H6rY6iiZBkceDrR63o5f8jUpXljr_PksjcRB/s1999/Union%20Prayer%20Book.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1999" data-original-width="1370" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZA6OH0t2Q_wY7oKg44vCIzdt5APNJmTgVHlq2YATmhacaGJuCuqRjvGAWDttSGKzTu4CaZnaQrdISx75jNE4BaXgP2QYJHL50qiiFotzCEXbxhAY8ORmWAxx2sRMXIL8B_8qLTa56BPLBg52Wwfz6H6rY6iiZBkceDrR63o5f8jUpXljr_PksjcRB/s320/Union%20Prayer%20Book.jpg" width="219" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Union Prayer Book</div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I have read passages from a portion of the Mourning
service on three occasions. The first was during a group photowalk in Graceland
Cemetery in June 2012, the second at the headstone dedication for my cousin Jim
in July 2012, and the third during officiating at my mother’s funeral, March
28, 2013, at Zion Gardens Cemetery. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Perhaps the most poignant passage is part of the Silent
Devotion section. It reads, “We know that every night has its morning, that
after the hours of darkness come again the hours of daylight. Grant that we may
rise again to do our allotted tasks in peace of soul. Remember that the seed,
oft sown in tears ripens into a harvest to be gathered in joy.”</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p>My mother long ago had stated she didn’t want a rabbi
(and probably by extension any member of the clergy) to officiate at her
funeral. Because it wasn’t in writing, I thought perhaps someone could at
least say the prayers. The House of Mourning section gave me an excellent
blueprint for a service, so I conducted it myself, due in some part
that I’d be using my father’s prayer book. The funeral was one day short
of 40 years that my father died suddenly at age 55. Somehow, it seemed so
appropriate. I even got a very nice complement after the service from the
funeral director.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQOemYv_vt-ksS25P20EdmtAgw-gif64PagXFpX2CcwyLOcl8B6i6A7c1wCO94Qb3304Xvq3ptUcHV1wOWeCML1IhLNwQZBm3F2ZIuU4UAwHQ3NDoZmYIDMxfpyG2j5mY0DERYGWD-nquYpaGQUph3ZGANeaeql4zAaYTZJzt07TcU9mhxcxtCzq5K/s3604/P4216373.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2073" data-original-width="3604" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQOemYv_vt-ksS25P20EdmtAgw-gif64PagXFpX2CcwyLOcl8B6i6A7c1wCO94Qb3304Xvq3ptUcHV1wOWeCML1IhLNwQZBm3F2ZIuU4UAwHQ3NDoZmYIDMxfpyG2j5mY0DERYGWD-nquYpaGQUph3ZGANeaeql4zAaYTZJzt07TcU9mhxcxtCzq5K/s320/P4216373.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Sachs Family Section, Zion Gardens Cemetery</div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I’ve written about the other item the blog post
(<a href="https://brulelaker.blogspot.com/2011/05/to-ring-or-not-to-ring.html">The View From Brule Lake: To Ring or Not to Ring (brulelaker.blogspot.com)</a>. My father received a monogram ring that contained
a small diamond, which came from a stickpin presented to my grandfather by one
of the previously mentioned congregations for serving as president. It
literally rolled out of a personal-effects envelope at the hospital that terrible day. I put it on and
later had it sized. As I say, I’ve worn it for
better and for worse: 41 years for him, 49 years for me.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcscHpWxuVvs_ttaNtwdt1cnueyiAT6LLxLFkg7rIT9aBFW3_v6n2uoamQ3M0iOG1xysTGJsOuoxxx7-p4Lr2XXf0yk74j12XcOqKC1te3UUWQiPdXY4CvQtoKaN1aC8F_JNfSQljZoAW5dKRxB0pWCMkPspogiXAsZtM0Vklw4UhfIE-5-6qR4lkU/s1618/MNN%20ring%203.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1214" data-original-width="1618" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcscHpWxuVvs_ttaNtwdt1cnueyiAT6LLxLFkg7rIT9aBFW3_v6n2uoamQ3M0iOG1xysTGJsOuoxxx7-p4Lr2XXf0yk74j12XcOqKC1te3UUWQiPdXY4CvQtoKaN1aC8F_JNfSQljZoAW5dKRxB0pWCMkPspogiXAsZtM0Vklw4UhfIE-5-6qR4lkU/s320/MNN%20ring%203.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Confirmation Ring, 1932</div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">My confirmation memorabilia consist of far less valuable
keepsakes. I was an indifferent student and thus was one of those whose
participation in the June 6, 1965, ceremony at Congregation Solel consisted
solely of marching in and watching from the audience. A photograph (my scanner
cropped off a bit of each end but includes two who went to jail and a third who
dodged a felony conviction through death), program and certificate are
reminders of my religious education. The confirmands are pictured here (you
will have to guess which twin is which). <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt6QNag2YEn1oAlfbyu_EcPsybHStyOJ2OHzlsMYBs2dS01P9sEs8Zktnt4v4VuM4v6ZgW4Qw1RO8HR7K5wxFW8tjwGpXu0UPdDdrNNuGfuV4bsi3IBfAJ0RdCtSzZUCOJAAXoKv7abW-qHodt_yxMs5I-3Pwac39q_ekrjTN6AtfeFpDSJad0MLPO/s3288/Solel%20Class%20of%201965.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2190" data-original-width="3288" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt6QNag2YEn1oAlfbyu_EcPsybHStyOJ2OHzlsMYBs2dS01P9sEs8Zktnt4v4VuM4v6ZgW4Qw1RO8HR7K5wxFW8tjwGpXu0UPdDdrNNuGfuV4bsi3IBfAJ0RdCtSzZUCOJAAXoKv7abW-qHodt_yxMs5I-3Pwac39q_ekrjTN6AtfeFpDSJad0MLPO/s320/Solel%20Class%20of%201965.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Congregation Solel Confirmation Class, 1965</div><br /><p></p>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Today, I am
unaffiliated; Janet and Marisa belong to the congregation to which we once all
belonged. Since moving to the Gold Coast in 1998, I can see a shul out our
windows, one-half block away. Although I’m certainly not the most religious of
persons, this one isn’t for me, in part due to the previous rabbi who
criticized other Reform congregations for having too many rituals and performing mixed marriages (no problem on its face) with Catholic priests on
Saturday afternoons. We all have limits.</span><div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLV8LxxMGhCo1shVLtCcAfmm24QuTpPeNdb0gLKtD_PAJc87i--rixFnfW7xIKD7kHvjRTIIh9s7wPIKzaVlShK21A5TI6HEZf_Imt55iTOIeyCPTTFPPPAvF15VohljQzMrI3_KxULi0jcmJ7F3Lno8W1BVWqpqRk9xWht_upApKfkSzTpytiUpts/s1962/P3232678.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1839" data-original-width="1962" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLV8LxxMGhCo1shVLtCcAfmm24QuTpPeNdb0gLKtD_PAJc87i--rixFnfW7xIKD7kHvjRTIIh9s7wPIKzaVlShK21A5TI6HEZf_Imt55iTOIeyCPTTFPPPAvF15VohljQzMrI3_KxULi0jcmJ7F3Lno8W1BVWqpqRk9xWht_upApKfkSzTpytiUpts/s320/P3232678.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Synagogue from a Window</div><br /><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>Brule Lakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18064595420011193426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6315197546984705121.post-44533916329024727562021-11-03T13:48:00.000-05:002021-11-03T13:48:21.340-05:00Demise of the Paper Ticket: Hockey<p>The last in my ticket posts covers hockey. My venue visits are limited to Chicago,
Philadelphia, Boston, Detroit and South Florida. It pains me to write about the
Blackhawks – the disappointments of recent days are beyond sad – but my
memories go back to before the 1961 Original Six Stanley Cup, so here’s a
rundown. </p><p>NOTE: Most of my out-of-town tickets from 1994 to 2007, except where noted, were arranged by my college roommate Nate Greenberg, who spent 34 years in the Boston Bruins front office. During that time period, the Bill Wirtz/Bob Pulford regime comped my tickets maybe twice (during years the teams played more than once at home), only after Nate told them I had to take out a second mortgage to pay for seats directly behind the bench. </p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> <b>Chicago Black Hawks vs. Philadelphia Flyers, February 3, 1968. </b>Unfortunately, I don't have the ticket stub for the first season the NHL went from the Original Six to the second six, all expansion teams placed in a separate division. Because of traffic backups on the north side of The Spectrum, we missed the first goal of the game, the Flyers at 1:09. The eventual West Division champions defeated the Black Hawks </o:p>(they became the Blackhawks for the 1985 -1986 season), 5-3. After completing the 1954 - 1955 season with the Black Hawks, Larry Zeidel returned to the NHL in 1967 at age 39. The Jewish forward from Quebec was taunted with anti-Semitic slurs during his tenure; a friend heard the tape of an interview Zeidel gave with the Anti-Defamation League naming at least two Boston Bruins (I'm not posting their names; both have passed away).</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Montreal Canadiens vs. Chicago Black Hawks, January 1,
1959. </b>In one of my earliest, if not the earliest, hockey games, the Black
Hawks tied the
Canadiens, 2-2, on New Year's Day. The Hawks finished 3rd in a 6-team league
and lost to the Canadiens in the Stanley Cup playoffs.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXNpKdI9xrI16M9xD3Ft4hkDHsE0ozmGuXalwTfpbm9UAPGFtHt65ulvzC3hnunisVRmRAWHd7WPplEToEyW0qDjGjamcp51bqW88pBWcG5exF4XLcR9NbgYcLuE2_Pm5FaR9lH6q7aQY/s382/Blackhawks+1959.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="284" data-original-width="382" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXNpKdI9xrI16M9xD3Ft4hkDHsE0ozmGuXalwTfpbm9UAPGFtHt65ulvzC3hnunisVRmRAWHd7WPplEToEyW0qDjGjamcp51bqW88pBWcG5exF4XLcR9NbgYcLuE2_Pm5FaR9lH6q7aQY/s320/Blackhawks+1959.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Boston Bruins vs. Chicago Black Hawks, D</b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">ecember 18, 1983. </b>The night had double
significance: I caught up with college roommate Nate Greenberg after being out
of touch for ten years, and Bobby Hull's number was retired. The Hawks lost
5-1. Before the game Nate (Bruins public relations director) and I were walking
in the concourse when he spotted Hawks General Manager Bob Pulford approaching
us. Nate declared, “Watch this. I’m going to yank Pulford’s chain.” Nate said,
“Hey Pully, how come you’re retiring is number after all of the trouble he gave
you?” In typically Pully fashion, he mumbled something unintelligible, while
looking down to the floor, and kept walking. Two years ago, I told Hull the
story; he loved it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiONe7kdu212beaOJx2tuezJwQs0BBoP63WtInjdNoolDUHQmrZtRlj63EEXyxdZEgtibGP4UQPeRX0e2CC5rloa8W9ceiacy23mIzSwawvwNuHlZdfdYwM11FJj3HNlRU8L__-1_qdjKI/s879/Blackhawks+1983.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="879" data-original-width="332" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiONe7kdu212beaOJx2tuezJwQs0BBoP63WtInjdNoolDUHQmrZtRlj63EEXyxdZEgtibGP4UQPeRX0e2CC5rloa8W9ceiacy23mIzSwawvwNuHlZdfdYwM11FJj3HNlRU8L__-1_qdjKI/s320/Blackhawks+1983.jpg" width="121" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Boston Bruins vs. Chicago Blackhawks, February 27, 1994. </b>This was my last game at Chicago Stadium and first appearance on a hockey telecast. The Bruins shutout the Hawks, 4-0. Nate had sent the tickets to Chicago with the broadcast producer; upon picking them up at The Westin, he told me I would be on television the next day. With my seats' location in hand, Nate told him to put on TV, which he did after a stoppage of play leading into a commercial. </p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLfMMfqLpBkAAc-T5YyhzDdBXSE1Bcop4K-fkn0xfSBN5naa74DyPHxT7zqn9XwiVIBU8DZ3hZ1v3RYXAe1Q9K9ySjTMCghyphenhyphend94i0QElEYKRLTYmiGxpvWtKdepRO0NljtYBvGvu6PMSE/s675/Blackhawks+vs.+Bruins+1994.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="385" data-original-width="675" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLfMMfqLpBkAAc-T5YyhzDdBXSE1Bcop4K-fkn0xfSBN5naa74DyPHxT7zqn9XwiVIBU8DZ3hZ1v3RYXAe1Q9K9ySjTMCghyphenhyphend94i0QElEYKRLTYmiGxpvWtKdepRO0NljtYBvGvu6PMSE/s320/Blackhawks+vs.+Bruins+1994.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Calgary Flames vs. Chicago Blackhawks, November 12,
2004.</b> In a season that would find the Blackhawks tied for the second lowest
point total in the NHL (59), the Flames beat the Hawks 6-2, as goalie Michael
Leighton allowed 5 goals. He would later let in Patrick Kane's goal that won
the 2010 Stanley Cup. Rookie Matthew Lombardi, in his 14th NHL game, had a hat
trick. The game drew an announced crowd of 11,988 but there were probably about
7,500 in the house. The only seats taken in our long row behind the goal were
the two on each end.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2eKeccRF-8sj7la3Rumwj0dwSlskK_7jAsxzynlTj8FyKe9b-TYxPN2_-6VR7QoAOY83IuhYAzuajagn-C11IHv8R-pci6H4t7jLdT3fTummiK6TDw3giNJ6dyqix8TBskB50MgwL-7M/s1776/Blackhawks+vs.+Flames+2003+-+2004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1776" data-original-width="722" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2eKeccRF-8sj7la3Rumwj0dwSlskK_7jAsxzynlTj8FyKe9b-TYxPN2_-6VR7QoAOY83IuhYAzuajagn-C11IHv8R-pci6H4t7jLdT3fTummiK6TDw3giNJ6dyqix8TBskB50MgwL-7M/s320/Blackhawks+vs.+Flames+2003+-+2004.jpg" width="130" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>San Jose Sharks vs. Chicago Blackhawks, May 23, 2010.</b>
The Blackhawks advanced to the Stanley Cup finals by defeating the Sharks, 4-2,
to sweep the Western Conference championship, 4 games to 0. Attendance was
22,224.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I paid "only" $80 on a
winning eBay auction. The last time I had stood for a game was after paying $5
to get in a back door of the Boston Garden on Jan. 17, 1970, to see the Hawks
(B. Hull, Mikita, Tony O.) battle the Bruins (Phil Espo, Orr, Bucyk).<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6N2bgo1zltHkR66gIGtOp-DAsD_s5Mi8JflFvVOc4v-baXY2EMMmSkao_MZrKzcK0AY09_cCERbnplv_9MgUfoOhyphenhyphenO5rbABBIQDA8Lap8QtR6yssmc8d9d1zxEOzEnOm49svoTMYVloA/s1910/Blackhawks+vs.+Sharks+2010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1910" data-original-width="1420" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6N2bgo1zltHkR66gIGtOp-DAsD_s5Mi8JflFvVOc4v-baXY2EMMmSkao_MZrKzcK0AY09_cCERbnplv_9MgUfoOhyphenhyphenO5rbABBIQDA8Lap8QtR6yssmc8d9d1zxEOzEnOm49svoTMYVloA/s320/Blackhawks+vs.+Sharks+2010.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Los Angeles Kings vs. Chicago Blackhawks, June 2,
2013.</b> The Blackhawks drove Jonathan Quick from the nets with 4 goals on 17
shots in the first 30 minutes on the way to a 4-2 victory in Game 2 of the
Western Conference final. Attendance was 21,824. The $101.25 ticket in our
seats in Section 328 was $48 during the regular season. NOTE: Our group wisely
gave up our season tickets for this season. By the time the Hawks met the
Bruins in the Stanley Cup finals, my friend Nate Greenberg (see 1983 entry) had
finished his 34-year career with the Bruins, and I couldn’t ask him for
tickets.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvb8Sh0vhbJefjgUc3QijnX1RZ1-40qa2QGkY3fKlSq4rk5t3kG33wOqSECc8-hiD0IAiT6tvMswwi-zV-w10B9aKecWVK-WQ19-7MFvpxOUCPJ9jWUx84NEk08rJZ3nm7EcWWCJhjg3I/s2048/Blackhawks+vs.+Kings+2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1578" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvb8Sh0vhbJefjgUc3QijnX1RZ1-40qa2QGkY3fKlSq4rk5t3kG33wOqSECc8-hiD0IAiT6tvMswwi-zV-w10B9aKecWVK-WQ19-7MFvpxOUCPJ9jWUx84NEk08rJZ3nm7EcWWCJhjg3I/s320/Blackhawks+vs.+Kings+2013.jpg" width="247" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Anaheim Ducks vs. Chicago Blackhawks, April 21, 2015.</b>
After playing in the longest game in team history in Anaheim two nights before,
the Blackhawks lost Game 3 to the Ducks, 2-1, as the team failed to score on
all of its power-plays, including a 4-minute penalty in the 1st period. Attendance
was 22,160. The Hawks would go on to win the series in 7 games on the way to
defeating the Tampa Bay Lightning for their third Stanley Cup championship in
six seasons.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHethAQbeOSzOSPVTxPRJ9x1ia0s4cBD9ObEPYUgR35WEFdugT8Q4rnQAEQi8myhYuc8y_4fXmWQqT0L42_Frjq4WWow8zh_6NMlRFcifHYPoebpRlpM1eV_YZnqC39EWuPhuEG0GqTiM/s2088/Blackhawks+vs.+Ducks+WCF+2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2088" data-original-width="889" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHethAQbeOSzOSPVTxPRJ9x1ia0s4cBD9ObEPYUgR35WEFdugT8Q4rnQAEQi8myhYuc8y_4fXmWQqT0L42_Frjq4WWow8zh_6NMlRFcifHYPoebpRlpM1eV_YZnqC39EWuPhuEG0GqTiM/s320/Blackhawks+vs.+Ducks+WCF+2015.jpg" width="136" /></a></div><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>New York Rangers vs. Chicago Blackhawks, February 19, 2020. </b>My last paper ticket and game before the pandemic locked down the NHL for five months. Tied 1-1 after two periods, the Rangers poured in 5 goals in 11 minutes to defeat the Hawks, 6-3, before 21,572 fans. I have not been back since and don't plan to for the foreseeable future.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWnLnQxRqcgfa5ZAjH6E9wgRu7r-kf2LI51kAT7lvZHgfjeh4vPoIO95Z7LuRm2S6pvHarZPMm6Jx2ijwiiQLZ6JpTK_6SSz0xrjqgHErovLcRmjdDtKoMVPiYBfJCuUbgSLskHeYHvog/s2048/Blackhawks+vs.+Rangers+Feb.+2020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1597" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWnLnQxRqcgfa5ZAjH6E9wgRu7r-kf2LI51kAT7lvZHgfjeh4vPoIO95Z7LuRm2S6pvHarZPMm6Jx2ijwiiQLZ6JpTK_6SSz0xrjqgHErovLcRmjdDtKoMVPiYBfJCuUbgSLskHeYHvog/s320/Blackhawks+vs.+Rangers+Feb.+2020.jpg" width="250" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Chicago Blackhawks vs. Detroit Red Wings, December 8,
1992. </b>I attended my first hockey game in Detroit during a business trip to
the Motor City. Tickets were graciously provided by client Valassis
Communications, who we were not visiting that day. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Blackhawks defeated the Red Wings, 3-2.
The Joe Louis Arena was a great place to watch hockey, as seating was on one
level with great sight lines. A wide aisle halfway up was used for standing
room; the area was so popular ushers checked tickets to keep out interlopers. I
also attended a Bruins - Red Wings at the Joe in 1995 as part of another
business trip.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqou_7qxiMY8em7shOz76ugYWMCJgieDTt1dZKAAg2ZT9j5bGtbGe0rSL3qyEH09YChZNOI2NE6uiRoRcnXXQIaVkGqfKc4qpI6jlElo_GsDBnTgxsk75P7xZ1wy_8oiSZQaJ2D-SPIuI/s1002/Blackhawks+vs.+Red+Wings+1992.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="585" data-original-width="1002" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqou_7qxiMY8em7shOz76ugYWMCJgieDTt1dZKAAg2ZT9j5bGtbGe0rSL3qyEH09YChZNOI2NE6uiRoRcnXXQIaVkGqfKc4qpI6jlElo_GsDBnTgxsk75P7xZ1wy_8oiSZQaJ2D-SPIuI/s320/Blackhawks+vs.+Red+Wings+1992.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Boston Bruins vs. Florida Panthers, December 19, 1993.</b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were fortunate the Bruins were in town
during our annual holiday visit for first season if the Florida Panthers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both the Heat and Panthers played at the
downtown Miami Arena. The Bruins defeated the Panthers, 2-1, on an overtime
goal by Joe Juneau. Except for a mix-up noted below, the Panthers always comped our tickets until his contact at the team retired in 1999.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji17jAEcM4aSXqPTj_bFPGJzDdUy9HpyffyVTXkm7px_2GYgrvO8NiVFYoNM_mb3_gR4ChGyEUTY5hDcXAo9NilYGAOSbMIOgsFOXSP8mD4QgiBWNuN14SHiFcIYSks_CygduvPHDxKsE/s1023/Panthers+vs.+Bruins+1993.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="581" data-original-width="1023" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji17jAEcM4aSXqPTj_bFPGJzDdUy9HpyffyVTXkm7px_2GYgrvO8NiVFYoNM_mb3_gR4ChGyEUTY5hDcXAo9NilYGAOSbMIOgsFOXSP8mD4QgiBWNuN14SHiFcIYSks_CygduvPHDxKsE/s320/Panthers+vs.+Bruins+1993.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Montreal Canadiens vs. Florida Panthers, December 29,
1996.</b> A mix-up in the Panthers' ticket office ended up with us purchasing
tickets partway up the upper level (tickets were usually comped thanks to Nate
Greenberg’s friendship with Panthers’ management). Oddly, we ended up sitting
next to Ralph Mellanby, the former producer of "Hockey Night in
Canada" and the father of Cats' captain Scott Mellanby. We found out when
he said, 'That's my son" after Scott scored the Panthers' only goal. I
don't know why he didn't have a better seat. The Canadiens won, 2-1, on two
goals by Vincent Damphousse. Montreal had only 17 shots on goal during the
game. The Panthers moved out of the Miami Arena after that season; we were
fortunate to attend a game during the Year of the Rat (1995 - 1996). The arena
was demolished in 2008.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiur8LLOvNlDYefArGgbQFo9XP5XT6DXI8b8kTj2N3PhuoipSguSQBmpm2z7z8QSxdzW6nrH5VpEhudai6JLsUZMcj82EUlMB7XdcgykAeIvCJHDg0QtgBKfQ1ovHRJiDRzi9dhOfR8cr0/s1030/Panthers+vs.+Canadiens+1996.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="587" data-original-width="1030" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiur8LLOvNlDYefArGgbQFo9XP5XT6DXI8b8kTj2N3PhuoipSguSQBmpm2z7z8QSxdzW6nrH5VpEhudai6JLsUZMcj82EUlMB7XdcgykAeIvCJHDg0QtgBKfQ1ovHRJiDRzi9dhOfR8cr0/s320/Panthers+vs.+Canadiens+1996.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Chicago Blackhawks vs. Florida Panthers, March 8,
2011. </b>Dale Tallon (pictured on the ticket) spent 33 years with the
Blackhawks as a player, announcer and front-office executive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He joined the Panthers that season as general
manager.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The call-out was prophetic, as
the Panthers led 3-0 after one period (chasing Corey Crawford from the nets)
and went on to win 3-2. I attended a Red Wings – Panthers game with our
daughter the month before, where two-thirds of the crowd were wearing Detroit
apparel.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv9hrATlHRyWxpVPgGE7gED4XfVRcZuU_SfeIxwMn6XEp8s9PlcHY2VZ9kWP2Gk7YGnmPgUfznoH8YwpRWVaIRRIXtXFFPQn_OFT3axziYfEJ0GFb81ktdFV9NDE-UbwDWjiM9KhkaaYA/s1395/Panthers+vs.+Blackhawks+2011.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1395" data-original-width="588" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv9hrATlHRyWxpVPgGE7gED4XfVRcZuU_SfeIxwMn6XEp8s9PlcHY2VZ9kWP2Gk7YGnmPgUfznoH8YwpRWVaIRRIXtXFFPQn_OFT3axziYfEJ0GFb81ktdFV9NDE-UbwDWjiM9KhkaaYA/s320/Panthers+vs.+Blackhawks+2011.jpeg" width="135" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Los Angeles Kings vs. Florida Panthers, February 9,
2012.</b> With Nate retired and my ticket guy gone over a dispute with the team, I found tickets for the family for
$8.99 each on eBay. The Panthers made two 2nd-period goals stand up (adding an
empty netter in the last minute) to defeat the Kings, 3-1, for the first time
since Nov. 2002. The Panthers finished first in the Southeast Division but
would lose to eventual conference champion New Jersey Devils, The Kings, the
8th seed in the Western Conference, went on to defeat the Devils to win the Stanley
Cup in 2012. This was our last Panthers game. We sold our South Florida
apartment the following year but did not attend a game.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFEEYwA20KmmtgFzxvaozt0Kgh3BElZa4oA3Gp0aWAEtT8CfKrPwhw_p4VrbOCLN1bu_T9-B85JxIMfQVY4YHa79wy0Rq7EESnAJq_4qFkgqUuW2lVLaZtmnRYya6CFjven9IedQPMngM/s2048/Panthers+vs.+Kings+2012.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1568" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFEEYwA20KmmtgFzxvaozt0Kgh3BElZa4oA3Gp0aWAEtT8CfKrPwhw_p4VrbOCLN1bu_T9-B85JxIMfQVY4YHa79wy0Rq7EESnAJq_4qFkgqUuW2lVLaZtmnRYya6CFjven9IedQPMngM/s320/Panthers+vs.+Kings+2012.jpeg" width="245" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Montreal Canadiens vs. Boston Bruins, March 22, 2007.</b>
Nate Greeenberg got me the Media Pss in what was his 34th and last year with
the team.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sat next to Gerry Cheevers
during the first period and also took the elevator up to the press level with
Canadiens greats Guy Lefleur and Bob Gainey. My name was on the scoreboard for
my birthday in the TD Banknorth Garden, a first and no doubt a last. The
Canadiens, scoring 5 unanswered goals beginning with less than 2 minutes left
in the 2<sup>nd</sup> period, defeated the Bruins, 6-3. I also sat with Nate in
one of the crow’s net press boxes for a game vs. the New York Rangers on April
1, 2005, the last season for the old Boston Garden; a shortened season because
of a lockout prevented me from seeing the Blackhawks’ last game at the Garden.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyJmu4Ynfr-bIFv7USfGYRnRdrxvcWWanWVUtrb8XyslOKauK737dA8lOS1DJROdYxW7P7Lz5FZsT52Wd5P1QYHwnSWto1WHN93_IIZYL8gwd0sSwWa1deeLPvNqviRLFJ11TPsI2zPeQ/s1646/Bruins+press+pass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1646" data-original-width="626" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyJmu4Ynfr-bIFv7USfGYRnRdrxvcWWanWVUtrb8XyslOKauK737dA8lOS1DJROdYxW7P7Lz5FZsT52Wd5P1QYHwnSWto1WHN93_IIZYL8gwd0sSwWa1deeLPvNqviRLFJ11TPsI2zPeQ/s320/Bruins+press+pass.jpg" width="122" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Rockford IceHogs vs. Chicago Wolves, November 26,
2016.</b> We attended our first American Hockey League game at the Allstate
Arena in Rosemont with tickets won at a charity auction. The Wolves, a Blues
affiliate, defeated the IceHogs, a Blackhawks affiliate, 3-2 before 7,126 fans.
We did not know the IceHogs had scored the second goal until returning home;
because it was scored with 0.6 seconds left in the game, there was no face-off
at center ice that usually follows a goal.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjazoQpcE6pj6mpe5eNTp3zxk7QmCof7NngojSGrHs2Rfc3jW7jYYpKDf4nOtjqSEnm-2aB88KjcVkeyBfLBH0RuasTr-vCw7pZpR_EIa05s_gXcrareXLm1CDYJb8fiiaNz_HcgzE8WcU/s1674/Rockford+vs.+Chicago+2016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="577" data-original-width="1674" height="110" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjazoQpcE6pj6mpe5eNTp3zxk7QmCof7NngojSGrHs2Rfc3jW7jYYpKDf4nOtjqSEnm-2aB88KjcVkeyBfLBH0RuasTr-vCw7pZpR_EIa05s_gXcrareXLm1CDYJb8fiiaNz_HcgzE8WcU/s320/Rockford+vs.+Chicago+2016.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Brule Lakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18064595420011193426noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6315197546984705121.post-39798553747595757982021-10-28T11:45:00.001-05:002021-10-28T11:45:43.670-05:00The Demise of the Paper Ticket: Basketball<p>Two venues for which I don’t have ticket stubs – The
Spectrum in Philadelphia and Boston Garden – merit coverage for their
significance. I attended both in my college days and both have been demolished.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The Spectrum is notable for the one 76ers game I attended
and one that I didn’t. Back in the day, the NBA thought nothing of scheduling
consecutive Friday-to-Sunday games. The Bulls, in their second season, were the
first of three Sixers’ weekend opponents on February 9, 1968, falling 118-113.
It appeared the Sixers kept some in the tank – they would travel to New York on
Saturday and return home to face the Western Division leading St. Louis Hawks
on Sunday. Wilt Chamberlain had a triple-double: 20 points, 17 rebounds and 11
assists.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I had planned on accompanying three fellow Lehigh
freshmen to the first game of the Eastern Conference finals vs. the Celtics in
Philadelphia on Friday, April 5, 1968. Tragically, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., was
assassinated the day before; I figured the game would be postponed. When it
wasn’t, one of my friends and I bailed; the other two drove to the game. Police
Commissioner Frank Rizzo vowed there would be no riots in Philadelphia and, as
my friends related, armed National Guard troops lined the length of Broad Street to
the Spectrum. With several players – including Chamberlain – strongly opposed
to playing the game, the show went on, and the Sixers lost 127-118. They would
win the next three, then lose the next three, giving the Celtics the road to
another NBA championship.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Beginning with the 1959 -1957 season, the Celtics won 11
NBA titles (including 8 consecutive) and 12 Eastern Conference championships,
ending after the 1968 -1969 season. I attended several games during the last
championship season (tickets were not difficult to buy). My first was vs. the
Seattle Supersonics on November 8, 1968; not only did Bob Rule scorch Bill
Russell for 37 points but Russell missed a last-second tip-in, resulting in a
114 -112 loss. The last was the Eastern Conference finals on April 18, 1969,
where, despite a 4<sup>th</sup>-place, the Celtics vied with the rejuvenated
New York Knicks. Clinging to a 1-point lead with time ticking down the
24-second clock, the ball went to the least likely Celtic: Satch Sanders. The
defensive specialist threw one up from the top of the key that banked in for
his second field goal, leaving only enough time for a Willis Reed uncontested
dunk (no 3-point line then) and a 106-105 victory and the conference
championship, 4 games to 2.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Boston Celtics vs. Chicago Packers, November 12, 1961.
</b>Professional basketball returned to Chicago for the first time since the
demise of the Chicago Stags in 1950 (my father attended the game). The Packers
lost to the Celtics, 112-96, on the way to an eight-game losing streak and an
18-62 record. Bill Russell and Tommy Heinsohn led the Celtics with 28 and 23
points, respectively. Walt Bellamy and Bobby Leonard each scored 17 points for
the Packers. NBA basketball in Chicago lasted only one more season, as the team
could not get a lease for Chicago Stadium. The Packers became the Zephyrs the following season and played at the
Chicago Coliseum before moving to Baltimore to become the Bullets. The Bulls
entered the NBA for the 1966 - 1967 season.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOBW1u5d4qWY4xtngG9GPZU3Bh5LQxBrKdWdjC1ihab3yO8C77msnfPhphylQi-4R6I-R4BRGFPkB3xPicBK6kM56o8tII1ic6PecBJW90eDgFqXcTgG0btWLFx_kEhXRUId6mcMR0FQw/s854/Chicago+Packers%252C+1962.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="246" data-original-width="854" height="92" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOBW1u5d4qWY4xtngG9GPZU3Bh5LQxBrKdWdjC1ihab3yO8C77msnfPhphylQi-4R6I-R4BRGFPkB3xPicBK6kM56o8tII1ic6PecBJW90eDgFqXcTgG0btWLFx_kEhXRUId6mcMR0FQw/s320/Chicago+Packers%252C+1962.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>New York Knicks vs. Chicago Bulls, May 29, 1993. </b>In
my only post-season game during the Jordan era, the Bulls trounced the Knicks,
103-83. Trailing 2 games to none in the Eastern Conference finals, the win was
the first of four in a row. There was some controversy regarding a Michael
Jordan trip to Atlantic City during the earlier games; his return to Chicago
resulted in the loudest pregame introduction I’ve heard. I was also seen on
national TV in the background of a half-time interview by Ahmad Rashad with
Jerry Krause.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihkzlQ-mho-R8eCnQyD1oBapfJBw_sp3Sd1iObvlLan5ORwnojgCdHAA5wYCWx8EEU_ONppao1Tt-2Lkb25lrJZn-OVbHCCXYqpGwPQMy_n-cWlZBN8lQ7TaP-KAhlpUGvFQqmuGtgjZw/s996/Bulls+Eastern+Conference+Finals%252C+1993.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="996" data-original-width="596" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihkzlQ-mho-R8eCnQyD1oBapfJBw_sp3Sd1iObvlLan5ORwnojgCdHAA5wYCWx8EEU_ONppao1Tt-2Lkb25lrJZn-OVbHCCXYqpGwPQMy_n-cWlZBN8lQ7TaP-KAhlpUGvFQqmuGtgjZw/s320/Bulls+Eastern+Conference+Finals%252C+1993.jpg" width="191" /></a></div><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Toronto Raptors vs. Chicago Bulls, March 30, 2019.</b>
My last NBA paper ticket. The woeful Bulls, playing without five of their best
players, were trounced by the Raptors, 124 - 101, before an announced crowd of
21,238. The only Bulls' bright spot was Chicago native and Julian High School
grad Walter Lemon, Jr,. scoring 19 points in his Bulls debut. The Raptors would
go on to win the NBA championship.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFHXjIMFu2Tw2H1QgKYyFPdaZHMzQJA4MNz_hJFbuR6I47NRNB-I14Q1ZMnUzWl_E9vfN8GeYtxW4C1jxJ6iHCnjkPV_cYOojhx6wvibmKdFFmHMoSEtRzSayGDmPKTmYWiNEo4FUl6yk/s2048/Bulls+vs.+Toronto+2019.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1590" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFHXjIMFu2Tw2H1QgKYyFPdaZHMzQJA4MNz_hJFbuR6I47NRNB-I14Q1ZMnUzWl_E9vfN8GeYtxW4C1jxJ6iHCnjkPV_cYOojhx6wvibmKdFFmHMoSEtRzSayGDmPKTmYWiNEo4FUl6yk/s320/Bulls+vs.+Toronto+2019.jpg" width="248" /></a></div><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>San Diego Clippers vs. Phoenix Suns, February 13,
1981.</b> On a trip to visit my mother and stepfather in Scottsdale, I attended
a game at Veterans Memorial Coliseum. The Suns defeated the San Diego Clippers, 110-94,
on the way to the Pacific Division title. All five starters scored in double
figure, and 11 Suns (including fan favorite Mike Niles) put up points. Joe
Bryant, Kobe's dad, led the Clippers with 19 points. The highlight of the
evening was a Motorola engineer hitting a half-court shot to win a Ford
Thunderbird. In his excitement, he let the shot fly before the PA man finished
his introduction. The Clippers entered the NBA in 1970 - 1971 as the Buffalo
Braves before moving to San Diego for the 1978 - 1979 season and Los Angeles
for the 1984 - 1985 season.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-pRidq4ol_0mHvb7uEj7eY9n4uZASFqX8knCirIk9jD8RryFYMivk-CPpZTs5TAi1xOvOyBdizRoaj0plJ9XIjdVAgGjK55i3dHX1IHm4bVfhM3GZY7JyoOByGx5GkoujKz3G6VrqFGU/s638/Phoenix+Suns%252C+1981.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="395" data-original-width="638" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-pRidq4ol_0mHvb7uEj7eY9n4uZASFqX8knCirIk9jD8RryFYMivk-CPpZTs5TAi1xOvOyBdizRoaj0plJ9XIjdVAgGjK55i3dHX1IHm4bVfhM3GZY7JyoOByGx5GkoujKz3G6VrqFGU/s320/Phoenix+Suns%252C+1981.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Minnesota Timberwolves vs. Miami Heat, December 28, 1999.</b>
I didn’t know at the time our company’s insurance providers gave me the tickets
that this would be the last NBA game at the Miami Arena. The Heat defeated the
T’wolves, 89-79, before a capacity crowd of 15,200. Alonzo Mourning led the Heat
with 30 points, 13 rebounds and 5 blocks. Kevin Garnett had an off night,
scoring 16 points on 7 for 23 shooting. The Miami Arena was obsolete the day it
opened in 1988 – it had the smallest seating capacity of all NBA and NHL arena –
and it was demolished just a month after its last event in June 2008. No longer
needing to share an arena, the Heat began play in the American Airlines Arena
five days later while the Florida Panthers headed to Sunrise in northwest
Broward County.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc_Fe3fE3WV-ptjRShKgVmiVWfIhRPHxopqMnwXtztb6LNt73eAFFU9G0vk4Kswk8c6C3rj8PDoaTR8PlqEp7c94ruclTeRp4ay6TYrdfAKrgKh0boAvRqcb8lC747GdpLqRu6zmbVo_4/s833/Miami+Heat%252C+1999.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="494" data-original-width="833" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc_Fe3fE3WV-ptjRShKgVmiVWfIhRPHxopqMnwXtztb6LNt73eAFFU9G0vk4Kswk8c6C3rj8PDoaTR8PlqEp7c94ruclTeRp4ay6TYrdfAKrgKh0boAvRqcb8lC747GdpLqRu6zmbVo_4/s320/Miami+Heat%252C+1999.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>University of Illinois vs. Northwestern University,
January 14, 1963. </b>Like football, our father began taking us to see his alma
mater play at Northwestern in the late 1950s. In one of the most famous games
in Illinois basketball history, Illinois captain Bob Starnes hit a 55-foot shot
at the buzzer to defeat Northwestern, 78-76. Illinois was ranked #3 in the
country at that time. All-American Tal Brody threw the inbounds pass for the
assist; some 50 years later, I presented Brody – known as Mr. Basketball in the
State of Israel – with my ticket stub during one of his frequent visits here
for the Israeli government.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNZK-TdaJyTDwWt12gIubr8nWFXqEmB-QhvBrhSKBQKfQA912mWgB5wOQMoeHrQNh7TEr_aLYUwhYQx0AsJc375xujKbOqujp-C9nPiJ8TvJWBA1bXQTC2FDuztZz8htF-nY1Hy6FGIvs/s647/Northwestern+U.%252C+1963.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="288" data-original-width="647" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNZK-TdaJyTDwWt12gIubr8nWFXqEmB-QhvBrhSKBQKfQA912mWgB5wOQMoeHrQNh7TEr_aLYUwhYQx0AsJc375xujKbOqujp-C9nPiJ8TvJWBA1bXQTC2FDuztZz8htF-nY1Hy6FGIvs/s320/Northwestern+U.%252C+1963.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;"><b>University of Michigan vs. Northwestern University,
January 15, 1966. </b>Freshman were not eligible for varsity sports then but
the freshman team played exhibition games. We knew to buy a cheap ticket,
arrive early and pass ourselves off as Northwestern students. This allowed us
to sit in the unreserved student section in the first rows at midcourt, the best seats
in the house. Chicago’s own Cazzie Russell poured in 39 points, breaking the
Michigan all-time scoring record on his way to becoming College Basketball
Player of the Year. Michigan defeated
Northwestern, 94-86, that evening; several friends saw us on TV, sitting just a
few rows from courtside.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhelWPVDjyTIw9mReY3DmNPyUMmlJI-Iawh5NqJKXgAv09riO0SZixjSYhyphenhyphen_Kdt7rG4NiavQXKACLXnNx4HyQ8PNiG-SRxGHFH-8OBU31VKmbrOuRkHPDMIS9lC4iwLTTkrB6HE4ymNaRI/s652/Michigan+vs.+Northwestern+1966.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="290" data-original-width="652" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhelWPVDjyTIw9mReY3DmNPyUMmlJI-Iawh5NqJKXgAv09riO0SZixjSYhyphenhyphen_Kdt7rG4NiavQXKACLXnNx4HyQ8PNiG-SRxGHFH-8OBU31VKmbrOuRkHPDMIS9lC4iwLTTkrB6HE4ymNaRI/s320/Michigan+vs.+Northwestern+1966.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Lehigh University vs. DePaul University, November 26,
2014.</b> Lehigh upset DePaul, 86-74, before 5,785 at the Allstate Arena in
Rosemont. It was the Mountain Hawks' first win of the season. Unfortunately, I
could not attend, having come down with an illness that not only
prevented me from attending but has also kept us from my cousin's Thanksgiving
dinner. Luckily, the tickets on StubHub were only $13.25 each. It would have
been my first Lehigh basketball game since seeing Jim McMillian’s Columbia
University debut, December 4,1967, at 78 -57 win at Taylor Gym in Bethlehem,
Pennsylvania.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjevu6qe6OtXRj9kqR3Ra2zPZdtgrpJNJ17QWSiQuVfG5swPwBB27OkCYxBWgtehS3QEwi8K8WnBN2E1mte4Cq5vXBTZSCHX5DmAH8junzqhCvFhx7etpbr3KC5XfszEOk9uxzQv5qh3f0/s1857/DePaul+vs.+Lehigh+2014.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1857" data-original-width="594" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjevu6qe6OtXRj9kqR3Ra2zPZdtgrpJNJ17QWSiQuVfG5swPwBB27OkCYxBWgtehS3QEwi8K8WnBN2E1mte4Cq5vXBTZSCHX5DmAH8junzqhCvFhx7etpbr3KC5XfszEOk9uxzQv5qh3f0/s320/DePaul+vs.+Lehigh+2014.jpg" width="102" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Brule Lakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18064595420011193426noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6315197546984705121.post-70276283142172085152021-10-20T15:11:00.000-05:002021-10-20T15:11:38.941-05:00The Demise of the Paper Ticket: Football<p>I have attended far fewer football venues than baseball
stadiums, although some of the baseball parks once hosted football. Three are
still in existence (Fenway Park, Oakland Coliseum and Joe Robbie Stadium) and
several have been demolished (County Stadium, Yankee Stadium, Connie Mack
Stadium, Busch Stadium and Candlestick Park). Here are some notable games.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Pittsburgh Steelers vs. Chicago Cardinals, November
23, 1958. </b>My only trip to my favorite baseball stadium for football was the
second-to-last NFL game at Comiskey Park. The Cardinals played home games the
following year in Soldier Field (4) and Metropolitan Stadium in Bloomington,
Minnesota (2), before moving to St. Louis for the 1960 season. On a beautiful
late November afternoon, only 15,946 showed up to see Bobby Layne go 16 for 28
for 352 yards, including the 4<sup>th</sup>-quarter 78-yard TD pass to Jimmy
Orr that gave the Steelers the 27-20 win. Cardinals speedster Ollie Matson, who
was later traded to the Los Angeles Rams for nine players, ran back the opening
kickoff 101 yards.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtxR88NKTbkJVSjRJlFzbpN3ZWem_T1chSpenPahwNxKqTuswLAe_YsnJZN5KC6jZXo7ixfKCgJQ1VmZbY52BrXQQT0QWYXnW2619Yv8M8ffREBfe54ABvvfMCVT6apQu-c2960TxOAow/s656/Chicago+Cardinals%252C+1958.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="656" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtxR88NKTbkJVSjRJlFzbpN3ZWem_T1chSpenPahwNxKqTuswLAe_YsnJZN5KC6jZXo7ixfKCgJQ1VmZbY52BrXQQT0QWYXnW2619Yv8M8ffREBfe54ABvvfMCVT6apQu-c2960TxOAow/s320/Chicago+Cardinals%252C+1958.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Green Bay Packers vs. Chicago Bears, November 17, 1963.
</b>On the way to their first NFL championship since 1946, the Bears forced 7
turnovers (5 interceptions and 2 fumble recoveries) and 5 quarterback sacks in
the 26-7 triumph. This was our first Bears game, for which we learned the
difference between Cubs chairs and Bears chairs (<a href="https://brulelaker.blogspot.com/2010/11/lesson-learned-cubs-chairs-vs-bears.html">The
View From Brule Lake: Lesson Learned: Cubs Chairs vs. Bears Chairs
(brulelaker.blogspot.com)</a>) the hard way. Because the team put bleachers in
right field to increase the seating capacity, the Bears didn’t play home games
until after the baseball season ended. President Kennedy was assassinated five
days later, and the NFL would regretfully proceed with its November 24 schedule,
although no games were broadcast on television or radio.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpeoUpbW_Dhq6lBPe8hyEo3pqP6clPMOPTt0lfH-ED_3Wzg7I6MvuhyfAvckGIim9iS_uoO6dt4-B7F5Pv5E5rNbJwUNEYatU50nRtAyuBLAs2qduBUbsbCAzngkDdvrASZrcHAndrZMw/s424/Bears+1963.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="424" data-original-width="355" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpeoUpbW_Dhq6lBPe8hyEo3pqP6clPMOPTt0lfH-ED_3Wzg7I6MvuhyfAvckGIim9iS_uoO6dt4-B7F5Pv5E5rNbJwUNEYatU50nRtAyuBLAs2qduBUbsbCAzngkDdvrASZrcHAndrZMw/s320/Bears+1963.jpg" width="268" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Detroit Lions vs. Chicago Bears, November 11, 2018. </b>This
was my last Bears paper ticket (I don’t know if some type of paper ticket still
exists). The team has generally produced graphically excellent tickets, which I
save during my yearly trek to Soldier Field among other things to check how I
they jack up the ticket prices. The Bears won 9 of their last 10 regular-season
games, including this 34-22 win in which Mitch Trubisky completed 23 of 30
passes for 355 yards and 3TDs and Matthew Stafford was sacked six times, to
make the postseason. Double Doink . . . need I say more?<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUd3aBacwq3uuf32s6b7CdSm7IhLH_Lwtrapcf2mOWnhDLfY0qXnD807tA6M5W9zYXgIN-M2HgP7pOKkZSXkSTGpjzuhrTG2qKfcWD6BjpSESAy9QHB1kYn4oE8rbUHLPY9rAhyUv0YeM/s2045/Bears+vs.+Lions+2018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2045" data-original-width="597" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUd3aBacwq3uuf32s6b7CdSm7IhLH_Lwtrapcf2mOWnhDLfY0qXnD807tA6M5W9zYXgIN-M2HgP7pOKkZSXkSTGpjzuhrTG2qKfcWD6BjpSESAy9QHB1kYn4oE8rbUHLPY9rAhyUv0YeM/s320/Bears+vs.+Lions+2018.jpg" width="93" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>University of Illinois vs. Northwestern University,
October 6, 1962. </b>The Wildcats would win their first six games and reach #1
ranking, including the 45-0 rout of the Fighting Illini, before losing to
Wisconsin and Michigan State and falling out of Rose Bowl contention. There is
no attendance figure for the game; Northwestern averaged 45,929 that season,
including the largest crowd in stadium history – 55,752 – vs. Notre Dame. Our
father began taking Frank and me to Dyche Stadium to see his alma mater in the
late 1950s.<b style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></b></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><b><o:p></o:p></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNov8cBW8sdyHqW8eIVykFE6E1zyec6-FLKvnEflW5SdfLcyr0JXcHpyHLUMqza024rblQ2znqNQMfl7IO2eVnqIa4z_Dgqt5ZsdCXLS9OebsrqlOWzccksdiJjjmFpUwSlpqDm_HZzaU/s801/Northwestern+U.%252C+1962.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="468" data-original-width="801" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNov8cBW8sdyHqW8eIVykFE6E1zyec6-FLKvnEflW5SdfLcyr0JXcHpyHLUMqza024rblQ2znqNQMfl7IO2eVnqIa4z_Dgqt5ZsdCXLS9OebsrqlOWzccksdiJjjmFpUwSlpqDm_HZzaU/s320/Northwestern+U.%252C+1962.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div><b><br /></b><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Purdue University vs. University of Illinois, November
2, 1963. </b>Our only trip to dad’s alma mater came one year after turning a
disastrous 2-7 season into a Big Ten championship and Rose Bowl victory, 17-7,
vs. the University of Washington. Jim Grabowski scored three touchdowns and
All-American Dick Butkus anchored the defense in the 41-21 win before
approximately 62,000 fans.<b style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></b></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><b><o:p></o:p></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpVRHrsTievnp32h0QOAlyof2PSRBSiIaIbwaAphgK5eLUXucENhVSp6Fz9OlrCgtkNB763NQy0ml4vRDEP8mVAp_YHyqXWQEz7MGiwGbW-I1Juo8rjyGfHnpKTaXUquE-FSnQgQwoYLU/s476/U.+of+I.%252C+1963.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="476" data-original-width="344" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpVRHrsTievnp32h0QOAlyof2PSRBSiIaIbwaAphgK5eLUXucENhVSp6Fz9OlrCgtkNB763NQy0ml4vRDEP8mVAp_YHyqXWQEz7MGiwGbW-I1Juo8rjyGfHnpKTaXUquE-FSnQgQwoYLU/s320/U.+of+I.%252C+1963.jpg" width="231" /></a></b></div><b><br /></b><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Lehigh University vs. University of Pennsylvania,
September 30, 1967. </b>No ticket stub for the game at Franklin Field during my
freshman year at Lehigh. The stadium, currently undergoing a $44 million
renovation for which only the north stands are open, is credited by the NCAA as
the oldest college football stadium. The Philadelphia Eagles played here from
1958 to 1970 after moving from Connie Mack Stadium. Constructed in 1895,
seating capacity at the time was 60,658; it’s been reduced to 52,958. Penn beat
Lehigh, 35-23, before 10,502. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>University of Oklahoma vs. University of Miami,
January 1, 1988. </b>My only bowl game and visit to the legendary Orange Bowl
in Miami. I got the tickets from a client headquartered in Chandler, Oklahoma.
The #1 Sooners took on the #2 Hurricanes in what served as a national
championship game for the two undefeated teams. Miami defeated Oklahoma, 20-14,
before 74,760 fans. The respective coaches, Barry Switzer and Jimmy Johnson,
would both later coach the Dallas Cowboys and both lead them to Super Bowl
wins.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVq5DSPgTGdRpG00EKVVXQTHBhFOC7MBOvgkdPKiha-07T9FZU1oo5PD2fXhQ-AvwKEExH3vMAcZmqwzykC73xJHg4PAECmSUYEFR9J5gYr66etu4cpBTdY934OwbjAT3iKA7IYLgDFXc/s1318/Orange+Bowl+1988.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1318" data-original-width="735" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVq5DSPgTGdRpG00EKVVXQTHBhFOC7MBOvgkdPKiha-07T9FZU1oo5PD2fXhQ-AvwKEExH3vMAcZmqwzykC73xJHg4PAECmSUYEFR9J5gYr66etu4cpBTdY934OwbjAT3iKA7IYLgDFXc/s320/Orange+Bowl+1988.jpg" width="178" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Indiana University vs. Northwestern University,
October 22, 2016. </b>My final entry, marking Janet’s first major-college
football game, features a StubHub print-at-home ticket. The Wildcats trounced
the Hoosiers, 24-14, in a contest featuring a combined 102 passes (NU’s Clayton
Thorson, 24-43 for 285 yards and 3 TD; Richard Lagrow, 35-59 for 317 yards and
2 interceptions). Attendance was 35,417, almost 12,000 below capacity on a
beautiful Saturday afternoon.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuPIPObWaPnpTloDVXnfhoIdQubVdjxj1gIZy0YLWrMjTBhz3Tqe17JMekItM6BAlTihO5Pqkc_4FhAoQsOet-lyddF5JczOiaXZDBrCBvNAnuAZ9SvvEzcSj9fbp7xcxh0wBBktdiHzc/s2048/Indiana+vs.+Northwestern+2016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1567" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuPIPObWaPnpTloDVXnfhoIdQubVdjxj1gIZy0YLWrMjTBhz3Tqe17JMekItM6BAlTihO5Pqkc_4FhAoQsOet-lyddF5JczOiaXZDBrCBvNAnuAZ9SvvEzcSj9fbp7xcxh0wBBktdiHzc/s320/Indiana+vs.+Northwestern+2016.jpg" width="245" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Brule Lakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18064595420011193426noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6315197546984705121.post-35858863230053246072021-10-13T15:43:00.001-05:002021-10-14T14:12:09.696-05:00The Demise (Almost) of the Paper Ticket: Baseball <p> A favorite sporting event, theater performance or museum souvenir
is the ticket or, in the old days, ticket stub. Although scanning technology
made ripping tickets obsolete, so has it rendered the paper ticket obsolete. As
you will see at the end, I found at least one notable exception.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Here are some interesting examples.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Cleveland Indians vs. Chicago White Sox, September 2,
1959. </b>The Sox and Indians were battling for the American League pennant (the
winner would be the first other than the Yankees since 1954), and the teams
played a twi-night doubleheader (two games starting at 6 p.m. for the younger
generations), making up an April 19 game postponed because of cold weather. The
Sox won game 1, 7-2, but starter Barry Latman was pulled with the Sox trailing
in the second game. Rookie Joe Stanka entered in relief, and the Sox then
posted an 11-run inning, giving Stanka his only MLB win in the 11-4 triumph
before 40,237 fans. He would later go on to be one of the first Americans to
star in Japan.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPUN6p3h0ZwXfNDYl5PmnT7myxPJWLCYdrIS0XBS0MoqQ2F-w9-Nrk81p8IXpY8VparvzRnAU-RIAkwtv8-xEr4hI8Gj-c-2OXavx3TaOkIi8JMakc9TmYzZjNAR5tInl-arOAyUsey0s/s544/White+Sox+1959.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="544" data-original-width="244" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPUN6p3h0ZwXfNDYl5PmnT7myxPJWLCYdrIS0XBS0MoqQ2F-w9-Nrk81p8IXpY8VparvzRnAU-RIAkwtv8-xEr4hI8Gj-c-2OXavx3TaOkIi8JMakc9TmYzZjNAR5tInl-arOAyUsey0s/s320/White+Sox+1959.jpg" width="144" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Chicago Cubs bleachers. </b>The undated ticket is
probably from the early 1960s, when we began taking the bus and L on our own to
Wrigley Field. This could have been the day we found out the difference between
CTA A trains and B trains. I haven’t sat in the bleachers since September 23,
1982, when 4,344 fans showed up to see the two National League East bottom
dwellers face off on a Wednesday afternoon. The Mets won, 5-4, with no home
runs that day but a ball caught in batting practice that day.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg95-Ewklo45_oMOqvlHw3iPQ0C465UVSVgbnCtpfH0Q3Q2bFXMI5ie_MqeE4CR8S3IgIwdgQhSVRgIc0jbtgEOir0HUJpUdwoOpCUHAQ8HRKbaauBhlyHd3_4z2ZA6enm3IPnGp3XCubQ/s403/Cubs+bleachers.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="230" data-original-width="403" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg95-Ewklo45_oMOqvlHw3iPQ0C465UVSVgbnCtpfH0Q3Q2bFXMI5ie_MqeE4CR8S3IgIwdgQhSVRgIc0jbtgEOir0HUJpUdwoOpCUHAQ8HRKbaauBhlyHd3_4z2ZA6enm3IPnGp3XCubQ/s320/Cubs+bleachers.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Cleveland Indians vs. Boston Red Sox, September 5,
1961. </b>I used Baseball Reference to determine the date of the game, a night
game before a day game during our after-camp visit to New York City and Boston.
The Yankees were on the road during our stay, delaying my first trip to The
Stadium for seven years. It was also between the time the Giants left the Polo
Grounds and the Mets made it their temporary home. The ticket agent was nice
enough to tell my father to buy general-admission tickets; the ushers allowed
people in that section to move closer to home plate as soon as the first pitch
was thrown. The Indians defeated the Red Sox, 9-5, before a decent-sized crowd
for the time of 14,471.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhgKcvdWbiTqiVZc-mKVfKljg-QxWmjPUxG8pfQO359Hnu9p7HT-7dibYfHTkhdlRYVnj7CDelY3M8hY0q2A6fegn8pThd7UgzFeIikkR5stogzK204wt84cecImWIDvPZahz9cydHdFI/s592/Red+Sox+1961.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="592" data-original-width="335" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhgKcvdWbiTqiVZc-mKVfKljg-QxWmjPUxG8pfQO359Hnu9p7HT-7dibYfHTkhdlRYVnj7CDelY3M8hY0q2A6fegn8pThd7UgzFeIikkR5stogzK204wt84cecImWIDvPZahz9cydHdFI/s320/Red+Sox+1961.jpg" width="181" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Chicago Cubs vs. Milwaukee Braves, May 4, 1963. </b>At
my only trip to County Stadium for baseball (attended a Bears-Packers
exhibition game there in August 1968), we saw an MLB record that should never
be broken. Our mother had gone to Europe with three friends, and dad took Frank
and me for the Saturday game. During the rain delay, our father contacted <i>Chicago
American </i>reporter Jim Enright, who found an empty press box for us. In its
inimical wisdom, MLB instructed umpires to crack down on balks. Braves and
former White Sox pitcher Bob Shaw was called for 5 balks before being ejected
with one out in the 5<sup>th</sup> inning. Shortly thereafter, MLB saw the
error of its ways. The Cubs won, 7-5, before a sparse crowd of 8,524.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl-zc-C7VgJutUtDqqjvehyphenhypheneDmP9ot2xpadEJrIo02M6xRR3Xn_n7eOVRdXcwoiYI3C3UhOzqcrqG48oL7a_IEJc-GzAz3-a4614l3wYlJubKJeDGsn-hJhbHFI4wxK1sZvBWnFJKifZ4/s526/Cubs+vs.+Braves%252C+1962.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="281" data-original-width="526" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl-zc-C7VgJutUtDqqjvehyphenhypheneDmP9ot2xpadEJrIo02M6xRR3Xn_n7eOVRdXcwoiYI3C3UhOzqcrqG48oL7a_IEJc-GzAz3-a4614l3wYlJubKJeDGsn-hJhbHFI4wxK1sZvBWnFJKifZ4/s320/Cubs+vs.+Braves%252C+1962.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Cincinnati Reds vs. St. Louis Cardinals, August 14,
1965. </b>You know you’re aging when the ballpark that replaced the one you’ve visited
has also been replaced. On a typical hot summer St. Louis evening, I attended my
only game at the old Sportsman’s Park/Busch Stadium. My camp friend Bill
Glassman arranged for his grandparents to take us for the round trip beginning
in hometown Mt. Vernon, Illinois. Despite star-studded line-ups (Rose, Bench, Frank
Robinson, Tony Perez and Pinson for the Reds; Brock, Flood, McCarver and Boyer
for the Cardinals), neither team contended for the National League crown. The 1964
World Series winners drew only 16,484 for the Friday tilt, which they won, 4-2.
<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9L1YcFCQpoEL2ulA0zFjdFbFUKAufRbDMOt6aTAM9b23bYAPRnTDhMWeKEU9Go3UlkxwwQrgMSgfWDQOwPykkyT2TwPYsFdArfMyGyymMfZWvZKNIS1hxhiejuCcAAneYVRDuloBfsz4/s516/Cardinals+vs.+Reds+1965.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="516" data-original-width="273" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9L1YcFCQpoEL2ulA0zFjdFbFUKAufRbDMOt6aTAM9b23bYAPRnTDhMWeKEU9Go3UlkxwwQrgMSgfWDQOwPykkyT2TwPYsFdArfMyGyymMfZWvZKNIS1hxhiejuCcAAneYVRDuloBfsz4/s320/Cardinals+vs.+Reds+1965.jpg" width="169" /></a></div><br /><b style="text-align: left;">Houston Astros vs. Philadelphia Phillies, April 19,
1968.</b><span style="text-align: left;"> I had the same situation with Shibe Park/Connie Mack Stadium, but
unfortunately didn’t keep the stub. Traveling with three fellow Lehigh
University freshman, we were among 6,671 who witnessed a snappy 2-hour,
2-minute game (neither team got a runner past 2</span><sup style="text-align: left;">nd</sup><span style="text-align: left;"> base) won by the
Phillies, 2-1, on home runs by Bobby Wine (1 of 30 in his 12-year MLB career)
and Dick Allen (who was still booed the next time up). John Bateman hit his
first of four home runs that season. I loved that ballpark; our seats in the
upper deck past 1</span><sup style="text-align: left;">st</sup><span style="text-align: left;"> base seemed to hang almost to the field. </span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Chicago White Sox vs. Oakland A’s, September 24, 1980.
</b>My only visit to a multipurpose stadium (the last currently in existence) followed
a business trip to Stockton. Neither team was contending; only 2,836 showed up
for the late-season game. I bought the ticket in the parking lot from a kid
carrying a broken Wayne Nordhagen bat. Surveying the empty stands before the
game, Sox pitcher Ross Baumgarten, brother of my classmate Craig and one of
Uncle Adolph’s former patients, asked me, “Isn’t this a glamorous life?” The
A’s won, 7-1, holding the Sox to 2 hits.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpf5bh76S63H_VcbT-1carT4H9gMTOmlDvTj8ZTNh7wy0nwRUFvUPlFziA_r3Eq2hKmzg8tYJlCAXc99pGMog6Gyqw_hVLS6I_CiHU1O8urbf0gcbOQB_1oTD-fnzNx3EUDfyZhqdACqQ/s527/White+Sox+vs.+A%2527s+1980.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="527" data-original-width="288" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpf5bh76S63H_VcbT-1carT4H9gMTOmlDvTj8ZTNh7wy0nwRUFvUPlFziA_r3Eq2hKmzg8tYJlCAXc99pGMog6Gyqw_hVLS6I_CiHU1O8urbf0gcbOQB_1oTD-fnzNx3EUDfyZhqdACqQ/s320/White+Sox+vs.+A%2527s+1980.jpg" width="175" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>The last game in the old Comiskey Park and first game
in the new Comiskey Park. </b>Both were surreal events. The Sox defeated the
Mariners (Griffey Sr. and Jr. were in the Seattle line-up), 2-1, on September
30, 1990. The new ballpark experience on April 28, 1991, was notable for
several reasons, including sitting higher up for a baseball game than in my
previous 37 years (that row and several others in the back of the upper deck
were removed after the 2004 season), seeing the old ballpark across the street
being demolished and watching the Sox lose to the Tigers, 16-0.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYHVX8tv5174gTuoykGV-PSvZQDYCnDseNXoLe_J7zrKMIzgKVPtNzHifxwnbTRF_h7xsvnjRHy3xGEwjBYyhm64XOV6NiZxmAk5s3Dz6vW5-azWKlkRjMHTCIKYO5I-89GxX8od2C064/s673/White+Sox+last+game+at+Comiskey+Park.+1990.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="383" data-original-width="673" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYHVX8tv5174gTuoykGV-PSvZQDYCnDseNXoLe_J7zrKMIzgKVPtNzHifxwnbTRF_h7xsvnjRHy3xGEwjBYyhm64XOV6NiZxmAk5s3Dz6vW5-azWKlkRjMHTCIKYO5I-89GxX8od2C064/s320/White+Sox+last+game+at+Comiskey+Park.+1990.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl0VorcmHcaCpn9HM_am6rQOwxwu6Xn2F3ZNPp8Xu6nsAD_4UvZnJs6FDPw06ZWHejJBh5zOIdKdhGOmmAKO7Mz0SAsLtM83K7wZIR8wMrHMq18KA7NEdrXKBd0Hn5Lov2Acht8au8epk/s889/White+Sox+first+game+at+new+Comiskey+Park%252C+1991.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="889" data-original-width="498" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl0VorcmHcaCpn9HM_am6rQOwxwu6Xn2F3ZNPp8Xu6nsAD_4UvZnJs6FDPw06ZWHejJBh5zOIdKdhGOmmAKO7Mz0SAsLtM83K7wZIR8wMrHMq18KA7NEdrXKBd0Hn5Lov2Acht8au8epk/s320/White+Sox+first+game+at+new+Comiskey+Park%252C+1991.jpg" width="179" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Chicago White Sox vs. Milwaukee Brewers, July 7, 2001.
</b>The inaugural season for Miller Park (now American Family Field) promised
to be our first indoor game, as heavy rains poured during our drive north. The
roof was closed when we arrived in the far parking lot; by the time we entered
the stadium, the roof was open. The Sox hit four home runs, including a
440-foot shot by DH Jose Conseco, on the way to an 8-4 win before 40,332 fans.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHL-Q4fFxFgnoS47tHcN98e5ZKB2OzFQaXSjgdql_-5MHosJRegelFrGSBemWQESvBHaCZeP9Nbo4eb1x2dPUOhb-h1WkulcvbYYWLM_lfy3doVxd8x3y71zqpn4WqwCRi57gmL5FoQeU/s1011/Brewers+2001.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="587" data-original-width="1011" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHL-Q4fFxFgnoS47tHcN98e5ZKB2OzFQaXSjgdql_-5MHosJRegelFrGSBemWQESvBHaCZeP9Nbo4eb1x2dPUOhb-h1WkulcvbYYWLM_lfy3doVxd8x3y71zqpn4WqwCRi57gmL5FoQeU/s320/Brewers+2001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Montreal Expos vs. Florida Marlins, September 14,
2004. </b>The game at then-U.S. Cellular Field was moved from then-Pro Player
Stadium because of Hurricane Ina. Part of the general-admission ticket proceeds
went to hurricane relief. The Marlins defeated the Expos, 8-6, thanks to a
6-run (5-uneared) 6<sup>th</sup> inning. Only 5,457 witnessed this unusual
event.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB2MKODv2WComWffhquenoV0LYC5Rn34qQhq1M-7MmC7ET4JXp6FUpOODFoBT24cgRIqqviqu8At1eikfNK4QeVDkrgPnTyeFtioysffZpnzLiKEDZLh8H2R9qAgH8vqpQSz1K0kK5Vy0/s1102/Expos+vs.+Marlins+2004.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="374" data-original-width="1102" height="109" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB2MKODv2WComWffhquenoV0LYC5Rn34qQhq1M-7MmC7ET4JXp6FUpOODFoBT24cgRIqqviqu8At1eikfNK4QeVDkrgPnTyeFtioysffZpnzLiKEDZLh8H2R9qAgH8vqpQSz1K0kK5Vy0/s320/Expos+vs.+Marlins+2004.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Milwaukee Brewers vs. Florida Marlins, April 9, 2007. </b>Frank
and I didn’t take into account the Marlins had virtually no season-ticket
holders, causing us to circle Dolphin Stadium twice before finding a seller. There
is no price on the ticket; I think we paid $30 for two. The Marlins won, 5-3;
Miguel Cabrera is the last active player from the game, while Brewers manager
Craig Counsell played shortstop for Milwaukee and Yankees manager Aaron Boone
pinch-hit for Florida. Despite attendance at a highly inflated 11,157 in the
cavernous stadium, I was impressed that the ushers prohibited fans from
returning to their seats until the batter completed his plate appearance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGpITFSDNC_v3lOs5vrpYOUvnqNP7oqSQ6Aqo9xBwc-yR95_MCOaN6Tx9oHQU6tLQyXZ04QEl32ouZrHVeDCO0bEVsQzHbZm-9iMDI3JWaW5-Y5Ss3qPtSGP1dPZvkqUa1WjV4SqY0OAQ/s1021/Marlins+vs.+Brewers+2007.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="589" data-original-width="1021" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGpITFSDNC_v3lOs5vrpYOUvnqNP7oqSQ6Aqo9xBwc-yR95_MCOaN6Tx9oHQU6tLQyXZ04QEl32ouZrHVeDCO0bEVsQzHbZm-9iMDI3JWaW5-Y5Ss3qPtSGP1dPZvkqUa1WjV4SqY0OAQ/s320/Marlins+vs.+Brewers+2007.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Chicago White Sox vs. New York Yankees, September 18,
2008. </b>The final White Sox game in the old (but renovated) Yankee Stadium,
just before the final series of the year. Despite losing both games I attended,
the Sox made the post-season on the 1-0 Blackout game playoff win vs. the
Twins. My first game here was Denny McLain’s second win of his 31-win season,
April 27, 1968. My thoughts as I left The Stadium were on football, not
baseball: My parents, married one year, attended the Army-Illinois game, October
11, 1947, which ended in a 0-0 tie.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSdo3SrxScQeglOrUfEteklPNYCXheeBP-kPvnynq-9JFvxFPAev3mQm4XHwqwC3vIOPnMp7tVZmn6suIqcTlSiQBOF8n5cOCMEGrPQOrrYYfL8jz494aMc82bJDfIo5cRSppBGnGCgk0/s1296/White+Sox+last+game+at+Yankee+Stadium%252C+Sept.+18%252C%252C+2008.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="485" data-original-width="1296" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSdo3SrxScQeglOrUfEteklPNYCXheeBP-kPvnynq-9JFvxFPAev3mQm4XHwqwC3vIOPnMp7tVZmn6suIqcTlSiQBOF8n5cOCMEGrPQOrrYYfL8jz494aMc82bJDfIo5cRSppBGnGCgk0/s320/White+Sox+last+game+at+Yankee+Stadium%252C+Sept.+18%252C%252C+2008.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Florida Marlins vs. Baltimore Orioles, April 1, 2009. </b>Frank
and I didn’t know at the time we’d attended the final MLB Spring Training game
in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, before the O’s departed for Sarasota. It was also
our first game with legitimate senior-citizen tickets, reduced from $14.00. The
Marlins were trouncing the Orioles, 12-2, in the 7<sup>th</sup> inning
(reserves were jogging in the outfield during play) when we head back to our
apartment and the pool.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2-Lvm4gHthRU8eEca1E4QfDRdZ80J6ufi4d_pu-QspNcfxQtiNsvP3rA60oG3raJRN1PI0GuJBytGnVDD8u5CkMc3t4prdr27nDZh03UIgawNQa7RHnU3_mEo-kGOCDv-a83r77jgzSg/s664/Last+Game+in+Ft.+Lauderdale+2009.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="389" data-original-width="664" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2-Lvm4gHthRU8eEca1E4QfDRdZ80J6ufi4d_pu-QspNcfxQtiNsvP3rA60oG3raJRN1PI0GuJBytGnVDD8u5CkMc3t4prdr27nDZh03UIgawNQa7RHnU3_mEo-kGOCDv-a83r77jgzSg/s320/Last+Game+in+Ft.+Lauderdale+2009.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Chicago White Sox vs. Colorado Rockies, July 7, 2017. </b>Print-at-home
ticket had its day for a short period until teams figured out they could be
mass-produced and sold to unsuspecting fans. My cousin Cathy and I used the opportunity
to see the Sox in Denver while visiting my brother. The Sox lost, 12-4, with
38,386 in attendance. The next night we saw Jose Quintana’s final Sox appearance
and a Sox 5-4 victory, thanks to a 437-foot home run by Tim Anderson.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiidANjZkXMK2f4qBbNdjbYWlSRU5CB-9r-q1nsZK9xfhAxyeWwLcaUbb9HjFrjfGG4jNqe-0m4Np6oq4S8crhEa1f5w3dQM4AFD8Ix1g757GZMPwE3U-epcrbtomeA6yWF7ZBShuLlq74/s2048/Sox+at+Colorado+2017+2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1635" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiidANjZkXMK2f4qBbNdjbYWlSRU5CB-9r-q1nsZK9xfhAxyeWwLcaUbb9HjFrjfGG4jNqe-0m4Np6oq4S8crhEa1f5w3dQM4AFD8Ix1g757GZMPwE3U-epcrbtomeA6yWF7ZBShuLlq74/s320/Sox+at+Colorado+2017+2.jpg" width="255" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><b>Houston Astros vs. Chicago White Sox, October 10,
2021. </b>Just when I thought baseball’s paper tickets were extinct, I found
one. Families of White Sox personnel were issued paper tickets for the 2021
post-season; this one was used by a friend. With their backs against the wall,
the White Sox erased a 5-1 deficit in Game 3 of the ALDS for a convincing 12-6
win. I was one of 40,288 fans to witness the contest, using an on-your-phone
ticket for Section 126, Row 9 (5 rows behind the 1<sup>st</sup>-base dugout),
Seat 4. The season ended two days later, the less said the better.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj37LRNOEGj8a4s1cwFFimLXk64i4MA3LgyhCBWLUf9AOSZKIWRDogqoKntFWiefTmr4EFFMOCR2DUeF9n3k9XtvQFAL0J5eTH4QI40veCU4QbnioXji9Qw-sei8OS9KOY4M7eirPBkKXs/s1668/Sox+vs.+Houston+ALDS+Game+1+2021.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="584" data-original-width="1668" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj37LRNOEGj8a4s1cwFFimLXk64i4MA3LgyhCBWLUf9AOSZKIWRDogqoKntFWiefTmr4EFFMOCR2DUeF9n3k9XtvQFAL0J5eTH4QI40veCU4QbnioXji9Qw-sei8OS9KOY4M7eirPBkKXs/s320/Sox+vs.+Houston+ALDS+Game+1+2021.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><br /></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Brule Lakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18064595420011193426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6315197546984705121.post-83322487015036330002021-10-06T13:58:00.003-05:002021-10-06T13:58:44.286-05:00Welcome to the Working Week<p></p><p class="MsoNormal">In late August 55 years ago, I finished my first 8
hours-a-day, 5 days-a-week job. This led me to think about how much has changed
about the nature of work and our metropolitan area since then.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Because of an early interest in becoming a lawyer, I asked
my father to help me find a summer job at a downtown law firm after my junior
year in high school in 1966. I took the train downtown to talk to Irving
Goldberg, the head of his company’s law firm, only to be told at the end of the
discussion that it didn’t hire office boys (as they were known back then). I liked
the experience; my mother was none too happy he wasted my time.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Two years earlier, my father left his CPA firm, whose
largest client was Pick Hotels, for private industry. He kept contact with
various people from his accounting days, one of whom was Alan Altheimer, head
of the law firm that represented Pick Hotels. This trip downtown was
successful, and I was hired as one of two office boys at Altheimer, Gray,
Naiburg, Strasburger & Lawton. My salary: $60 a week ($505 in 2021
dollars).<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhF2Vv84hMNccNweyGjQkia1p-UgkHPhQ_yEm2ZKTXp1KslqpOMbWWnkjMkOzkPJrRqO__6dw0tft7QV6442wllpxMmhkFnB94gBARiwg7IGOtkmv2AQT0y9wNwNh6NquowFNN4IBY8eg/s2048/PA194465.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhF2Vv84hMNccNweyGjQkia1p-UgkHPhQ_yEm2ZKTXp1KslqpOMbWWnkjMkOzkPJrRqO__6dw0tft7QV6442wllpxMmhkFnB94gBARiwg7IGOtkmv2AQT0y9wNwNh6NquowFNN4IBY8eg/s320/PA194465.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Chicago and North Western Hubbard Woods Station</div>
<p class="MsoNormal">We were living at the time in the North Shore suburbs, so I
made the round-trip commute on the pre-Metra Chicago and North Western train
from the Hubbard Woods station to what we simply called the North Western
station. A monthly pass was a little more than $30 (about $250 in today’s dollars).
Upon arriving downtown (the passengers were mostly men, almost all clad in
jackets/suits and ties), I walked through 2 North Riverside Plaza (formerly the
Daily News Building) out to W. Madison Street for a 5-block, 10-minute walk to
the 18<sup>th</sup>-floor offices in the 1 North LaSalle Building. Walking back
to the station after work, I’d pass the iconic Cohasset Punch (actually Ladner Brothers)
at W. Madison and S. Wells streets before buying the <i>Chicago Daily News</i>
(7 cents a copy, I believe) to read on the train home.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih5Gs75VXkEd-lum_-BdW39vtCw4FdZz7I3cOqDzRPxR9_E6BJ5cDWLGV30WfwiwzFcNt_-6KZW6onD8FWgG68OeOvgpQmFcBO-oc1NQOkm50-YZRRYy5ZBD_4F1XRrTHJ5gFSsoW9PO0/s2048/PA110507.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1611" data-original-width="2048" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih5Gs75VXkEd-lum_-BdW39vtCw4FdZz7I3cOqDzRPxR9_E6BJ5cDWLGV30WfwiwzFcNt_-6KZW6onD8FWgG68OeOvgpQmFcBO-oc1NQOkm50-YZRRYy5ZBD_4F1XRrTHJ5gFSsoW9PO0/s320/PA110507.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">2 N. Riverside Plaza</div>
<p class="MsoNormal">The law firm, founded in 1914 by Louis Altheimer, Alan’s
father, had only about 20 attorneys on staff at the time. My duties included
photocopying (the Xerox machine had curved glass), making deliveries and
pick-ups around the Loop, filing documents at the Civic (now Daley) Center
(then the city’s tallest building, recently surpassing the Prudential and Board
of Trade) and taking care of mail (the postage meter had a crank). Ironically,
15 years later, in my first job in public relations, the low-rent agency still
had a curved-glass Xerox machine and postage meter with a crank, as well as a
plug-in switchboard and crappy Smith-Corona typewrites that punched holes in
the paper when typing periods. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqTDJK9NUxK5sINiiMgchpZ9gCIT7t-HjfU0wKDvYcw6N0rSDS43E5SKuFqvOVe9jlC4smfgw0srQd69D9cz9t8N21q7d8WXHYSKZd6rQ5x8s2yXFYHCVJvQMu3wAwaFY5-DdtU19j14I/s2048/P5220200+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1354" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqTDJK9NUxK5sINiiMgchpZ9gCIT7t-HjfU0wKDvYcw6N0rSDS43E5SKuFqvOVe9jlC4smfgw0srQd69D9cz9t8N21q7d8WXHYSKZd6rQ5x8s2yXFYHCVJvQMu3wAwaFY5-DdtU19j14I/s320/P5220200+%25282%2529.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Daley (formerly Civic) Center</div>
<p class="MsoNormal">The office had very few amenities, even for the attorneys.
During my first few weeks, the office manager installed a coffee machine;
despite that, the lawyers still went downstairs for coffee breaks because they
didn’t like the instant coffee. Lunch was almost always in a brown paper bag my
mother prepared. Occasionally, I’d meet my father at Bolling’s or perhaps
Harding’s, where my mother claimed dad learned how to carve by watching the
guys behind the counter. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I had a few notable experiences that summer. One morning I
had a delivery to the brokerage Paine Webber Jackson & Curtis at 208 S.
LaSalle St. Upon alighting from the escalator, I viewed the vast second-floor
trading department that covered the entire floor. Seated at the very first desk
in the near corner: Gale Sayers, who as a Chicago Bears running back was voted
1965 NFL Rookie of the Year by three wire services. In those days, even the
superstars had off-season jobs.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A lunchtime meeting with my friend and neighbor Richard
Friedman educated me on “The Chicago Way.” Richard was working at the Civic
Center, and I asked what he was doing. “I’m on hour one of my two-hour lunch
break,” he replied. In talking about his work (he actually did), Richard
related that on his first day his supervisor showed him the time clock. The man
added, “See these guys here? They’re punched in to 5 o’clock but don’t expect
to find them after noon.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">With my newfound riches, my father opened a savings account
at his bank, Lake Shore National at 605 N. Michigan Ave. I stayed with the bank
and its four successors until early this year, after Chase announced a $35 a
month checking account fee; the bank later changed it to $15 a month but free
if you had direct deposits (too late, we had already opened a new account). <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0mSHWVNQmFJIl2aIDjCZZDZzlXOYBY8OKPF36rxtC1JZWhvZ38fH-OqeeigZgYk-19RwUvUptTsKpgH2ABrEUfXJh3M5Ww6RpAhFoufY16UNIKo_p6VlwID6iotSbeeGXhKvDoKTZnA0/s2048/P9277238.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1324" data-original-width="2048" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0mSHWVNQmFJIl2aIDjCZZDZzlXOYBY8OKPF36rxtC1JZWhvZ38fH-OqeeigZgYk-19RwUvUptTsKpgH2ABrEUfXJh3M5Ww6RpAhFoufY16UNIKo_p6VlwID6iotSbeeGXhKvDoKTZnA0/s320/P9277238.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Lake Shore National (now Chase) Bank</div>
<p class="MsoNormal">I returned to Altheimer Gray (it later shortened the name to
Altheimer & Gray) the following summer, with a raise to $65 a week. Duties
were the same, and I don’t remember anything notable at work. I was downtown
for the unveiling of the controversial Picasso sculpture on August 15, 1967.
Back in those days, young Black boys with shoeshine boxes fanned out over the
Loop. From them I learned about a Spit Shine (I thought he’d said “Smith
Shine”). I’d get a 25-cent shine every so often, which was much cheaper than in
a shoeshine parlor. Because dignitaries from around the world were attending
the ceremony, the Chicago Police took it upon themselves to run the shoeshine
boys out of the area. Heaven forbid our city’s great international image should
be tarnished by youngsters hustling to make some legitimate cash. Of course, in
a little more than a year, the Chicago Police would do their best to tarnish
that image big time. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4J2GifZE_xCPJ0-QIwiW77h4Ol8ec1324wbvhgZ69CAk0m-0J-E0wO_bf6nG7Gr3H3L7hGyhu_cwX95-AOthoI2PIeovdYN7l0R2WUYFL1MGTIwfEubLqPLsKTRENItNyQLaTOTqocRY/s2048/P5220201+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1668" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4J2GifZE_xCPJ0-QIwiW77h4Ol8ec1324wbvhgZ69CAk0m-0J-E0wO_bf6nG7Gr3H3L7hGyhu_cwX95-AOthoI2PIeovdYN7l0R2WUYFL1MGTIwfEubLqPLsKTRENItNyQLaTOTqocRY/s320/P5220201+%25282%2529.JPG" width="261" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Picasso sculpture</div>
<p class="MsoNormal">I would return to downtown commuting in 1969 after working
the previous summer at my father’s envelope factory. Our family moved back into
the city in 1970, and I never moved to the suburbs. Until going into business
for myself in 2000, my commute generally involved CTA buses. One of these days,
I’ll take the train up to the North Shore, just to re-live those summer days.
And I can spot several buildings taller than the Daley Center just by looking
out our windows.<o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p>Brule Lakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18064595420011193426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6315197546984705121.post-26449458174399177932021-05-12T13:33:00.008-05:002021-05-16T19:57:42.265-05:00100 Years of the Chicago White Sox<p>This year marks 100 years since our family began
attending Chicago White Sox games. From a single detail on the pitchers back in
1921, I found the first game at which my uncle, Dr. Adolph Nachman, first
stepped foot into Comiskey Park.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p>In an interview for a book about Comiskey Park, Adolph
told author Floyd Sullivan that he didn’t know anything about White Sox history
before attending his first game, including the Black Sox saga that resulted in
eight Sox players being banned beginning after the previous season for fixing the
1919 World Series. I assume his father (my grandfather), a Romanian immigrant,
was not interested in baseball. At the time, the family lived either at 6054 S.
Michigan Avenue or 7430 S. Bennett Avenue. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgewdqxRpwruhNaJok4qHeZQ7BTizPgZXjSSk8Snm9qFMCGOl7lOAUag5cKRDxafJq7j6EovLYK6P1-7t0oljOfDTCCNCq9Aqb-hdwiPx12KPolBMAD0eAyOoUL1xE10wZUr4TtOma2-wY/s560/Comiskey-Park-1912.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="383" data-original-width="560" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgewdqxRpwruhNaJok4qHeZQ7BTizPgZXjSSk8Snm9qFMCGOl7lOAUag5cKRDxafJq7j6EovLYK6P1-7t0oljOfDTCCNCq9Aqb-hdwiPx12KPolBMAD0eAyOoUL1xE10wZUr4TtOma2-wY/s320/Comiskey-Park-1912.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Comiskey Park, 1912</div><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Adolph, who possessed an extraordinary memory well into
age 101, said for years the pitchers that day were Red Faber for the White Sox
and Eddie Rommel for the Philadelphia Athletics. Thanks to continuing updates
from Baseball Reference, I found the game was played on August 21, 1921. The 7<sup>th</sup>-place
Sox, managed by Kid Gleason, met the 8<sup>th</sup>-place A’s, managed by the
legendary Connie Mack. Despite their eventual 62-92 record, the Sox sported
four future Hall of Famers that day: Faber, Eddie Collins, Harry Hooper and Ray
Schalk. Faber, winning 25 games, and Dickie Kerr, victorious in both starts in
the 1919 World Series, with 19 wins accounted for the major share of the Sox’s
wins in 1921.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH-mZSpRd-4gcmcHIm3Qpp1iDJW3XXBcC1GyFhiXeeaqNXMaAp4ElAK1IsUZFXajCNfloSw-LjlLaf_7tN1zC2-p7kg3v8M1mpn_DzETvPZb4lJkc_OOHpvG9oFp8HnFeGyECvR1Ql1Jo/s380/Red+Faber.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="189" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH-mZSpRd-4gcmcHIm3Qpp1iDJW3XXBcC1GyFhiXeeaqNXMaAp4ElAK1IsUZFXajCNfloSw-LjlLaf_7tN1zC2-p7kg3v8M1mpn_DzETvPZb4lJkc_OOHpvG9oFp8HnFeGyECvR1Ql1Jo/s320/Red+Faber.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Red Faber</div><p></p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Rommel, who served as an American League umpire from 1938
to 1959 (2 World Series, 6 All-Star Games), was not the starting pitcher. Roy
Moore yielded 4 runs on 5 hits and 2 walks before being removed after the 2<sup>nd</sup>
inning. The game eventually went 10 innings, with the A’s victorious, 6-5.
Faber pitched a complete game, giving up 6 runs (5 earned) on 11 hits, 4
strikeouts and 2 walks. Rommel picked up the win, holding the Sox to 1 run on 8
hits on 3 strikeouts and 2 walks.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoIENw_3MEGi6D4vai6_S2HlPUtyB7gQSdRi6xj2UlrsCz5ohawqZc3Tvzdta88iUc2YpPgRgSaLu2k5pfEdFn8SsgmmC0ttWraoF8_h2nx0GG4BdNpATS8nz0NEjyglu11tiwevzTpYM/s1280/Eddie+Rommel.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoIENw_3MEGi6D4vai6_S2HlPUtyB7gQSdRi6xj2UlrsCz5ohawqZc3Tvzdta88iUc2YpPgRgSaLu2k5pfEdFn8SsgmmC0ttWraoF8_h2nx0GG4BdNpATS8nz0NEjyglu11tiwevzTpYM/s320/Eddie+Rommel.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Eddie Rommel</div><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Some notable game statistics. Of the 24 hits, 3 doubles
were the only extra-base hits. A’s outfielder Whitey Whitt went 4-5, while
Collins had a 3-5 day. Hervey McClellan, a 5’9”, 143-pound utility infielder
who died tragically from cancer 4 years later, pinch-ran for pinch-hitter Fred
Bratschi, who doubled batting for Faber in the 10<sup>th</sup> inning. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only two umpires worked the game. At season’s
end, Rommel would lead the American League with 23 losses for the 53-100 A’s,
45 games behind the champion New York Yankees. The Sox would draw 543,650 fans,
4th among 8 teams. The Boston Red Sox averaged only 1,813 per game.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p>The White Sox experienced several lean years from the
1920s through the 1940s. Adolph was joined by my father, Marvin (5 years his
junior), on their trips to Comiskey Park. Dad never provided memories of those
early years, so I don’t know his first season. Adolph told me they took the
Wentworth Avenue streetcar to the games; Wentworth now runs parallel to the
west side of the Dan Ryan Expressway, ending at W. 47<sup>th</sup> Street.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTwyFXGiqEvNOKQDA5Wm66kbEomWDxLhA49S4Q92i5wBao-Hvv47q4NXn67euGnH6znCac2yuHyWNXBF4Zx-qwUIBf1EkJG3krngkjHdGcx20KME_QpG3iS_gXWQwrKWOnaT8oh-dWLCY/s1459/A+%2526+M+1930s.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1459" data-original-width="1131" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTwyFXGiqEvNOKQDA5Wm66kbEomWDxLhA49S4Q92i5wBao-Hvv47q4NXn67euGnH6znCac2yuHyWNXBF4Zx-qwUIBf1EkJG3krngkjHdGcx20KME_QpG3iS_gXWQwrKWOnaT8oh-dWLCY/s320/A+%2526+M+1930s.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Adolph and Marvin, Paw Paw Lake, Michigan, 1930s</div><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Adolph and Marvin finally made it to a World Series on
the South Side of Chicago in 1959. Dad, Frank and I saw the Sox win Game 1,
11-0, from the right-field lower deck. The brothers watched the two losses,
including the Series-ending Game 6, from Adolph’s seats in Box 45, Tier 6.
At age 93, Adolph took a pass on the 2005 post-season games (he attended games
until 2011). Frank and I attended Game 1 of the 2005 World Series, a 5-3
victory, while Adolph’s children – Jim, Bob and Cathy, also carried on the
twice in what is now 101 seasons World Series tradition. </p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF2n3g5DQtY31mB34HkXXaRGmOi0q0IEjlRdXhyphenhyphenc3wqA3HeuCl-FvOepapWScdURG8FSuv7wSpB_p-YFFdUFkAbkCasXfaQSTUfYwbP0m0EeVoNZ1vbhb6jOoRR9X26GGb6t55Xlp4Mtk/s1187/World+Series+2005.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="788" data-original-width="1187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF2n3g5DQtY31mB34HkXXaRGmOi0q0IEjlRdXhyphenhyphenc3wqA3HeuCl-FvOepapWScdURG8FSuv7wSpB_p-YFFdUFkAbkCasXfaQSTUfYwbP0m0EeVoNZ1vbhb6jOoRR9X26GGb6t55Xlp4Mtk/s320/World+Series+2005.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">With cousin Jim Nachman, Game 1, 2005 World Series</div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">My White Sox history dates back to 1954 (or possibly
1953). I don’t remember the first game but I know one that season was with the
Baltimore Orioles, the year after the St. Louis Browns played its final season.
The pitcher was Duane Pillettte and one of the outfielders was Gil Coan, who
was the third-oldest MLB player when he passed away last year at age 97. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw the Sox play every year on the South
Side until the no-attendance 2020 season except the disastrous 56-106 1970
season. Not surprisingly, the game I saw in Fenway Park on May 31, 1970, ended
in a 4-3 loss when starter Tommy John and relievers Wilbur Wood and Danny
Murphy couldn’t hold a 3-1 lead in the 9<sup>th</sup> inning, yielding 4 hits
and 2 walks and only 1 out. </p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisBA4LozFQx5IkGHyFsoGgbUSHKDSXzwqcPj4suZmUtS7DHbTunLqGuzes8TtDn2jVwBfZOapzQfueypopkqMmsIrB3zhyphenhyphenD8HbQbqIcUwYm9NgB4KdwsBhJF5BoeO_6PZ-lUdNYBcc0Tk/s561/Gil+Coan.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="372" data-original-width="561" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisBA4LozFQx5IkGHyFsoGgbUSHKDSXzwqcPj4suZmUtS7DHbTunLqGuzes8TtDn2jVwBfZOapzQfueypopkqMmsIrB3zhyphenhyphenD8HbQbqIcUwYm9NgB4KdwsBhJF5BoeO_6PZ-lUdNYBcc0Tk/s320/Gil+Coan.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Gil Coan, 1955 Bowman card</div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Over these 100 seasons, the White Sox have made only 6
post-season appearances and 1 World Series victory. Despite losing two starting
outfielders from most if not all of this season, expectations are still high
for not only another post-season appearance but a World Series showdown and
victory. No more wait until next year.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitjniWDghBqttnVHeJKuHd3wDLVqpBAnXJX1yfsc-z0WXV-9Z5dzAT1p2WLh5A_068fG5h7J6UR0gMRRWVGh0JvC36Ui3IeepkFWRsWugLMJbWawFADGASzPqXoynMAjNB7CyG82wg2-Q/s2048/P4082864.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1145" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitjniWDghBqttnVHeJKuHd3wDLVqpBAnXJX1yfsc-z0WXV-9Z5dzAT1p2WLh5A_068fG5h7J6UR0gMRRWVGh0JvC36Ui3IeepkFWRsWugLMJbWawFADGASzPqXoynMAjNB7CyG82wg2-Q/s320/P4082864.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Yermin Mercedes, Opening Day 2021</div><br /><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><br /></p>Brule Lakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18064595420011193426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6315197546984705121.post-9860447943762024462021-04-12T13:44:00.002-05:002022-11-16T13:42:45.004-06:00A Not So Fond Farewell<p> I’ve been in countless airports in the United States and
Europe, even Spencer Municipal Airport (Spencer, Iowa, population: 11,317),
where our flight was diverted because the airport in Sioux City, Iowa, was
fogged in. Oddly enough, one airport reminded me of Spencer: Berlin Tegel Airport.
I’ve flown in and out four times and each one was hardly what one would expect
from an airport in a major world capital.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrwwKpJ3kZb9wN1GIdc-AwWH8p24g5QNLeoE89p_bXIuN4zwZyg8H9bdGmTIhbxkWp18Rq78-TjjJPZolJODwysT54SQ7rqX-ZXI-2crdEMV8FzLMoyZXWYW4yehLvKYW1kAakUwVdGb0/s350/Spencer+Municipal+Airport.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="262" data-original-width="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrwwKpJ3kZb9wN1GIdc-AwWH8p24g5QNLeoE89p_bXIuN4zwZyg8H9bdGmTIhbxkWp18Rq78-TjjJPZolJODwysT54SQ7rqX-ZXI-2crdEMV8FzLMoyZXWYW4yehLvKYW1kAakUwVdGb0/s320/Spencer+Municipal+Airport.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Spencer Iowa Airport Entrance</div><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Tempelhof, Berlin’s first airport, opened in 1927, and
the partition of Germany and Berlin after World War II led to the construction
of two additional facilities. Schönefeld was completed in 1946 to serve East
Germany and the Soviet section of Berlin. Stalin decided to test American
resolve and ordered a blockade of West Berlin (American, British and French
sectors), preventing essential goods from being trucked in from West Germany.
The solution: the Berlin Airlift. After the blockade commenced in June 1948, supplies
would now be flown in, and the French authorities in charge of the Tegel
district ordered the construction of a 2,500-meter-long runway, the longest in
Europe at the time. The first plane, a U.S. Air Force Douglas C-54, landed in
November 1948. After the blockade ended six months later, Tegel became the
Berlin base of the French Air Force. Tempelhof’s runways were too short for the
advent of larger jets in the 1950s, and Tegel replaced it as Berlin’s major
airport. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p>The reunification of Germany and the movement of the
capital from Bonn to Berlin caused air traffic to reach 24 million in 2019, ten
times more than the airport’s original capacity. Planning for a new airport
started in 1989 and construction on a new airport finally began in 2006. So
much for German ingenuity; Brandenburg International Airport was scheduled to
open in 2011 but numerous delays pushed the date out ten years, necessitating a
third terminal to open in Tegel in 2017.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfdp8QckotKOlx09chA5HRn4mavZqN5gLnszQqtAqj-ixZ4lKSutgibQHaE8PYkILIHkmEhX7MaKoCSCmenIxUnSSEzgxIl3R4OS_5jJawRsdlDzuHmGnGEAI1TL8WwPtZZwt5zAp3uWo/s2048/P9084242.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1185" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfdp8QckotKOlx09chA5HRn4mavZqN5gLnszQqtAqj-ixZ4lKSutgibQHaE8PYkILIHkmEhX7MaKoCSCmenIxUnSSEzgxIl3R4OS_5jJawRsdlDzuHmGnGEAI1TL8WwPtZZwt5zAp3uWo/s320/P9084242.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Berlin Tegel Airport</div><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">In September 2016, we traveled to Prague, Vienna and
Budapest. Because there were no direct flights from Chicago to Prague or from
Budapest to Chicago, we flew Air Berlin with connecting flights through Berlin.
As a footnote, Air Berlin – an excellent airline – ceased operations in October
2017, necessitating our return flight from our October 2019 visit to Berlin to
connect in Brussels (no direct flights). Shortly before our departure, I read a
post by my friend Bob Elisberg that the Berlin airport was little more than a
glorified bus terminal (and that Budweiser in Europe is NOT the American King
of Beers but a European brew). <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixbyWtcg8E4iMhDLp9lxxUkzKlxD0riygkRoPzN_Pf24F9UYbS3NR6jWTXuTquDhzyFRXiTAz22_6sg4ItLZ6RfDAgkBqho61u1dF6TXUulK_5Wp2JA2vEyEsVmulNlTmt1f1JWiRkB2E/s2048/P9074232.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1821" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixbyWtcg8E4iMhDLp9lxxUkzKlxD0riygkRoPzN_Pf24F9UYbS3NR6jWTXuTquDhzyFRXiTAz22_6sg4ItLZ6RfDAgkBqho61u1dF6TXUulK_5Wp2JA2vEyEsVmulNlTmt1f1JWiRkB2E/s320/P9074232.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Arriving in Prague, Septembr 7, 2016</div><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Upon landing in Prague on September 7, we departed the
plane the old-fashioned way – by stairs – and took a bus into a rectangular
building that looked like (surprise!) a glorified bus terminal. On top of that,
our prop-plane flight to Prague was delayed 40 minutes. Also waiting for the
flight were some 20-somethings from Chicago who had band gigs in Prague, one of
whom worked as a vendor in the Scout Seats at Sox Park. I told him if they got
in trouble the U.S. Ambassador was from Chicago (we were guests at the
residence the following evening); he promised to travel the straight and
narrow. The terminal did have a Fabriano Boutique.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh28LYyrMiUTBwjE4LS1fYhx4jjf3uGy1mtwnzLFG9HbQ5F4ClD5UwcVGx4dPce6hnDVdSrW_LMv5XyyLfSkIZReNrvSKArT66y4bYMcyO16r64kiFbrqEyHXel2TMb2MB_vC5KiIY4VFY/s2048/P9074237.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1293" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh28LYyrMiUTBwjE4LS1fYhx4jjf3uGy1mtwnzLFG9HbQ5F4ClD5UwcVGx4dPce6hnDVdSrW_LMv5XyyLfSkIZReNrvSKArT66y4bYMcyO16r64kiFbrqEyHXel2TMb2MB_vC5KiIY4VFY/s320/P9074237.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Tegel Airport Auxiliary Terminal, September 7, 2016</div><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">The flight from Budapest on September 18 was uneventful,
this time again crossing the tarmac but to the main terminal. Our flight home
was from the first gate and, because of a tight schedule, I took one photo
before entering the gate area, from which you could not leave. Shortly
thereafter, I received a tap on my shoulder and a voice that said, “Is this the
Standard Club?” It was Warren Katz, a fellow member who I saw regularly in the
Health & Fitness Center locker room. In my first encounter back, I caught
him from behind and inquired, “Is this the Berlin Airport?”<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWD7jF1myZQB1YgS6QMTAn_6XSsdiy2B_xX8GZRz2YdwK3D0_jpEDD16A_649FVe4ifftOifI5pNhoQ-sSAB3PpNTlT7hzFP9ShtBLSsvEbq6rjxkzRVnZQnNTGi2f4wPa9BhUNR-HILk/s2048/P9186404.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1606" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWD7jF1myZQB1YgS6QMTAn_6XSsdiy2B_xX8GZRz2YdwK3D0_jpEDD16A_649FVe4ifftOifI5pNhoQ-sSAB3PpNTlT7hzFP9ShtBLSsvEbq6rjxkzRVnZQnNTGi2f4wPa9BhUNR-HILk/s320/P9186404.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Tegel Airport Main Terminal, September 18, 2016</div><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Our second and final Tegel was a near disaster. Our
September 17, 2019, Paris-to-Berlin flight landed out on the tarmac, from which
we sprinted to the main terminal through a light rain (luckily the only rain
during our 12-day trip). Passing through the security checkpoint staffed by two
Uzi-armed military personnel, we inquired about the whereabouts of the baggage
claim. Told it was behind the checkpoint, we were refused reentry into the area
to claim our bags, despite our pleas that we’d just disembarked. No can do.
Instead, we first waited for 15 minutes in what was the wrong place to claim
your baggage, then headed back out in a heavier rain to the auxiliary terminal
to the correct window. There we went through a check list of illustrations
showing the style, size and color of our bags, then forked over 25 Euros for
the privilege of getting back our bags. It took about 20 minutes, rather
shorter than we had anticipated. We made it to the hotel and the dock for our
reserved Spree river tour with time to spare. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I don’t remember anything about our departure on
September 22, other than knowing if I ever made it back to Berlin – a
fascinating city in many ways – it wouldn’t be through Tegel. Our connecting
flight was through Brussels, a beautiful airport far more convenient than
Heathrow, Frankfurt or de Gaulle. The
new Berlin Brandenburg Airport opened on October 31, 2020, and the last flights
left Tegel eight days later.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitUumyyLTXch4jbm0Tg4lHavQxlWcw7pZGyP3C8J-DK1Xy2FH5LaDkErDh2wzIki3T5sAfvfDVDWiYq35VRRWRi7AwIl4-4DNuCGJFU46Hh3hsFcgVibDleExHM1fNl6mC_ifiw8VEXLk/s2048/P9222499.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1656" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitUumyyLTXch4jbm0Tg4lHavQxlWcw7pZGyP3C8J-DK1Xy2FH5LaDkErDh2wzIki3T5sAfvfDVDWiYq35VRRWRi7AwIl4-4DNuCGJFU46Hh3hsFcgVibDleExHM1fNl6mC_ifiw8VEXLk/s320/P9222499.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Brussels International Airport, September 22, 2019</div><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Back to Spencer, Iowa. Three international public
relations agencies were making new-business pitches to the infamous IBP, the
former Iowa Beef Processors. One of the other account teams – Ketchum – was on the
same plane and, because Ketchum’s presentation time was before ours, we told
them to take the town’s only taxi for the 100-mile drive to Sioux City. Our
team – corporate practice leader Paul Rand, public affairs practice leader
Robert Pflieger and me, investor relations practice leader – was left to figure
out how to get to our presentation. The cabdriver’s wife agreed to take us for
a reasonable fare, and the three of us piled into her white Cadillac DeVille
with red leather seats and headed to Sioux City. Lunch was a microwaved burrito
in a Casey’s General Store on Iowa Highway 60.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilwWSaJMKiDY3gMvweYCwxtr1EV7kZ5JcvSvjlwAXEIJCuehJB4ykJhv67viVvGT6sYimVMVRd-1m5p3us9tBQQrqj_TJ6kxK9OnMigTlZvjrcF5RjkRoj5iH4i7AzVfNmSWB3FTXKAsI/s263/IBP.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilwWSaJMKiDY3gMvweYCwxtr1EV7kZ5JcvSvjlwAXEIJCuehJB4ykJhv67viVvGT6sYimVMVRd-1m5p3us9tBQQrqj_TJ6kxK9OnMigTlZvjrcF5RjkRoj5iH4i7AzVfNmSWB3FTXKAsI/s0/IBP.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">IBP Truck (Photo Russ MacNeil)</div><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">IBP management wanted to push our presentation to the
following day, but because of pressing appointments back in the Chicago the
following day, they agreed to hear our pitch. Without luggage, we checked into
a hotel across the river in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, courtesy of IBP. Because
Rob didn’t want to fly a prop plane as part of our return trip, we departed
very early the next morning for Minneapolis before returning home. Four states,
four plane trips and one 100-mile drive in the span of 24 hours in 1999. The
result: IBP didn’t choose anyone and was acquired by Tyson Foods two years
later.<o:p></o:p></p>Brule Lakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18064595420011193426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6315197546984705121.post-36004750394538980462021-01-28T11:22:00.000-06:002021-01-28T11:22:16.331-06:00Cutting From the Chase<p>Last week we closed our bank accounts at one bank because
we had opened an account at another. Perhaps a sign of the times, we went from
the nation’s largest bank and second largest and seventh largest in the world
based on revenues and assets, respectively, to a virtual bank – no brick and
mortar – at one of our investment companies. Ordinarily this wouldn’t be
anything to write about but like many things in life, so please bear with me.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p>My father left his CPA firm in 1963 to join his friend
and fraternity brother Les Weil at American Envelope Company, serving as chief
financial officer and treasurer. The company had its banking relationship with
Lake Shore National Bank, which had its offices at the corner of N. Michigan
Avenue and E. Ohio Street. During my stint at the company during the summer of
1968, I watched him balance a half-million-dollar bank statement in his head –
he had a photographic memory – and know the reason for the few dollars’
discrepancy.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIyHwyCPwAUz1jj7XplfNM4Sp6yfMRLXwpuFw6vTg_e_ocS65JbjRnuNv7nxw5n8vFTIb-Oe5hw2qMXeGJhvE5wYoZSzqvTSYxJSdN6jUEx4DpyZQ3FvWGZFhAODlBvz1VaFMBR139kJc/s1481/American+Envelope+Co.+cards.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1140" data-original-width="1481" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIyHwyCPwAUz1jj7XplfNM4Sp6yfMRLXwpuFw6vTg_e_ocS65JbjRnuNv7nxw5n8vFTIb-Oe5hw2qMXeGJhvE5wYoZSzqvTSYxJSdN6jUEx4DpyZQ3FvWGZFhAODlBvz1VaFMBR139kJc/s320/American+Envelope+Co.+cards.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">American Envelope Company playing cards. It would have had to changed its logo.</div><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">With my first summer job in 1966, I opened a passbook
account at Lake Shore National. In those days before direct deposit, ATMs and Internet/smartphone
banking, my father deposited my paychecks (and any others I might receive)
during his frequent trips to the bank. One year later, I opened my first
checking account at Lake Shore before heading off to college. Dad would deposit
my “allowance” each month in that account, letting me know so I could enter it
into my ledger. I would do the same for our daughter when she entered college
in 1997.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIj7O32b7rRyMT5WihZ-A5CvOT7tKHpoQI2DTBhiMnaVnpeufvrgNJ3xBGE0FOHKc08DZyavXyj1VujoxfbsC7RRH2bx57I3Iqzryvk_qCHbn90VPT1jZ2kNA8WLBrOmVXpeBXBJ2_tgw/s1360/Passbook.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1360" data-original-width="1008" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIj7O32b7rRyMT5WihZ-A5CvOT7tKHpoQI2DTBhiMnaVnpeufvrgNJ3xBGE0FOHKc08DZyavXyj1VujoxfbsC7RRH2bx57I3Iqzryvk_qCHbn90VPT1jZ2kNA8WLBrOmVXpeBXBJ2_tgw/s320/Passbook.jpeg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Lake Shore National Bank passbook</div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">I’m slightly exaggerating that this relationship lasted
continually 55 years. Shortly after my father died suddenly in 1973, I received
a three-month-old deposit receipt in the mail with no note or explanation.
Bringing it to the bank, I was informed my rather large deposit went into my
father’s estate account and thus had earned no interest (back in the days when passbooks
earned decent interest) during that period. When I asked him to credit the lost
interest, he replied, “Tell me how much you want. I’ll take it out of your
father’s account.” Knowing that was wrong, I said, “You don’t know who you’re
dealing with” and went straight upstairs to the executive who handled the
American Envelope account to point out this error. The bank gave me the
interest.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p>A few years later, we opened accounts at First Chicago’s
banking subsidiary, the venerable First National Bank of Chicago, and stopped
using our Lake Shore accounts. First Chicago acquired Lake Shore National in
1994, so we still would have ended up at The First. One year later, First
Chicago merged with NBD (holding company for the National Bank of Detroit) to
form First Chicago NBD. That company in turn was bought by Columbus, Ohio-based
Banc One Corporation in 1998; the merged company was renamed Bank One
Corporation and moved its headquarters to Chicago. Finally, Bank One was
acquired by JP Morgan Chase in 2004; its bank’s origins date back to 1799 and
include Bank of the Manhattan, Chase Manhattan, Manufacturers Hanover and
Chemical Bank.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9QgeK7x64S4vxTiMzEFhouvQMCZxsy5J0ZSJs7_OIOOUVGX-cZsYtCwDwQ0WflV1j3KRlwxrSXCbBYJIkOSnjQEsOUtLGb17B_FNIVa5mpuyXa0S2fZlk_cTsPayKoz9EPfhjhuATY3c/s1988/First+Chicago+checkbook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1108" data-original-width="1988" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9QgeK7x64S4vxTiMzEFhouvQMCZxsy5J0ZSJs7_OIOOUVGX-cZsYtCwDwQ0WflV1j3KRlwxrSXCbBYJIkOSnjQEsOUtLGb17B_FNIVa5mpuyXa0S2fZlk_cTsPayKoz9EPfhjhuATY3c/s320/First+Chicago+checkbook.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">First National Bank of Chicago cover. We kept our checks in it for decades.</div><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">After the 2008 financial crisis caused banks and
brokerage houses to lower their minimums, we enrolled in Chase Private Client,
which combines bank accounts with JP Morgan investment management. The program
was excellent. Our investment accounts consistently outperformed the market,
and our banker handled important financial issues for my mother immediately
before and after her death in 2013. Our investment advisor announced he was
leaving JP Morgan in December 2019, and we elected to move our accounts with
him. Before long, we not unexpectedly were informed we would no longer be part
of Private Client unless we met a specific requirement.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p>The letter from Chase stipulated we were required to
maintain a six-figure balance in JP Morgan by the end of 2000 or be subject to
a $35.00/month charge for a checking account. That was it. Right away, we moved
to open a checking account at Charles Schwab Bank, where we also have
investment accounts. This involved changing pension and Social Security
deposits information as well as the bank from which bills would be paid. The
former needs at least two months to be effective. We planned to close the
accounts after Janet’s Medicare premium was paid (she doesn’t receive Social
Security so it has to be paid directly) this month. Just as that payment was
received (after putting off our Chase banker until these transactions were
transferred), we received a letter stating our accounts would be changed to a
different type of accounts but keep the account numbers – no need to change
deposit and payment data – and fee-free (otherwise $12/month) if we had very
minimal automatic monthly deposits. Suffice to say, if we’d known that in the
fall, we would have kept our accounts there.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p>The banker was very gracious in closing our accounts,
admitting the bank handled the communications poorly, intimating it had
initially thought this would be an opportunity to bring significant funds into
the company. My guess is later management saw it wasn’t happening and opted to
try to retain low-balance customers.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p>Now this may seem like just a screed about a large
corporation neglecting its long-time customers. But it was more than that. I
felt somewhat sad for a short time thereafter but never doubted my decision.
Then I realized it was because of what it represented in life events: my first
paychecks, first checking account, adding Janet’s name to our now joint accounts,
opening accounts for Marisa and the challenges facing my mother’s imminent
passing. Oh, and watching my father balance that half-million bank statement in
his head.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUTS9CZpaVz16bnzXDGyiGIf2T62hpwj7QuZLuGnhQ3ZGG9Tcb_GosR-rMbReOfVIblHDqIQnkgdqXraTYOEvzELkqq_iXOgZXvxGYhIrE_-eSZM2WOjc6D0_umkMYDBFWnTZhNUhqFHA/s616/MNN+birthday+cake.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="616" data-original-width="614" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUTS9CZpaVz16bnzXDGyiGIf2T62hpwj7QuZLuGnhQ3ZGG9Tcb_GosR-rMbReOfVIblHDqIQnkgdqXraTYOEvzELkqq_iXOgZXvxGYhIrE_-eSZM2WOjc6D0_umkMYDBFWnTZhNUhqFHA/s320/MNN+birthday+cake.jpeg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My father at his 50th birthday party. The cake was made to look like a ledger.</div><br /><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>Brule Lakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18064595420011193426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6315197546984705121.post-18644910249870817772020-12-31T10:06:00.028-06:002020-12-31T10:18:01.219-06:00Why Y2K?<p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Today is 21<sup>st</sup> anniversary of the mostly
forgotten Y2K, when some predicted all havoc would break loose after the stroke
of midnight, January 1, 2000. Our family had a fairly unique experience on the
eve of the nonevent. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFvf680_u9nL5fqd7cuuM2nFfh8_ZQdb7kTDtfvLYG9hp8tAXW3QoWiTSA1Mipa4Tgto049JAgXdU2k_trmtHP4TcBliowmthXxziVzXfiMw8CDkKrDEvK6fuAKrKInq8-WyCC8qt-cuI/s220/calendar-december-1999.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="170" data-original-width="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFvf680_u9nL5fqd7cuuM2nFfh8_ZQdb7kTDtfvLYG9hp8tAXW3QoWiTSA1Mipa4Tgto049JAgXdU2k_trmtHP4TcBliowmthXxziVzXfiMw8CDkKrDEvK6fuAKrKInq8-WyCC8qt-cuI/s0/calendar-december-1999.png" /></a></div><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Back in those days, booking travel – especially around
the year-end holiday season – was much more difficult before the onset of
online travel sites. Because Janet was a Chicago Public Schools (CPS) teacher
and our daughter still in school, the end of December/beginning of January
offered the only two weeks of winter travel to her parents’ former apartment in
South Florida. Choice airline dates filled up quickly, so we routinely got on
the phone early in the year to secure the best itinerary and fares. Janet had
to return to work and Marisa to college right after the first of the year, so
we booked our return flight on December 31, 1999. My mother booked the same
flights, visiting her friend Dort a few towns over. Months later we heard about
Y2K and worries about airplanes falling from the skies.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">We didn’t even try to rebook, knowing it would be next to
impossible to find decent dates and fares. My intuition was these catastrophes
weren’t going to happen, reinforced by the opinion of my second cousin, Jim
Wolfson, an MIT Ph.D., that the airlines had run hundreds of simulations to
ensure their computers would be compliant with the change from 1 to 2. By then
I had greater worries: my partner, with whom we had started a business in
January 1998 and grew it into one of the 10 largest public relations agencies
in Chicago, was basically forcing me out of the company.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">The four of us ended up on the last United Airlines
flight out of Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood International Airport in the 1900s (not
the 20<sup>th</sup> century, which ended December 31, 2000). The airport was
nearly deserted, unlike the usual hustle-and-bustle of holiday times. Besides
the relative quiet, I remember one other event.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Our refrigerator had been cleaned out before the trip
home, so we opted to get food at airport. The only concession open was Miami
Subs, so subs it would be. There was one person ahead of us in line, and the
man perfectly personified my father’s favorite rhetorical question: “How come
there are always more horses’ assess than horses?” He ordered a hamburger and
was told they didn’t have any, to which he snidely replied, “Is it because you
don’t have any or you just don’t feel to make one for me?” After receiving the
same answer, Mr. Entitled (probably from New York) demanded to speak to the
manager. He stepped aside; we ordered our subs and left before finding the
result.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Our plane landed – probably early – at O’Hare around 9
p.m. Because there were four of us, we hired a limo to take us home. O’Hare was
also virtually deserted, thanks to Y2K and the late hour, probably as deserted
as it would be until the pandemic some 20 years later would bring air travel to
a halt. The expressways home were a breeze; virtually nobody returning to the
city from O’Hare and the fact that most people were probably already at their
New Year’s Eve destination.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">So, all was well that ended well. We experienced the
easiest airplane trip of our lives and I negotiated an acceptable exit from my
company effective March 31. None of you reading this will have to worry about
Y3K; in fact, only your youngest children/grandchildren will see 2100. Let’s hope
the planet hasn’t been ruined by then.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p>Brule Lakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18064595420011193426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6315197546984705121.post-65067620984420419412020-11-15T13:51:00.000-06:002020-11-15T13:51:33.255-06:00Grandpa MeyerMy grandfather Meyer Bloomfeld (later Bloomfield) was an enigma. One of 10 children, the 7 who grew toward adulthood all attended college, he went straight from high school to law school but never practiced law. A man who showed little emotion for his children or grandchildren yet became very attached to his first great-grandchild at age 81. He worshipped at a Conservative congregation but didn’t show much interest in religion, jokingly (?) stating he would never put butter on a ham sandwich. My grandparents were married 64 years but refused to be buried together. <div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOtpDQdkImZZEiPqJH8K13fvFpjqDUtvwfucgxiecGZ8_xbYljT6C8HSC5D2grkRGPydXSbTVbRrwuvgI_Kydls2eIg25cGK_QDxo4aNjNgH7xOThl2Q1vEWrmbI9N_Qxhkd46wK6Lacw/s2048/MB+2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1372" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOtpDQdkImZZEiPqJH8K13fvFpjqDUtvwfucgxiecGZ8_xbYljT6C8HSC5D2grkRGPydXSbTVbRrwuvgI_Kydls2eIg25cGK_QDxo4aNjNgH7xOThl2Q1vEWrmbI9N_Qxhkd46wK6Lacw/s320/MB+2.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Meyer Bloomfeld, ca. 1918</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Meyer Bloomfeld was born January 29, 1897, the red-haired son of Abraham Bloomfeld (born 1868 in Burztyn, in what was then Austria-Hungary) and Sarah Wallenstein Bloomfeld (born 1868 in Rajord, Poland). They emigrated here in 1889. Meyer was the third of eight children; one brother and two sisters died before reaching age 2. They lived at 1256 S. Kedzie Blvd. which is now one of the many empty lots on the west side of the street between W. Roosevelt Road and W. 13th Street. His father had a dry-goods business with offices on S. Market Street (now S. Wacker Drive), which allowed him to send his children to college. The family moved to 5644 S. Drexel Ave. (currently a surface parking lot on the campus of the University of Chicago Medical Center), probably in the late 1910s or early 1920s.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMjOtlNV3P5LmxzjZ8e2A8J1BZOFB83CMeiEUyHTlu9xaOWQG1Yr-wcgpDtLtytixZM-kQ2BTZZRByYzKV8DYrbRTlRVGQVVLTrUYkG70gMu4o5c9VGlveTH333TnZmz4iQFLT8qs2sy8/s724/MB+Kent+1918+photo+%25283%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="724" data-original-width="476" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMjOtlNV3P5LmxzjZ8e2A8J1BZOFB83CMeiEUyHTlu9xaOWQG1Yr-wcgpDtLtytixZM-kQ2BTZZRByYzKV8DYrbRTlRVGQVVLTrUYkG70gMu4o5c9VGlveTH333TnZmz4iQFLT8qs2sy8/s320/MB+Kent+1918+photo+%25283%2529.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Photograph in the Chicago Kent College of Law 1918 yearbook</div><div><br /></div><div>It wasn’t until a few years ago that I found that some of Abraham’s family were murdered in the Holocaust. For some reason, his three older sisters had the surname Winz. Two of them married and had children, and their children and their spouses and children were among the 13 family members who died in Belzec, Lvov and Rohatyn (https://brulelaker.blogspot.com/2011/04/lvov-and-other-places.html).</div><div><br /></div><div>After graduating from an unknown grammar school, Meyer traveled one mile north to attend Marshall High School, which then had a large Jewish enrollment. He most likely graduated in 1915. Rather than attend college, he went directly to Chicago Kent College of Law. His yearbook from the Class of 1918 states “he hopes to enter the military service of the United States.” </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBSCtFeiwdTYwWRJtc-1ozgEWPwGzSJ9mZDP_9lm70QkjJmQQGDSQ06X8fL7pNRphoJutfdhD-oWEk5BC1lRASdRh1Q3sXFk0GTcJ9se3wD934G7Hg8-mmi3YngwxN_VhEoFrxLDUOuEM/s1542/MB+Kent+Class+of+1918+%25282%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="489" data-original-width="1542" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBSCtFeiwdTYwWRJtc-1ozgEWPwGzSJ9mZDP_9lm70QkjJmQQGDSQ06X8fL7pNRphoJutfdhD-oWEk5BC1lRASdRh1Q3sXFk0GTcJ9se3wD934G7Hg8-mmi3YngwxN_VhEoFrxLDUOuEM/s320/MB+Kent+Class+of+1918+%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Entry from the Chicago Kent College of Law 1918 yearbook</div><div><br /></div><div>Sometime during 1918 he enlisted in the U.S. Navy.
Judging from his uniform (still in excellent condition), Meyer was an Ensign. During World War I, he said his ship was stationed off Venezuela. From my research, it appeared it was deployed to keep German submarines from docking there and in Colombia. It also kept lanes clear to the Panama Canal, which opened in 1914. One of his bits of wisdom: “Learn how to play a musical instrument so if war breaks out you can play in the band.”</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjys3wW6dvha_rszyUhyozYdmKIw_V8gQhHaThaUND47f0dzwQpg4ewDzkielQU3Fw7QPoDJhEzKQCjX4_srZQmpsivGtlTDoZh9z80VyI0Bu0NrZ2C0KLo55YJwPeDXJSd0gO6cjWbbp0/s2048/MB+Navy+uniform.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1525" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjys3wW6dvha_rszyUhyozYdmKIw_V8gQhHaThaUND47f0dzwQpg4ewDzkielQU3Fw7QPoDJhEzKQCjX4_srZQmpsivGtlTDoZh9z80VyI0Bu0NrZ2C0KLo55YJwPeDXJSd0gO6cjWbbp0/s320/MB+Navy+uniform.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">U.S. Navy uniform, World War I</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>After returning to civilian life, my mother said he flunked the bar exam two or three times. He most likely then went to work for his father; a 1923 directory lists the company as “A. Bloomfield and Sons.” He married Evelyn Sachs in January 1922 and settled on the North Side at 4836 N. Magnolia Ave., a fact I didn’t discover until recently. My mother was born on September 8, 1923; her birth certificate incorrectly lists the family residence as 4036 N. Magnolia, a block that doesn’t exist. A son, Alan, was born on August 8, 1929. The family didn’t reside long on the North Side, moving first to the 5400 block of S. University Ave. (now the site of McCormick School of Theology) and later to a first-floor apartment at 6902 S. Clyde Ave., where my grandparents would reside until 1963. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh585KaVM7g-GIIRv9uyQFsWnOsAo0UWZGwomw6FtSQErx4jt1Q_zJ-7qTO2tnGneM7WZhb6_xEJfrnQw7a6vCybGF3ma260N3Dg_6QCGbbonOE9GLsLKaFYf2yOKEvctilyOyGpeEgGhk/s583/Bloomfields.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="583" data-original-width="420" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh585KaVM7g-GIIRv9uyQFsWnOsAo0UWZGwomw6FtSQErx4jt1Q_zJ-7qTO2tnGneM7WZhb6_xEJfrnQw7a6vCybGF3ma260N3Dg_6QCGbbonOE9GLsLKaFYf2yOKEvctilyOyGpeEgGhk/s320/Bloomfields.jpeg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The Bloomfields, c.1937 </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The Depression was difficult for the family – my mother more than once told me she would go to a relative’s residence to have him pin an envelope with money to her coat. Sometime thereafter Meyer became a salesman for the Lovable Brassiere Company. Founded in Atlanta in 1926 by Gussie and Frank Garson, the company began as a bra manufacturer and eventually expanded into other lingerie lines. One that I found in my grandparents’ spare bedroom was Padettes. Lovable was known for always having an integrated workforce, and Frank’s son and grandson grew the business to become the 6th largest bra company in the world. The loss of major customers in the 1990s caused the company to close in 1998. The Lovable name has been licensed by an India-based company. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDW7djZHo1F4GeGlIJn28M55a6ygbrFx2KT-QC9a2kCz44vUMQLaIJArozzPtYFQdsx9WUMPyHmUyJ9f_Zmrdn6OyWj4v9FzsdTSVsR6Cr_JaflGuIMaLfatkU_GeaJLtgtP5KaCZGeds/s1865/Lovable+Brassiere+Col.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1488" data-original-width="1865" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDW7djZHo1F4GeGlIJn28M55a6ygbrFx2KT-QC9a2kCz44vUMQLaIJArozzPtYFQdsx9WUMPyHmUyJ9f_Zmrdn6OyWj4v9FzsdTSVsR6Cr_JaflGuIMaLfatkU_GeaJLtgtP5KaCZGeds/s320/Lovable+Brassiere+Col.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My father kept microfiche of his Army records in this envelope</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>My grandparents moved from South Shore in 1963 to a 4th-floor corner apartment in 3950 N. Lake Shore Dr. While driving along Lake Shore Drive, one could often see Meyer reading a newspaper at the kitchen table. However, retirement wasn’t for him. It’s said he was happy to get out of the apartment and my grandmother was happy to have him gone most of the day. He became an independent rep for various product lines, including slippers and other sleep products, selling to Walgreen’s and other retailers. </div><div><br /></div><div>Meyer was never a good driver – he supposedly drove over a traffic policeman’s foot downtown in the 1920s – but he continued to drive well into his 80s. I was in the backseat when he made a right-turn on red from E. Chestnut Street on to N. Michigan Avenue at the height of a Friday rush hour, as pedestrians screamed and pounded on the car. His response: “It’s legal,” (there was no “No Turn on Red” sign in 1974). We finally persuaded him to give up driving, especially after he had a mini-stroke or two and our daughter was born. He took to taking public transportation, where he’d fall asleep on occasion and have his watch or wallet stolen. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyq6Art8heP71ujy_3D2M71-UsBWXzvYDocBaHrBDKsbB7dPculjThhla1TEFntjPXJkkMjInR0g_Goz1EviIyXKAnf_q-zblagB0quyVJZKFhjpOouweQvOH82L2sFeQqc18zB2ZwsE8/s1186/Bloomfields+1st+birthday.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="831" data-original-width="1186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyq6Art8heP71ujy_3D2M71-UsBWXzvYDocBaHrBDKsbB7dPculjThhla1TEFntjPXJkkMjInR0g_Goz1EviIyXKAnf_q-zblagB0quyVJZKFhjpOouweQvOH82L2sFeQqc18zB2ZwsE8/s320/Bloomfields+1st+birthday.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Our daughter Marisa's 1st birthday party, January 1979</div><div><br /></div><div>Coming home from work on October 14, 1986, my grandfather said he was tired and went to bed. He passed away shortly thereafter. He was buried in the Western Star section of Jewish Waldheim Cemetery, with his grandfather Aaron Wallenstein, parents, sisters Pearl and Annie and brother Jonas. His brothers Julius and Saul and sisters Diana and Nellie are buried elsewhere. My grandmother, however, is not interred here. She chose to be buried with her family in Rosemont Park (now Zion Gardens) Cemetery in 1992. Growing up, my mother said my grandmother thought Waldheim was too rundown; as adults, she told us my grandmother didn’t want to be buried next to him. So much for 64 years of married life.
</div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ofXGQMgD5Ft6gUdpVJd6icbWUapoQ4OeAeXp5QXYLBDkQoYrnUYlE8FS7fkoJL2cj_MBK8UHnpmLDRKdtETQZcMBP8JKZyX5d8k6QxjUHnbwbv3KxAvxQi-ltUypM0ehJXltiM_G6z8/s2048/PB071103.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1332" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ofXGQMgD5Ft6gUdpVJd6icbWUapoQ4OeAeXp5QXYLBDkQoYrnUYlE8FS7fkoJL2cj_MBK8UHnpmLDRKdtETQZcMBP8JKZyX5d8k6QxjUHnbwbv3KxAvxQi-ltUypM0ehJXltiM_G6z8/s320/PB071103.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Jewish Waldheim Cemetery Western Star section</div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Brule Lakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18064595420011193426noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6315197546984705121.post-88157354555390575962020-05-29T12:54:00.000-05:002020-05-29T12:54:47.341-05:00Baseball in an (Almost) Empty Stadium<br />
If Major League Baseball starts a 2020 season, undoubtedly
there will be no fans in the stands. No vendors, no ushers, very few security
people and downsized team staffs. The White Sox played the Orioles in an empty
Camden Yards (a few scouts were allowed in) on April 29, 2015, because of
disturbances in Baltimore after the controversial death of Freddie Gray a few
days earlier. The White Sox have played before some very small crowds
throughout the years – official attendance numbers are useless as they don’t
count the actual fans in the stands – and I attended one of them.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzJZf4UbPuuMDZvU-fzrO-ZY8sdcwPJTyBgopy0M-fpFvqEMJx7pbJwv2hGjVR0bIgn_CpKH8ixEC7yxXs5pVqbCpEdv1v1jimxvV4XPw10djLhP50IH31L1aMgGb5ehgoa4Mm6E_bYfw/s1600/Comiskey+Park+from+the+east%252C+September+30%252C+1990.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1279" data-original-width="1600" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzJZf4UbPuuMDZvU-fzrO-ZY8sdcwPJTyBgopy0M-fpFvqEMJx7pbJwv2hGjVR0bIgn_CpKH8ixEC7yxXs5pVqbCpEdv1v1jimxvV4XPw10djLhP50IH31L1aMgGb5ehgoa4Mm6E_bYfw/s320/Comiskey+Park+from+the+east%252C+September+30%252C+1990.bmp" width="320" /></a></div>
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Comiskey Park, Sept. 30, 1990</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
The White Sox were playing a one-game series versus the
New York Yankees on Wednesday, April 19, 1967. The day before, the Sox had
defeated the eventual American League champion Boston Red Sox, also in a
one-series game, 5-2, before an announced crowd of 1,313. My father was having
varicose-vein surgery that Wednesday in what is now Northwestern Memorial
Hospital. My mother would travel into the city to be with him. As a senior in
my last semester in high school, I figured this would be a great day to ditch
school and catch a ballgame. I enlisted my friend Andy Wald to go with me.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjud5c1TWCUXZaNYhS5mdVFswjN7qthzxb6D3TwGyc_7-j8mrx2POlSTrFD0eVTl2xcweCk5crD-JLmBeDJvRQJI5G5F4AS7gELYuxN0smEVJd6ypQZVQp9ZhDu1QD0gZDBO76BjLK8Ye4/s1600/35th+and+Shields%252C+September+30%252C+1990.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1233" data-original-width="1600" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjud5c1TWCUXZaNYhS5mdVFswjN7qthzxb6D3TwGyc_7-j8mrx2POlSTrFD0eVTl2xcweCk5crD-JLmBeDJvRQJI5G5F4AS7gELYuxN0smEVJd6ypQZVQp9ZhDu1QD0gZDBO76BjLK8Ye4/s320/35th+and+Shields%252C+September+30%252C+1990.bmp" width="320" /></a></div>
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Comiskey Park main entrance, Sept. 30, 1990</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
After my mother departed, I picked up Andy in our 1960
Chevrolet Impala convertible and headed to the South Side. The day was sunny
but cold, probably about 40 degrees. Traffic was light on the Edens, Kennedy
and Dan Ryan, and we arrived at Comiskey Park well in advance of game time. Figuring
for a small crowd, we bought general-admission tickets and settled down in
seats behind the far end of the Sox dugout on the 3<sup>rd</sup>-base side. <br />
<br />
Those attending the 2015 game in Baltimore remarked about
the ability to hear various sounds not audible during normal conditions. So it
was with an almost empty house. We heard the umpires – most likely 3<sup>rd</sup>-base
umpire Frank Umont – singing along with the National Anthem and the infield
chatter. Some guys a few seats over were yelling at Sox 3<sup>rd</sup> baseman
Don Buford, probably with racist crap, and Buford in turn traded insults.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik1dEF4RI5-G1HAd1fSscPUibrmtEoP8Fvnikj4sqgn478FuG2SQYGnJ0j9rmHmLlBh9nZewCHXD5bqYQR-BZWsf6VLGJ8YFEh6EwWxSOK3vBDg1Hl3E4rB7jwHtniRpfWE3xirgbsYEM/s1600/Frank+Umont.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="253" data-original-width="375" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik1dEF4RI5-G1HAd1fSscPUibrmtEoP8Fvnikj4sqgn478FuG2SQYGnJ0j9rmHmLlBh9nZewCHXD5bqYQR-BZWsf6VLGJ8YFEh6EwWxSOK3vBDg1Hl3E4rB7jwHtniRpfWE3xirgbsYEM/s200/Frank+Umont.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Frank Umont, 1955 Bowman card</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Along about the 3<sup>rd</sup> inning, the sun went
behind the grandstand, and the temperature sunk into the 30s. We weren’t
dressed for the occasion, so we headed out to the right-field lower deck, where
the sun still shone brightly and most of the fans had migrated. From that day
until the ballpark closed in 1990, I usually sat in right field – especially in
the first row of the upper deck behind the auxiliary scoreboard – on both warm
and cool days. <br />
<br />
The pitchers were two of the game’s great: Whitey Ford
for the Yankees and Tommy John for the White Sox. The Yankees defeated the Sox,
3-0, in what was Ford’s second-to-last MLB victory. Whitey pitched a complete
game, yielding 7 hits, 2 strikeouts and 2 walks. John lasted 5 innings, giving
up all 3 runs, 2 of which were unearned on an error by normally adept 1<sup>st</sup>-baseman
Tommy McCraw. Chicago native Jim O’Toole and Wilbur Wood each hurled 2 innings
of shutout, 1-hit baseball. Mickey Mantle, now a 1<sup>st</sup> baseman, went
0-5 on 3 groundouts and 2 flyouts, lowering his batting average to .100. He retired
after the next season, in which I saw him play in my first game in Yankee
Stadium.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigOPJBxGqotCvSsgfLGe0SQ5CchPcXDq8pTQaKobC9IyprxBStHlqL7GgZr_MgvPYy2PPqHjYczC69ugZxdjJa0ti2nnSSrLHjZo_1MZpcbay6xjZ1OOgkLGHu4PlgsEm_70r6QzlEQqI/s1600/Whitey+Ford+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="189" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigOPJBxGqotCvSsgfLGe0SQ5CchPcXDq8pTQaKobC9IyprxBStHlqL7GgZr_MgvPYy2PPqHjYczC69ugZxdjJa0ti2nnSSrLHjZo_1MZpcbay6xjZ1OOgkLGHu4PlgsEm_70r6QzlEQqI/s200/Whitey+Ford+2.jpg" width="142" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1z1xZ404d_HW0DBGjiJY3sHos4F_G3ktExPQBCrr3BXAR1gDYkwwLHOg0Ij4uH8mozpcRJunx-hEHVldBqtFnHL7Ats5FddnT7op2AkkQOgdW7IN6DMXLudLLWYDZPRdfPj9AYorKLT0/s1600/Tommy+John.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #0066cc; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="392" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1z1xZ404d_HW0DBGjiJY3sHos4F_G3ktExPQBCrr3BXAR1gDYkwwLHOg0Ij4uH8mozpcRJunx-hEHVldBqtFnHL7Ats5FddnT7op2AkkQOgdW7IN6DMXLudLLWYDZPRdfPj9AYorKLT0/s200/Tommy+John.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="156" /></a></div>
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Whitey Ford and Tommy John</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1z1xZ404d_HW0DBGjiJY3sHos4F_G3ktExPQBCrr3BXAR1gDYkwwLHOg0Ij4uH8mozpcRJunx-hEHVldBqtFnHL7Ats5FddnT7op2AkkQOgdW7IN6DMXLudLLWYDZPRdfPj9AYorKLT0/s1600/Tommy+John.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a>The White Sox would contend in a four-team pennant race with the Red
Sox, Tigers and Twins until the final week of the season. A doubleheader loss to
the 10<sup>th</sup>-place Kansas City A’s, who had won 2 of their last 13
games, on September 27 was the near-death blow; a 1-0 loss to the Washington
Senators (the run was scored in the 1<sup>st</sup> inning) two days later was
the <i>coup de grace</i>. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXgt4G0S_iI2q6j4mVIHM1xd5l0FONW4r_A0DJ3nBQdpolXN_TFq3id9eE-Uf5hBEN-Yawwtnda3D4-f70-aNLABWSQpwg256_-rXHL20flWX8JjssI0sY6bI_nUM87kB9M-sOqGfzm3M/s1600/Down+to+the+Wire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1097" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXgt4G0S_iI2q6j4mVIHM1xd5l0FONW4r_A0DJ3nBQdpolXN_TFq3id9eE-Uf5hBEN-Yawwtnda3D4-f70-aNLABWSQpwg256_-rXHL20flWX8JjssI0sY6bI_nUM87kB9M-sOqGfzm3M/s200/Down+to+the+Wire.jpg" width="136" /></a></div>
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<i>Down to the Wire</i>, an excellent book on the 1967 AL pennant race</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i></i><i></i><br /></div>
The announced attendance was 3,040, but I’ve always
guessed 350 was about it. There were so few that for a time I feared my father
would see me on television from his hospital bed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ironically, I found one of those 350-some fans
after he posted one of my Comiskey Park photos on his blog. It is the subject
of my first blog post. It turns out that, like me, he was at the final White
Sox game in Yankee Stadium on September 18, 2008. I wrote him I was willing to
bet my life that he and I were the only people left who attended both 1967 and
2008 games. <a href="https://brulelaker.blogspot.com/2010/10/where-baseball-photography-and-blogging.html">https://brulelaker.blogspot.com/2010/10/where-baseball-photography-and-blogging.html</a> <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfSH-AUiWJH18MVn1Jhyfh0tOxB99TG3JQhy8ii7FzKtVl0WQDT4hLC3YJiCRbgf_MrcJfmNmUGnXhJNUUpSAubcS8VyvX8WoStQAp3LVn1Sse5L0EKmX-3EiIbMMAQTfnmD27lcsOli4/s1600/View+from+the+upper+deck%252C+Comiskey+Park%252C+September+30%252C+1990.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1270" data-original-width="1600" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfSH-AUiWJH18MVn1Jhyfh0tOxB99TG3JQhy8ii7FzKtVl0WQDT4hLC3YJiCRbgf_MrcJfmNmUGnXhJNUUpSAubcS8VyvX8WoStQAp3LVn1Sse5L0EKmX-3EiIbMMAQTfnmD27lcsOli4/s200/View+from+the+upper+deck%252C+Comiskey+Park%252C+September+30%252C+1990.bmp" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Comiskey Park, Sept. 30, 1990</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
The game ended in a snappy 2 hours and 17 minutes, plenty
of time to get Andy, the captain of the New Trier East track team, back to the
suburbs in time for a triangular meet vs. Evanston and Highland Park. I drove
directly to Highland Park; no track meet could be found. Figuring it was at New
Trier, we headed south to Winnetka, only to find no meet there. I offered to
drive Andy to Evanston – we probably would have made it on time – but he
declined. The next day in one of classes, a fellow seemingly with no inkling
walked up to me and said, “How do you like that? Andy Wald, the captain of the
track team, missed a meet to go to a Sox game.” I replied, “Yes, I know. I
drove him.” There was no reply.<br />
<br />
It’s anybody’s guess whether there will be a baseball
season in 2020. One source says it will cost owners far less to cancel the
season than to play a partial schedule and thus are making all sorts of
ridiculous proposals, figuring the players union will reject them and be
scapegoated for no baseball this season. If there is a season, I have one
suggestion: no canned crowd noise. Back in the 50s, when the Sox were idle,
WCFL would carry an out-of-town game with an announcer reading the play-by-play
from a ticker-tape feed with a steady crowd soundtrack. I’m not that nostalgic.<br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Brule Lakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18064595420011193426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6315197546984705121.post-32481095040228182962020-05-01T08:44:00.000-05:002020-05-02T09:02:04.550-05:00My Last DanceThe Standard Club of Chicago, founded in 1869 by
a group of German-Jewish men refused membership in the Chicago Club, closed the doors to its clubhouse today. The building had been basically shuttered since mid-March because of COVID-19;
on April 4, the board of directors announced it would not reopen. The clubhouse
at 320 S. Plymouth Court, designed by noted architect Alfred Kahn and completed
in 1926, is listed for sale, and the club’s fate remains uncertain.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuywtzsoTQ7lsH6rA9Mnitxj741EELR2oqS889Vcy_yBAhRX3wwEQbhnx-l6UNnTu4QW2Z8LX3lityDb1nNurPRFbo5sdENCHli40nQsE1cSiF_uCOTAw5_CjZGkdTkZvcCEoCSk40ec4/s1600/Standard+Club.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="709" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuywtzsoTQ7lsH6rA9Mnitxj741EELR2oqS889Vcy_yBAhRX3wwEQbhnx-l6UNnTu4QW2Z8LX3lityDb1nNurPRFbo5sdENCHli40nQsE1cSiF_uCOTAw5_CjZGkdTkZvcCEoCSk40ec4/s200/Standard+Club.JPG" width="88" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The Standard Club, 320 S. Plymouth Court</div>
<br />
This post will neither recap the club’s august history nor
discuss the factors that led to its closing; many have or will provide such
commentary. I’m writing about the main attraction for many members, which kept
me there for 23 years: basketball.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY-WvkoMGuE5zGcWIG6I4yVBJpofKdGc45LSWxusGXbLbIZoVUry7GJR-oz3DYPrFmuhvjb6qdBqHK0lJAG3S_8XXnWRYPNp4e7lzNIT-Vaa4NjelcrlreKtNoUp25Tg4gUuNTICIzZ3o/s1600/P4134937.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="1600" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY-WvkoMGuE5zGcWIG6I4yVBJpofKdGc45LSWxusGXbLbIZoVUry7GJR-oz3DYPrFmuhvjb6qdBqHK0lJAG3S_8XXnWRYPNp4e7lzNIT-Vaa4NjelcrlreKtNoUp25Tg4gUuNTICIzZ3o/s200/P4134937.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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The Standard Club lobby</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
My highest basketball achievement was honorable mention
intramural all-stars as a high-school senior, a half-decent honor considering
there were about 600 boys in my graduating class. I’ve loved the game but
stopped playing for several years because of family, work and a place to play.
Then I heard about the Standard Club games.<br />
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Center court, The Standard Club gymnasium</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
A friend since age 12, with whom I’d attended summer camp,
religious school and high school, played in the Monday night and Monday,
Wednesday and Friday noon games. The club, he told me, has a short full-court,
and games are 4-on-4. I’d also be one of the taller guys if I joined (no
discussion of stereotypes here). During one of the membership drives, I was
accepted in January 1997. At the time I was a senior vice president at an
international public relations firm, so the membership would also be useful
professionally.<br />
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The Standard Club gymnasium. The blue lines are for pickleball</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
For what one member called “The Last Gentleman’s Game in the
Country,” I stepped back on to the 6th-floor court at age 48. Players ranged from
20-somethings to 70 and older. Unwritten rules were simple: no trash-talking,
defense calls the fouls and no rough stuff. The last would be broken in league
games, tournaments and by occasional hacks or clothes lines. Games were 8
minutes by the clock, and the Health & Fitness Center (H&FC) supervisors made the
teams; rather than winner-stays-on, players were rotated to ensure nobody sat
for more than one game at a time. Half-court games resulted if 16 or more members showed up.<br />
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One 4-man team wore the color-of-the-day mesh pullovers</div>
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<br /></div>
Basketball was only played on Monday nights when the games originated in
the early 1960s. This produced an interesting story, passed down through the
decades. One of the players met the wife of another player, who told him, “I
think it’s great you guys play on Monday and Wednesday nights and then go out
for dinner.” She eventually found out the truth. They are no longer married.<br />
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The drop ceiling limited the length of shots</div>
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<br /></div>
The basketball players’ annual event – The Hall of Shame
Dinner – was held annually for several years, interrupted for five years until
one final get-together last year. A Hall of Shame Award winner is chosen, based
on a minimum of 10 years’ playing experience; ability (or lack thereof) is not
applicable. The dinner featured a speaker from the sports world, preferably
basketball. The best during my tenure was the late Norm Van Lier, which
included tales of hanging out with Led Zeppelin; last year’s speaker was Matt
Gordon, an assistant coach of the Final Four Loyola University Ramblers and
brother of H&FC Director Mike Gordon. A side note: When Loyola
qualified for the 2018 NCAA tournament, the players anted up to send Mike to
Dallas to see the first round. After the Ramblers made it to the second round,
we dug deeper into our pockets to send Mike to Atlanta. Against all odds,
Loyola made it to the Final Four in San Antonio, and we came through once again
for Mike’s plane fare and hotel room.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijdd7LxoWhM5H_s3YMxKn7DBTkfY9Xmbaj0S8gOyH6tsuKQZ-z5lKmXJ-rKnDUQLc1bHO8c1Um5lxObaK0A_YdSbLwedb0_vM139mA90wCq2uSIdXx4L4xujJurBkRIVErRNo0WJmoTXo/s1600/SC+3+on+3+1992.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #0066cc; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1134" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijdd7LxoWhM5H_s3YMxKn7DBTkfY9Xmbaj0S8gOyH6tsuKQZ-z5lKmXJ-rKnDUQLc1bHO8c1Um5lxObaK0A_YdSbLwedb0_vM139mA90wCq2uSIdXx4L4xujJurBkRIVErRNo0WJmoTXo/s320/SC+3+on+3+1992.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a><br />
3-on-3 Tournament, 2002. Only three other members played in the 2020 tournament</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
The 3-on-3 Tournament, started in 2002, was played for the
last time on February 22, 2020. Eight teams are assigned by the H&FC staff for
the half-court games. Each game is 12 minutes or if one team scores 10 baskets.
My first and only win came in 2012, when we tied a semifinal game on a
desperation last-second shot, won on free throws and went on to take the title.
The spirited competition features mostly guys in their 20s and 30s. At least
two broken noses resulted during the years. After several year’s hiatus, hitting
age 70 and sensing this would be the last 3-on-3 tournament, I signed up,
hoping not to embarrass myself. Only one other player was older; the two of us were more than 10 years senior to the next youngest players. I held
my own; this time we lost in the semifinals on tie-breaker free throws.<br />
<br /></div>
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3-on-3 Tournament, 2020. John Gable (holding ball) at 73 was the oldest player</div>
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I almost forgot to include a tribute to my great friend, Marc Wayne, the other H&FC staffer. The Berwyn native supervised nearly every game, seated at his "office" where he ran the scoreboard (for time, not scores except for league games) and made up the teams. On occasions he would fill in when we were short on personnel, holding back on lofting his soft lefthanded jump shots in deference to the members. His sophomoric humor is loved by all. I'll miss his shouting, "He's no Fred Biletnikoff" every time I muff a pass.<br />
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Marc Wayne's "office": the scorer's table</div>
<br />
During these 23 years, I’ve had an angioplasty, partial
nephrectomy, torn meniscus and extreme lower back pain; each time I stepped
back on the court it was like getting a significant part of my life back. The friendships on
and off the court transcend a simple game. We did business together, dined
together, mourned the loss of thankfully only a few of our stalwarts together, attended Sox games
together, watched a son play college basketball together and played basketball outdoors
on summer Saturday mornings some 40 miles northwest of Chicago together. The club has entered into an agreement with another downtown club to use its facilities; I've elected not to sign up. Until
I find another game, the summer games might be it for my basketball career. If
so – and this was My Last Dance – at least I had a final hurrah.<br />
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I walked off the court for the last time, April 13, 2020</div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Brule Lakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18064595420011193426noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6315197546984705121.post-79153251592313823172019-12-17T21:19:00.001-06:002019-12-17T21:28:29.712-06:00A Tale of Two Cities<br />
Last September, we spent 5 days and 5 nights each in
Paris and Berlin. It was our second trip to Paris – our first was in 1975 – and
first to Berlin. Both cities have very interesting dynamics relating to life
there during the 1930s and 1940s, most notably the rule by the Nazis.<br />
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Arc de Triomphe and Brandenburg Gate</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br /></div>
For years, even decades, Jews have avoided traveling to
Germany, for the memories of Nazi horrors still stood either fresh in memories
or had been handed down to subsequent generations. It was the same mindset that
prevented people from buying German-manufactured automobiles. Now, almost 75
years after the fall of Nazi regime, those barriers have mostly fallen, in part
because of the German people taking unflinching responsibility for the actions
of their government and people.<br />
<br />
After returning from our trip, a relative remarked he
found Berlin a bit “creepy,” although it had been a few years since he had been
there. I responded I’d tried to keep from dwelling on what was as opposed to
what is now. In addition, the only Nazi government building still standing is the
Reichsluftfahrtministerium (Ministry of Aviation), a Brutalist building housing
the German Finance Ministry. Hitler’s bunker is below a nondescript surface
parking lot, and all other Nazi buildings were either destroyed by Allied
bombings or postwar demolitions. The most interesting parts of the city turned
out to be in the former East Berlin rather than in West Berlin.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Reichsluftfahrtministerium (Ministry of Aviation)</span></div>
<br />
<br />
Berlin has three major sites in the city featuring
education about the Jews of German and the Holocaust. Best known are The
Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe and Information Centre, also known as
the Holocaust Memorial; Topography of Terror; and the Jewish Museum of Berlin. The
Memorial to the Sinti and Roma Victims of National Socialism, near the
Reichstag, also honors those murdered simply for being who they were. All
provide extensive commentary on this terrible era. Plaques in the Jewish
Quarter and the Neue Synagogue provide additional information about the era.<br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">The
Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Topography of Terror</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Jewish Museum of Berlin</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
The Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, also known
as the Holocaust Memorial, was designed by architect Peter Eisenman and
engineer Buro Happold. Its 200,000 square-foot site is covered with 2,711
concrete slabs, arranged in a grid pattern on a sloping field. Organized in
rows, 54 go north–south and 87 go east–west at right angles but set slightly
askew. Construction began in April 2003 and was finished in late 2004. It was
inaugurated on May 10, 2005, sixty years after the end of World War II in
Europe. It is located one block south of the Brandenburg Gate. <br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">The
Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe (Reichstag in background)</span><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />
The Information Centre, located beneath the Memorial,
begins with a timeline for the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Final_Solution" title="Final Solution"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Final
Solution</span></a> from when the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nazi_Party" title="Nazi Party"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Nazis</span></a>
took power in 1933 through the murder of 500,000 Soviet Jews in 1941. The rest
of the exhibition is divided into four rooms dedicated to personal aspects of
the tragedy: individual families or letters thrown from the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holocaust_train" title="Holocaust train"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">trains</span></a>
that transported them to the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Extermination_camp" title="Extermination camp"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">death camps</span></a>. The Room of Families focuses on
the fates of 15 specific Jewish families. In the Room of Names, names of all
known Jewish Holocaust victims obtained from the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yad_Vashem" title="Yad Vashem"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Yad Vashem</span></a>
memorial are read out loud. Each chamber contains visual reminders of the
stelae above: rectangular benches, horizontal floor markers and vertical
illuminations. <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Information Centre</div>
<br />
The Jewish Museum Berlin is the largest Jewish museum in
Europe. It consists of three buildings, two of which are new additions
specifically built for the museum by <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Architect" title="Architect"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">architect</span></a>
<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Daniel_Libeskind" title="Daniel Libeskind"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Daniel Libeskind</span></a>. The W. Michael Blumenthal
Academy of the Jewish Museum Berlin was built – also after a design by
Libeskind – adjacent to the building in 2011 and 2012 in the former flower
market hall. The archives, library, museum education department, lecture hall
and Diaspora Garden are located here. The museum essentially consists of two buildings
– a baroque old building, the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kammergericht" title="Kammergericht"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">“Kollegienhaus”</span></a>
(that formerly housed the Berlin Museum), and a new, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deconstructivism" title="Deconstructivism"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">deconstructivist-style</span></a>
building by Libeskind. The two buildings have no visible connection above
ground. The 161,000 square-foot Libeskind building contains twisted passages
and is accessible only via an underground entrance from the old building.
Construction on the new extension to the museum began in November 1992. The
empty museum was completed in 1999 and attracted more 350,000 people before it
was filled and opened in September 2001. <br />
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Jewish Museum of Berlin</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The Topography of Terror is located on the site of
buildings that housed the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schutzstaffel" title="Schutzstaffel"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">SS</span></a> <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/RSHA" title="RSHA"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Reich Main Security Office</span></a>, the headquarters of the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sicherheitspolizei" title="Sicherheitspolizei"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Sicherheitspolizei</span></a>, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sicherheitsdienst" title="Sicherheitsdienst"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">SD</span></a>,
<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Einsatzgruppen" title="Einsatzgruppen"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Einsatzgruppen</span></a>
and <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gestapo" title="Gestapo"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Gestapo</span></a>.
The Gestapo and SS headquarters buildings were largely destroyed by Allied
bombing during early 1945; the ruins were demolished after the war. The
boundary between the American and Soviet zones of occupation ran along
Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse; thus the street soon became a fortified boundary. The <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Berlin_Wall" title="Berlin Wall"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Berlin Wall</span></a>
ran along the south side of Niederkirchnerstrasse. The wall here was never
demolished. The section adjacent to the Topography of Terror is the longest
extant segment of the outer wall.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Topology of Terror</div>
<br />
The first exhibitions on the site took place in 1987, as
part of Berlin's 750th anniversary. The cellar of the Gestapo headquarters,
where many political prisoners were tortured and executed, was found and
excavated. The site was then turned into an open-air memorial and museum,
protected from the elements by a canopy, detailing the history of Nazi
repression. A joint exhibition was shown both at the site and in East Germany
in 1989. In 1993, three years after <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/German_reunification" title="German reunification"><span style="text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">German reunification</span></a>, a foundation established to take care of
the site chose architect <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peter_Zumthor" title="Peter Zumthor"><span style="text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Peter
Zumthor</span></a> to design a permanent museum. However, construction was
stopped due to funding problems after the concrete core of the structure had
been built, which stood on the site for nearly a decade until it was demolished
in 2004 and a new building begun. Construction of the new Documentation Center by
architect Ursula Wilms and landscape architect Heinz W. Hallmann was finished
in 2010. <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Topology of Terror</div>
<br />
Paris, mainly thanks to German Gen. Dietrich von
Cholititz, who defied Hitler’s directive to totally destroy the city in August
1944 before the Allies retook Paris (leading to the famous question, “Is Paris
burning?”), still looks like one huge movie set. Beneath it lies the ugly
history of Nazi occupation, aided in large part by collaborators and the Vichy
State in southern France. I found thoughts about the former Nazi headquarters I
photographed, as well as historic photographs of SS officers lounging on the Champs-Élysées
and the Nazi flag flying atop the Eiffel Tower, to be as unnerving as any I
would have in Berlin.<br />
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Paris (from Centre Pompidou observation deck)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
While reading Madame Foucade’s Secret War, the biography
of the woman who led France’s largest spy ring during World War II, I jotted
down address of Paris buildings that housed Nazi operation to photograph during
our trip. Three of them our now luxury hotels; another is a government
building. The most notorious of all – 84 Avenue Foch, the headquarters for SD,
SS counterintelligence – where prisoners were tortured and murdered was a bit
too far out of our way.<br />
<br />
<br />
The Peninsula Paris, opened in 1908 as the Hotel Majestic,
served as the headquarters of the German military high command in France during
the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/German_military_administration_in_occupied_France_during_World_War_II" title="German military administration in occupied France during World War II"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">German
occupation</span></a><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"> from October 1940 to July 1944</span>.
Formerly the site of the palace of Queen Isabella II of Spain, hotelier Leonard
Tauber constructed the Hotel Majestic, retaining Queen Isabella's bathroom
accoutrements, including her marble bath, in the Presidential suite. Designed
by Armand Sibien, construction began in 1906 and was completed in 1908. The
hotel was purchased for use as a military hospital at the outbreak of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/World_War_I" title="World War I"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">World War I</span></a>
and served in this capacity for five months. It was damaged during its hospital
service and was not renovated and reopened until 1916. It was purchased by the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_government" title="French government"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">French
government</span></a> in 1936 to serve as offices for the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Minister_of_Defence_(France)" title="Minister of Defence (France)"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Ministry of Defence</span></a> . After the war, The
Majestic served as the first headquarters of UNESCO<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/UNESCO" title="UNESCO"></a> until 1958, when
it was converted into a conference center for The <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Organisation_for_Economic_Co-operation_and_Development" title="Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Organization
for Economic Co-operation and Development</span></a><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">, </span>founded
at the hotel in 1960. It was also the location for the signing of the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paris_Peace_Accords" title="Paris Peace Accords"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Paris Peace Accords</span></a> on January 27, 1973, ending
American involvement in the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vietnam_War" title="Vietnam War"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Vietnam War</span></a>. The French government sold the
building in 2008 to Qatari Diar for $460 million. It reopened on August 1,
2014. The hotel offers 200 luxury rooms, including 34 suites, ranging from $750
to more than $1,000 a night.<br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />
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Peninsula Paris</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Le Scribe, down the street from the Opéra Garnier, was
constructed by Baron Haussmann in 1861. During World War II, the hotel served
as the German communications center. After the liberation of Paris, the Allied
forces established its press center here. Now the Sofitel Le Scribe Paris
Opéra, it was the home of the original Jockey Club. <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoRjkbhg7zFa2jU5iGuUaFmPDW2zGM3Lc60usvp5Zdy9p9FktZg_WWlJtcYbsixQLPLh59vplo05-NhDbyeiMB9iWJB0qbBuRUgFdO42jwvz1TRlGmauxs7Nssd9muXD7iz2sJUe2x3fc/s1600/P9161089.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1086" data-original-width="1600" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoRjkbhg7zFa2jU5iGuUaFmPDW2zGM3Lc60usvp5Zdy9p9FktZg_WWlJtcYbsixQLPLh59vplo05-NhDbyeiMB9iWJB0qbBuRUgFdO42jwvz1TRlGmauxs7Nssd9muXD7iz2sJUe2x3fc/s320/P9161089.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Sofitel Le Scribe Paris
Opéra</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />
11 Rue des Saussaies was Gestapo headquarters for
occupied Paris during World War II. After the war, the building housed the
Ministry of the Interior, including the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_Police_(France)" title="National Police (France)"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Sûreté nationale</span></a>.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgjCQBNP1ToHrpnzbfoMn-PED523Zh0TOu3816T0YIMDOj9vfrDLZMr7jaStbWVdh1s351sAejepY7RfnC7GkAqcbNHqdb9mPif-DX7A6VroEJYuvnjfFHfwYx-lTOYjJkQya-ZTK99Eg/s1600/P9150917+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgjCQBNP1ToHrpnzbfoMn-PED523Zh0TOu3816T0YIMDOj9vfrDLZMr7jaStbWVdh1s351sAejepY7RfnC7GkAqcbNHqdb9mPif-DX7A6VroEJYuvnjfFHfwYx-lTOYjJkQya-ZTK99Eg/s320/P9150917+%25282%2529.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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11 Rue des Sassaies</div>
<br />
I did not have the correct address for the Hotel Meurice on
the Rue de Rivoli but found it as part of a wide-angle photograph. The hotel opened in 1815. Between September 1940 and August 1944,
the hotel was requisitioned by the German occupation authorities. In August
1944, the Meurice became the headquarters of General <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dietrich_von_Choltitz" title="Dietrich von Choltitz"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Dietrich von Choltitz</span></a>, the military
governor of Paris. As noted earlier, von Choltitz famously disobeyed Hitler's
commands to level the city of Paris. Hitler's reported screamed to von Choltitz
over a Hotel Meurice telephone, "Is Paris burning?" Rooms now go for more
than $1,000 a night.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg6BmNMpO7bF5Vu4n0bLWpW9kxaslOA4hOghO3Jw_gg0NYn8WGBlrobXbpV5Hv7K4wdpunZX77U1kr9KMo3IrY3T9S-dk2mcEj1pLUzIEgmThW05kUpm24Gh9LXlpQOjWT_Ccm34mRIhY/s1600/P9130395.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="867" data-original-width="1600" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg6BmNMpO7bF5Vu4n0bLWpW9kxaslOA4hOghO3Jw_gg0NYn8WGBlrobXbpV5Hv7K4wdpunZX77U1kr9KMo3IrY3T9S-dk2mcEj1pLUzIEgmThW05kUpm24Gh9LXlpQOjWT_Ccm34mRIhY/s320/P9130395.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Hotel Meurice (domed building to the left)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Another building with World War II significance is the
Hotel Saint-Florentin, completed in 1769. The hotel was acquired by James de
Rothschild in 1838; it was renovated during the 1860s. The family rented it to
the United States Government in 1948, where it was used to administer the
Marshall Plan and later the George Marshall Center. The United States purchased
the building in 1950; now most of the building is leased to the Jones Day law
firm. The Marshall Center remains as part of the Hotel de Tallyrand.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg04txauLFkonXj0Aex7bcXT-6zysZV_JXjQ4YAhJzokSiXcovd_w5NcBSbsTu46s_aPmdKi86bEU74mbppt9yd_C0Mp845OBFB3_CKPMimjXrgXTGtIIxwHe4Kt9lIOavb8K2Lh1GvWRk/s1600/P9130417.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="994" data-original-width="1600" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg04txauLFkonXj0Aex7bcXT-6zysZV_JXjQ4YAhJzokSiXcovd_w5NcBSbsTu46s_aPmdKi86bEU74mbppt9yd_C0Mp845OBFB3_CKPMimjXrgXTGtIIxwHe4Kt9lIOavb8K2Lh1GvWRk/s320/P9130417.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Hotel Saint-Florentin</div>
<br />
This is not to say there are no acknowledgements of the
Nazi occupation in Paris. Two sites in particular memorize those lost in the
Holocaust.<br />
<br />
The Memorial to the Martyrs of the Deportation honors the
200,000 people who were sent from <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vichy_France" title="Vichy France"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Vichy France</span></a>
to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nazi_concentration_camps" title="Nazi concentration camps"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Nazi concentration and death camps</span></a><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">. Loca</span>ted on the site of a former <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Morgue" title="Morgue"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">morgue</span></a>,
it was designed by <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Architect" title="Architect"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">architect</span></a> <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Georges-Henri_Pingusson" title="Georges-Henri Pingusson"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Georges-Henri Pingusson</span></a> and inaugurated in
1962. The memorial is shaped like a ship's <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prow" title="Prow"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">prow</span></a>; the crypt is
accessible by two staircases and a lowered square. The crypt leads to a
hexagonal rotunda that includes two chapels containing earth and bones from
concentration camps. The memorial's narrow entrance is marked by two concrete
blocks. Along both walls of the narrow, dimly lit chamber, 200,000 glass <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crystal" title="Crystal"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">crystals</span></a>
with light shining through symbolize each deportees who died in the camps; a
single bright light is located at the end of the tunnel. Urns with ashes from
the camps are positioned at both lateral ends. The chamber’s ends have small
rooms that seem to depict prison cells. An iron gate opposite the entrance overlooks
the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seine" title="Seine"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Seine</span></a>
at the tip of the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%8Ele_de_la_Cit%C3%A9" title="Île de la Cité"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Île de la Cité</span></a>. A circular plaque on the floor
of the underground chamber reads: "They descended into the mouth of the
earth and they did not return." A "flame of eternal hope" burns
and The Tomb of the Unknown Deportee bears the inscription: "Dedicated to
the living memory of the 200,000 French deportees sleeping in the night and the
fog, exterminated in the Nazi concentration camps."<br />
<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Memorial to the Martyrs of the Deportation</span></div>
<br />
Because of time constraints, we were only able to pass The
Memorial of the Shoah, which opened near the Jewish Quarter in 2005. The
forecourt of the memorial includes a circular memorial listing the names of the
death camps and the Warsaw Ghetto. There is also a wall with seven bas-reliefs
by Arbit Blatas that symbolize the camps and the persecution of the Jews.
Several walls that make a passageway to the building list the names of the
approximately 76,000 French Jews who were deported and murdered by the Nazis.
The crypt predates the Memorial of the Shoah; in 1957, the ashes of victims
from the different death camps and the Warsaw Ghetto were buried in dirt from
Israel. The crypt also includes a door from the Warsaw Ghetto and the
"Jewish Files" created by the Vichy government to identify Jewish
citizens. These files were later used by the Nazis to locate Jews for
deportation. Some 3,300 persons awarded the title "Righteous Among the
Nations" to non-Jewish people who helped save Jews during the war have
their names listed on the wall that runs alongside of the memorial.<br />
<br />
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Museum of the Shoah</div>
<br />
<br />
Finally, plaques in the Jewish Quarter in the Marais
District commemorate those deported from Paris as part of the Final Solution.
And as a reminder that anti-Semitism never disappears, the bombing and shooting
attack at Chez Jo Goldenberg restaurant on August 9, 1982, was carried out by
the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abu_Nidal_Organization" title="Abu Nidal Organization"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Abu Nidal Organization</span></a>, a group that
splintered from <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fatah" title="Fatah"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Fatah</span></a>.
Two assailants threw a grenade into the dining room, then rushed in and fired
machine guns. Six people, including two Americans, were killed and 22 were
injured. The restaurant closed in 2006 and former owner Jo Goldenberg died in
2014.<br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"></span><br />
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Former Chez Jo Goldenberg</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</span><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Brule Lakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18064595420011193426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6315197546984705121.post-84546906134282093232019-03-22T09:15:00.001-05:002019-03-22T09:15:45.057-05:0070?!<br />
Like the first time I saw the number “2” as the first
digit on our digital scale a few years back, the prospect of the first digit in
my age being “7” seems equally improbable. I had planned to write a long
treatise on the meaning of reaching 70 until realizing it would be just so much
self-indulgence. I will therefore keep it to one subject: health.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<u><span style="color: #000120;"></span></u><br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Birth announcement (our father was a CPA)</div>
<br />
An early death in the family (https://brulelaker.blogspot.com/2010/12/sudden-death-in-family.html)
affects one’s outlook on his or her own mortality. As noted in the blog post
link, my father died suddenly of a heart attack at age 55, some nine weeks
after my wedding. His father died at age 57 after a short illness, also of
heart disease. For years (decades really), my life was shadowed by the prospect
of an early and sudden death. Some of my actions might have reflected this
feeling, although it’s a stretch to say I adopted Mickey Mantle’s lament, “If I
knew I was going to live this long I would’ve taken better care of myself.”<br />
<br />
Our generation, especially as we headed toward senior
citizenry, is the first to take personal health and fitness seriously. Today
I’m in as good condition as ever – notwithstanding the 6-mile runs taken 30
years ago – tipping the scale at around 180. Although I have been playing full
short-court 4-on-4 basketball two or three days a week during the last 21
years, I didn’t find the key to losing weight and maximizing fitness until two
years ago.<br />
<br />
We won four free session from personal trainer Rick
Wemple at a silent auction for the TimeLine Theatre Company. I’d worked out in
our building’s Fitness Center off and on over the years but hadn’t been up
there in some time. I liked the discipline of the workouts with Rick, a former
college track coach, and signed up for ten more; I’ve kept renewing ever since.
To make it really effective, I work out another two days and combine that with
a daily stretching routine. Rick attributed the weight loss to using several
more muscle groups, not simply aerobic activities. <br />
<br />
The stretching came out of necessity. Last August, I woke
up early one morning and could barely get out of bed. I’d been suffering lower
back pains during the previous days (an x-ray and CT scan the day before had
shown some disc degeneration) that turned out so debilitating I took an
ambulance to the Northwestern Memorial emergency room. The doctors found
nothing new and released me with a scrip for physical therapy at Athletico on
E. Chicago Avenue.<br />
<br />
Even though I have come back from an angioplasty, partial
nephrectomy and arthroscopic knee surgery, this time scared me. I know at least
three guys younger than me who no longer play basketball because of back
problems. The very next day I met with physical therapist Dr. Sally Ryan to
begin three-day/week one-hour sessions. Sally asked about my goals; I responded
that of course being pain-free I wanted to get back on the basketball court and
resume personal training. Eleven weeks later, I was playing basketball and
lifting weights again. I told Sally at least twice that she had given me back a
large part of my life.<br />
<br />
Perhaps paradoxically, I’m less concerned with my own
mortality now that I was fifteen years ago. In addition to my fitness
activities, I roam around the city taking photographs, which makes me quite
happy to be “retired” (being self-employed since 2000 makes it hard to mark a retirement
date). Janet does her best to keep after me about eating, and we are more
careful about that as the year pass. We’re traveling while we still can go
from morning until night, visiting Athens, Jerusalem, Istanbul, Swiss Alps,
Italian Lakes country, Florence, Prague, Vienna, Budapest, Madrid, Rome, Venice
and Paris, among other places, since 2013. Paris and Berlin are on tap in
September. Next fall it will be someplace new.<br />
<br />
Rather than waxing philosophical, I’ll state the obvious:
being 70 is much better than the alternative. I’ve lived in 8 decades; an
even 10 would be nice.<br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Brule Lakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18064595420011193426noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6315197546984705121.post-72787998672569536092019-01-21T11:13:00.000-06:002019-01-21T11:13:14.402-06:00Farewell, Durgin-Park
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The announcement that Durgin-Park, a restaurant in
Boston’s Faneuil Hall Marketplace, would close on January 12 came as no
surprise, despite its more than 190 years of existence. For many years, the
food had not been the attraction in the venerable institution, known for its
long tables and sometimes surly waitstaff. The closing did prompt some notable
life flashbacks, beginning at age 12, with accompanying sadness.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Our first family trip to Boston in 1961 followed both a
summer at camp and a stop for a first-time visit to New York City. Among the
things I remember from the trip were my first game at Fenway Park and dinners
at Locke-Ober (a fancy restaurant that operated from 1875 to 2012) and
Durgin-Park. I’m not sure what I ate other than sampling somebody’s Indian
pudding but was impressed by the setting not seen back home. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-U0iKTVWtwAi24qmXZgjswTBym6P9cwotVosu5FriS-mqeMOAol8X2ANVkmswpxZDWg29Y8F2aDCUNJvMrv8j4WbsoVCAU2iZEw0qgW-1Td1fPsITf3ViREMScvwxihkC0KSWwoQiTa8/s1600/Durgin-Park-Boston.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-U0iKTVWtwAi24qmXZgjswTBym6P9cwotVosu5FriS-mqeMOAol8X2ANVkmswpxZDWg29Y8F2aDCUNJvMrv8j4WbsoVCAU2iZEw0qgW-1Td1fPsITf3ViREMScvwxihkC0KSWwoQiTa8/s200/Durgin-Park-Boston.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Durgin-Park (Eric Hurwitz photo)</div>
</span>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Durgin-Park became a popular spot for family and pregame
dining after I transferred to Boston University in September 1968. My parents
paid a visit that fall and took my brother Frank (up from Wesleyan), Richard
Friedman (Harvard), Jim Finder and Jim Wolfson (MIT) and me to dinner. My
father, a brilliant CPA and company CFO, didn’t realize the restaurant was
cash-only and had to borrow from us students to pay the bill. I don’t know if
I’d ever seen him so embarrassed. Before a Celtics game on November 22, Frank
and I ran into Barbara Fulton, who we’d known since age 6, and her family
there. She was very excited that the Beatles White Album had come out that day;
it was news to us.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi482yl7CMkf9MkEdp9W5QR_lJ1PetrpetWMJLNA_3Q5M-0krYjo3RTruSJYPBd36CiSbb9_Uady5ebDdGzU_FtxkwO_eUUwipCCmXPha_OhOiKQRJ28kYyXdyi-2J12cG8sKB3D85gvUs/s1600/FJN+FAN+1968.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="786" data-original-width="634" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi482yl7CMkf9MkEdp9W5QR_lJ1PetrpetWMJLNA_3Q5M-0krYjo3RTruSJYPBd36CiSbb9_Uady5ebDdGzU_FtxkwO_eUUwipCCmXPha_OhOiKQRJ28kYyXdyi-2J12cG8sKB3D85gvUs/s200/FJN+FAN+1968.jpeg" width="161" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Frank and I during our parents' Boston visit, 1968</div>
</span>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">During the 1968 – 1969 NBA season, I attended several
Celtics games and, with the restaurant a short walk from the Boston Garden,
Durgin-Park became a frequent dining spot. A frugal evening consisted of taking
the train from Kenmore Square to the Haymarket station (25 cents each way), a
plate of fried oysters (99 cents) and water (free) and a ticket in the Garden’s
balcony (probably $2.50). I didn’t attend another Celtics game after that
season, in which the Celtics won its 11<sup>th</sup> NBA championship in 13
seasons after finishing fourth in the Eastern Conference behind the Bullets,
76ers and Knicks. My last game was the sixth and final game of the Eastern
Conference finals, when a last-minute improbable bank shot from behind the
free-throw line by Satch Sanders put the game out of reach. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Another 20+ years would elapse before my next dinner at
Durgin-Park, this time with Janet and Marisa. The evening was a disappointment
for all. Perhaps I’d built up the experience too much, for all of us found the
food mediocre at best. At about the same time, Frank and family made a similar
trip to Boston, at which our mother joined them. She too reported that the
dinner was less than notable. Frank ordered Indian pudding, which my mother
gave a succinct one-word description of the dish based on color and
consistency. He didn’t like it either.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwVuETLxqUF3G12j7t9nsQYrV2fjHwF53FKM-djt29asd4imbmN7tpC2-iRmNCbTJC05S62G4C1eNyI17CU67OAqkzafEkAiuVUJy0dgZLL8J2WLTCX2eHkluPz5wW-kzZccvusLm5TDM/s1600/Boston+Garden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="653" data-original-width="1000" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwVuETLxqUF3G12j7t9nsQYrV2fjHwF53FKM-djt29asd4imbmN7tpC2-iRmNCbTJC05S62G4C1eNyI17CU67OAqkzafEkAiuVUJy0dgZLL8J2WLTCX2eHkluPz5wW-kzZccvusLm5TDM/s200/Boston+Garden.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Boston Garden during our 1992 visit</div>
</span>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My final visit on March 22, 2007, would later produce
some bizarre results. I’d flown into Boston that morning to see the evening’s
Canadiens - Bruins game for what was expected to be the 34<sup>th</sup> and
last season in the Bruins front office for my friend Nate Greenberg. With time
to kill between lunch and the game, I wandered over to the Quincy Market.
Spotting Durgin-Park, I climbed the steps to take a look . . . but not to dine,
for dinner would be in the Garden’s dining room before the game. My first
glimpse was a completely empty room, which was probably used during busy
periods and/or parties. The main dining room was sparsely filled, even for the
early hour. The whole scene looked rather depressing; a waitress walking by
with a plate of frankfurters and baked beans, both of which looked like they’d
been heated up in respective pots, only contributed to my sadness.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYnKhbg8Gpv5b8uKSnv9FyjKeO4yc44knVaaWm5lU1CEjAoy5w6MQImvAy0vcdoaTI_-TblSs0uBlNLPWWZjC0u3bbzDbHIartaC83ghaf21frqA9VzHhKVUscqWCuMpivG7Ecjwxwps4/s1600/Boston+Garden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYnKhbg8Gpv5b8uKSnv9FyjKeO4yc44knVaaWm5lU1CEjAoy5w6MQImvAy0vcdoaTI_-TblSs0uBlNLPWWZjC0u3bbzDbHIartaC83ghaf21frqA9VzHhKVUscqWCuMpivG7Ecjwxwps4/s200/Boston+Garden.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
TD Garden March 22, 2007</div>
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">After arriving home, I wrote a review, stating up front
that I did not dine that evening but had a long history there, in a food blog
(possibly Road Food). The subsequent comments fell just short of death threats;
evidently Durgin-Park had devotees who would brook no criticism of the establishment.
One person went far enough to find out I live in Chicago, then stated that because
the property owner, General Growth Properties, was headquartered here that I
was probably paid by GGP for the bad review in order to help them get
Durgin-Park to leave. Finally, I complained to the blog owners, who blocked further
comments and deleted all the others.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIABBR7s5_1_4jTms9Z-7kl2S23VWWbMB_s93dKznvm_NX4n88gdo2wN_ozLFUNZyem45fDwJnsiX_krMDxEiDSPmU1QCKVhTOAr5ZVa0XSxiNEKMJE-PiJBHewpeZeSdCUTzglQpm-co/s1600/Durgin_-_Park.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIABBR7s5_1_4jTms9Z-7kl2S23VWWbMB_s93dKznvm_NX4n88gdo2wN_ozLFUNZyem45fDwJnsiX_krMDxEiDSPmU1QCKVhTOAr5ZVa0XSxiNEKMJE-PiJBHewpeZeSdCUTzglQpm-co/s200/Durgin_-_Park.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Durgin-Park (Katie Chudy photo)</div>
</span>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">M<span style="line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">y criticisms aside,
it’s sad to see an institution – in this case a rather unique one – pass into
history. The tourists will no longer climb the stairs to sample the Yankee pot
roast, prime rib or Indian pudding. A plate of fried oysters was $14.95, twice
the rate of inflation. Maybe I would have ordered them again anyway; some
memories are priceless.</span></span><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></div>
Brule Lakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18064595420011193426noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6315197546984705121.post-43399640601338291522018-09-08T10:13:00.000-05:002020-04-16T14:47:13.817-05:00September 8, 1923<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
On the occasion of what would be her 95<sup>th</sup>
birthday, it’s time to write about my mother, a woman I’ve described as “lighting
up a room, in more ways than one.”</div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwEXsHD8B6RZZi9jNfNVPn-i71hT8ReDwFoz4Y2ABHedSptA9Xpop4S2jvYoz5SJMXWTL4359QVMFmt0NMqnJGt74_7Vmk5dND_VXTGDAPT_CrP8SbkMt6Iijtfq8ULMDRkyHJUCeiHg4/s1600/HBN+model+2+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1055" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwEXsHD8B6RZZi9jNfNVPn-i71hT8ReDwFoz4Y2ABHedSptA9Xpop4S2jvYoz5SJMXWTL4359QVMFmt0NMqnJGt74_7Vmk5dND_VXTGDAPT_CrP8SbkMt6Iijtfq8ULMDRkyHJUCeiHg4/s200/HBN+model+2+%25282%2529.jpg" width="131" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
Model photograph, 1973</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Harriet Bloomfeld was born in Chicago on September 8,
1923. She told us her families were from Austria and Russia, without any
details of where exactly they had lived. Until recently, I had the image of the
Bloomfelds as cultured Viennese, while the Saches were probably from Kiev. Abraham
and Sarah Bloomfeld in fact were from Bursztyn, a shtetl in Galicia, then part
of the Austro-Hungarian Empire when they immigrated to the U.S. in the late
1800s. Their town later became part of Poland and now Ukraine. Several members
of Abraham’s family – his sisters had the surname Winz – were murdered in the
Holocaust. I got my name and height from another great-grandfather, Fred Sachs.
At 6’4”, he was almost as tall sitting down as his wife Fannie (about 5’0”) was
standing up.</div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRXHrMzSGIrV20bDtyLXcUoLOykk6FNxm96ylyAdM-FXDFa6pX0bNIwJKw94mdT-YWoy68wc5XV5My1bwkw5nQtqkHRdhStze27qsbQcB_b-6S3tZvzOPup7UzlYBu2zZr_MvZMzpk1oE/s1600/Fannie+and+Fred.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1470" data-original-width="887" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRXHrMzSGIrV20bDtyLXcUoLOykk6FNxm96ylyAdM-FXDFa6pX0bNIwJKw94mdT-YWoy68wc5XV5My1bwkw5nQtqkHRdhStze27qsbQcB_b-6S3tZvzOPup7UzlYBu2zZr_MvZMzpk1oE/s200/Fannie+and+Fred.jpg" width="120" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
Fred and Fannie Sachs</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Her parents were Meyer and Evelyn, who everybody called
“Cookie” because of her round face. Meyer went straight from Marshall High
School on the West Side to Kent College of Law, interrupting his studies to
serve in the U.S. Navy during World War I. After graduating at age 21, he
flunked the bar exam at least twice and worked as a salesman until the day he
died at age 86.</div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgedte_H5AduU1fx1Iumu-1l2qS9_9mqH-_JNUNFoJY2nQBxnpXMI_fNWfOsBZ3S1jGL3GV0IWF3LXVE7UIPDwVFC92F54OmtxsVDHAvXGnZQ1tIjal-AV3VNvC_fdad3ykAoIUp_NclyQ/s1600/MB+Kent+Class+of+1918+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="489" data-original-width="1542" height="101" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgedte_H5AduU1fx1Iumu-1l2qS9_9mqH-_JNUNFoJY2nQBxnpXMI_fNWfOsBZ3S1jGL3GV0IWF3LXVE7UIPDwVFC92F54OmtxsVDHAvXGnZQ1tIjal-AV3VNvC_fdad3ykAoIUp_NclyQ/s320/MB+Kent+Class+of+1918+%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Meyer Bloomfeld, law school yearbook 1918</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Cookie, one of eight children, grew up on Robey Street
(now Damen Avenue) on the site of the present Illinois Medical District. She
graduated from McKinley High School (now Chicago Bulls College Prep) but did
not attend college. Meyer and Cookie married on February 19, 1922. They would
be married for 64 years.</div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1RGh5Trhsbx2Sk1xd9GlEtNjAJLwlJCa-NehgfF14ByKkdr6bIIGDy7H1DZBJK4LMndbiIiChF1aCOhI1oFyu6FWaJJnyrtprlWmMkp4Kk8i0JQzcnPZpp0930ansFRIhO6a9Dwa62yI/s1600/Cookie+teen.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1035" data-original-width="652" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1RGh5Trhsbx2Sk1xd9GlEtNjAJLwlJCa-NehgfF14ByKkdr6bIIGDy7H1DZBJK4LMndbiIiChF1aCOhI1oFyu6FWaJJnyrtprlWmMkp4Kk8i0JQzcnPZpp0930ansFRIhO6a9Dwa62yI/s200/Cookie+teen.jpeg" width="125" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Evelyn "Cookie" Sachs, 1910s</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
My mother, the first child, was born September 8, 1923,
in Chicago Lying-In Hospital. Somebody in the Sachs had a beef with Michael
Reese Hospital, where most Jewish children were born at the time, so both my
mother and her brother Alan were born at other institutions. Unless I missed
it, mom never told me she originally lived on the North Side. Her birth
certificate lists the family residence as “4036 Magnolia”; however, there is no
4000 block of N. Magnolia Avenue. I later found the true address was 4836 N.
Magnolia, almost around the corner from the Aragon Ballroom. They subsequently
moved to the 5400 block of S. University Avenue in Hyde Park, most likely
before her brother Alan was born in 1930. The building was razed for the
Lutheran theological seminary.</div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH03y0s_QGXxcVd12uvUbFCUsCnV_YShz3GKjRLm4hqDfeypFOTrCQkQi7PCd3sW8hntpViLvC8aC-FkSLWdmGShWDoDJujhb4opusCYbVtGoF3OxskUjpHQg9bzQ5sqt3Wnjkv7xsMTc/s1600/HBN+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="710" data-original-width="1094" height="129" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH03y0s_QGXxcVd12uvUbFCUsCnV_YShz3GKjRLm4hqDfeypFOTrCQkQi7PCd3sW8hntpViLvC8aC-FkSLWdmGShWDoDJujhb4opusCYbVtGoF3OxskUjpHQg9bzQ5sqt3Wnjkv7xsMTc/s200/HBN+5.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
Mom, 1920s</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Mom wasn’t big on providing details about her early life.
I don’t know if she attended school in Hyde Park (either Ray or Kozminski
Elementary) before moving to 6902 S. Clyde Avenue in South Shore. The raised
first-floor apartment is across the street from the O’Keeffe Elementary School
playground. She graduated from O’Keefe in 1937. My brother and I would attend
the school 18 years later.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
It was on to Hyde Park High School, where she met two
life-long friends, Margie Wallace and Joy Hersh. A girl came up behind my
mother in freshman gym class, togged on her gym suit and asked, “Are you
Jewish?” It was Margie. Mom gift-wrapped the suit and gave it to Margie on the
occasion of her 70<sup>th</sup> birthday at Chasen’s in Los Angeles. After
Margie died last year, her younger son, Dr. Robert Wallace, returned the gym
suit to me. </div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdhciftyHtBJclHRPlp7J_LeXfiPEVe6K-loQkQchnDIhnrek-PJA_p-n149Oz7mpptgEUfjCFJOr5rNx6f9XnSFVsBK9KZGE82-rfFByfdEJ8nPFRs-Jsm65z-kytY8lQSWIwfqtesy0/s1600/HBN+gym+suit.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="874" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdhciftyHtBJclHRPlp7J_LeXfiPEVe6K-loQkQchnDIhnrek-PJA_p-n149Oz7mpptgEUfjCFJOr5rNx6f9XnSFVsBK9KZGE82-rfFByfdEJ8nPFRs-Jsm65z-kytY8lQSWIwfqtesy0/s200/HBN+gym+suit.JPG" width="108" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
Hyde Park High School gym suit, 1930s</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Joy Hersh and her husband Henry also moved to Los Angeles
in the early 1960s to avoid Chicago’s winters. She was a very successful
Realtor, once selling a house in Pacific Palisades to one of my second cousins,
then selling it again after she divorced her husband and moved back to New York
City. My parents were visiting the Hershes on their first trip to California, enjoying
the beautiful weather in the backyard of their Brentwood home on August 5, 1962,
when they heard several police and ambulance sirens. The next day they found
that Marilyn Monroe had been found dead three short blocks away. Joy is still
hale and hardy. She provided a few details about mom’s life during our last
phone conversation.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Grandpa Meyer attended South Side Hebrew Congregation, a
Conservative temple, but I doubt mom spent much, if any, time there. She went
to religious school at KAM and then Chicago Sinai Congregation . . . wherever
her friends were going. They would take the bus to the shul on S. Parkway (now
King Drive) and have one person pay the fare, then go to the back and open the
door for the others. Her confirmation-class photograph hangs on the third floor
of the temple, now one-half block from our residence. </div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPEpPuC2QRtKLMOJpLzrhY1JNqLOtv7iN-PaXQ7ddMo7RE0nGXZ9w0zdLBudvHluIRuWMzmDoaFaT3DA-zNsAfdmkTPCvq0A3wYw5rdVeF_QGKgbTNBd6Jy2S9gCM_za-fDYDSwaIBZe4/s1600/10.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="877" data-original-width="1600" height="109" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPEpPuC2QRtKLMOJpLzrhY1JNqLOtv7iN-PaXQ7ddMo7RE0nGXZ9w0zdLBudvHluIRuWMzmDoaFaT3DA-zNsAfdmkTPCvq0A3wYw5rdVeF_QGKgbTNBd6Jy2S9gCM_za-fDYDSwaIBZe4/s200/10.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
Former Chicago Sinai Congregation</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Graduating from Hyde Park High School in June 1941, mom made the
long commute from South Shore to DePaul University for one semester. After informing
the instructors she was taking off for Yom Kippur, they said they didn’t
realize she was Jewish. Dropping out after the United States entered World War
II, the war years remained fuzzy to this day. Joy told me they both volunteered
for some type of social-service supporting the war effort, for which my
grandfather drove them downtown. According to Joy, mom also worked as a clerk
in one or more of the Loop department stores.<br />
<br /></div>
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Mom, early 1940s</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
On March 22, 1946 (ironically, three years to the day
Frank and I were born), mom was fixed up with a 29-year-old CPA home after
serving as an MP in the U.S. Army in western Illinois. Evidently, things moved
quickly – perhaps in part because both were still living in apartments with
parents and a brother – and they married on September 3, 1946. The independent
type she would always be, mom refused to wear a bridal gown; dad wore a snappy
double-breasted pinstripe suit. They paid the customary post-war bribe to get
an apartment at 7130 S. Cyril Court.</div>
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<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
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Just married, Sept. 3, 1946</div>
<br />
As noted, Frank and I came three years later (nine
minutes apart), an unexpected occurrence until only three weeks before. This
being the tax season, they didn’t have time to buy and set up another crib until
after April 15, so we shared one for a short time. By then they had moved to
6738 S. Merrill Avenue. Babysitters were readily available; Meyer and Cookie
lived three blocks away, and grandma Helen, a widow since 1942, lived one-mile
west. Like other wives of dad’s Phi Epsilon Pi friends, mom tagged along to the
then-infrequent White Sox night games in the early 1950s. During one game, the
man sitting in front of her and Dort Finder (now 98 years old) turned around
and said, “I’m sorry ladies, but I don’t care about the price of chickens at
the High-Low.”<br />
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<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Frank and Fred, Apr. 1949</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
It was time to move to the suburbs – Frank and I were too
big to share the one bathtub – and a house with a front lawn, attached garage
and backyard. Glencoe would be our home for exactly 15 years, moving in 1955
and back to the city in 1970. Mom stayed home and handled the discipline, since
dad was virtually gone from January 1 to April 15 every year (until going into
private industry in 1963) and traveling to do audits on Pick Hotels, his firm’s
major client. In 1961, Frank and I did something egregious enough for her to
ban us from watching the first game of the World Series. She went downtown to
meet friends that day, leaving us to come home for lunch and turn on the game.
Upon arriving home after school, she greeted us with “You watched the World
Series, didn’t you?” The big black-and-white box had long since cooled, but I knew
she wasn't bluffing. “Yes,” I replied, “how did you know?” “Because the channel
selector was on Channel 12 when I left and on Channel 5 when I came home,” she
answered. An early lesson in thinking several steps ahead, indeed.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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Mom and Dad, early 1960s</div>
<br />
I am forever grateful for her insisting on our learning
manners and helping around the house. Cooking was encouraged; cleaning was
required. We were taught to say, “Yes, sir” and “Yes, ma’am,” to look people in
the eye when taking and to write intelligent thank-you notes. One of the
greatest compliments I’ve received was from the mother of my college freshman’s
roommate, who said “Sign of a good upbringing” after performing some routine
task. On the other hand, mom was the arbiter of profanity; dad never swore so
it only became permissible if mom said it. She was actually pretty liberal
about it.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Mom spent much of her time over the years doing volunteer
social service. She was the co-chairman (as they were called back then) of the
annual Brandeis University Book Fair in the early 1960s when it was held in a
temporary storefront in downtown Winnetka. The Council for Jewish Elderly and
JCC were favorite organization for which she contributed time.</div>
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<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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Fred, Mom and Frank, mid-1960s</div>
<br />
At the risk of TMI, mom had major surgery in summer 1964
that illustrates how much things change. Frank and I were at summer camp, and
the director, Nardie Stein, informed us my mother was in the hospital for
surgery, and he had arranged with my father to call her. The telephone system
in northern Wisconsin was still primitive in those days, so Nardie had to call
an operator to place the call. He then handed the phone to me, after which I
was told nobody named Harriet Nachman was registered there. Panic-stricken, I
said, “Is this Passavant Hospital?” “No, this is the Water Tower Inn” was the
reply. What a relief! <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>BTW, it was a
hysterectomy, and dad had to explain what it is to his 15-year-old sons.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
We were among the first suburban families to move back
into the city, returning while Frank and I were still in college. They
purchased a condominium on N. Lake Shore Drive, which cut dad’s commute time to
the office. One of their friends needed an attractive, prematurely gray-haired
woman to do a three-part commercial for Toni Magic Moment for the 1970 Miss
America Pageant. Mom was chosen; it concluded with “I’m a brunette again!”<br />
<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Advertisement, early 1970s</div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
On March 29, 1973, barely two months after Janet and I
married, mom returned home in the late afternoon to find her brother waiting in
the lobby. She figured if something had to do with their parents, 76 and 73, he
would have called from his Hancock Building office. Alan told her my father had
died suddenly at age 55. As noted here, it hit us like a ton of bricks. <span style="margin: 0px;"><a href="http://brulelaker.blogspot.com/2010/12/sudden-death-in-family.html"><span style="color: #0563c1;">http://brulelaker.blogspot.com/2010/12/sudden-death-in-family.html</span></a></span>
Mom was just short of 50 at the time.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Not too long after, mom told me she would like to marry
again. Once the shock wore off – who could possibly replace my father? – I
realized she couldn’t spend the rest of her life mourning the tragic loss. One
year later, after a few “dates” that went nowhere, she met Irving Nathan, who
had been divorced for a few years. Irv was the opposite of my father –
outgoing, a born salesman and good-time charley – which was a good thing, for
he took what were eventually the seven of us (Frank, Martha, Grant, Julia,
Janet, Marisa and me) as his own. They traveled the world together, too many
places to list, on what mom called “a long date.” Winters were eventually spent
first in Phoenix, San Diego and Palm Springs. Old friends remained as they made
new friends. </div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
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Irv and Mom, mid-1970s</div>
<br />
I came to realize mom considered Janet to be more her
wonderful daughter and me the pesky son-in-law. Coming from Brooklyn knowing
nobody in Chicago, Janet needed large doses of support, especially after the
tragedy that virtually kicked off our marriage. Mom did countless things for
her and never stopped extolling her virtues to friends and family.<br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Janet and Mom, 1973</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Irv’s health took a turn for the worse in 1996, and he
passed away that August. After two marriages, mom figured it was enough and
very much enjoyed the single life. Thanks to my uncle Adolph and aunt Ros and,
later, her good friend Sonya Reich, mom traveled to Europe twice, as well as
taking the entire family on a Mediterranean cruise. She accompanied us to New
York City several times, always a fun getaway, and kept busy volunteering for
Working in the Schools (WITS) and Jewish Community Centers (JCC).</div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
Mom, Janet, Lady Liberty and me, New York City, July 2008</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
Mom was planning for her 90<sup>th</sup> birthday
celebration in September 2013 when her health began deteriorating. We shared an
internist, who told me mom practiced “ostrich medicine.” She often said if
anything was found, she was too old to treat it. Constant spinal pain got
progressively worse, and she suffered a stroke in March. After a few days, the
doctors sat us down and, to our surprise, told us scans showed pervasive cancer
throughout her upper body and would be discharged into hospice care. The end
came rather swiftly – two weeks – and the entire family were with her until
right before she passed away. Her death on March 26 was three days before the
40<sup>th</sup> anniversary of my father’s death.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
Not a particularly religious person – she had resigned
her temple membership a few years earlier after 30+ years – mom often said she
didn’t wasn’t a rabbi at her funeral. Because it wasn’t in writing, I
considered having somebody officiate. Before that, I had found my father’s
prayer book from his South Shore Temple confirmation in 1932 that contained a
mourner’s service. I took parts of it – retaining its beautiful archaic
language – and led the service, calling on those in attendance on the cold but
sunny afternoon, to speak as they may. Sonia led off with a very poignant
tribute as did several others. </div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
My father's prayer book, 1932</div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Mom was not the most patient person, so I opened my
remarks with, “I don’t know about you, but I think I heard mom say, ‘C’mon
already!’” I said I’d apologized to Joy for mom being short with her in recent
months; she’d replied with a laugh, “She was always short with me!” I concluded
with one of hers and one of my favorite sayings: “It’s been charming” and “When
you see dad, tell him everything turned out all right.” Even after five years,
Janet and I still have many “Wait ‘til mom hears this one” moments. This is
another one.</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Brule Lakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18064595420011193426noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6315197546984705121.post-1182458198510534352017-08-04T08:09:00.002-05:002020-04-16T14:57:36.288-05:00August 4, 1917<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
One hundred years ago today, my father – Marvin Norden
Nachman – was born in Chicago, probably at Passavant Hospital. I’ve written little
about him before – his military career (http://brulelaker.blogspot.com/2011/01/my-fathers-army.html)
and what turned out to be our last Sox game together (http://brulelaker.blogspot.com/2010/11/major-gives-us-day-to-remember.html)
– but not much else in biographical form. So on the 100<sup>th</sup>
anniversary of his birth, here’s my tribute to a wonderful man who left us way
too soon.</div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
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Dad, age 3 months</div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Dad was the son of Isadore and Helen Norden Nachman. His
father – called Jim – came to the U.S. around 1900 from Iasi, Romania. Helen
was #9 of 9 children of Adolph Norden, who had 7 children with his first wife.
The Nordens emigrated from Germany in the late 1880s. His grandparents, Abraham
and Chaia Schwartzman Nachman, also left Romania for the United States and are
buried in the family’s section of the First Roumanian Congregation at Jewish
Waldheim. Chaia was the sister of Sophia Schwartzman Pritzker, the grandmother
of Abram Pritzker; great-grandmother of Jay, Robert and Donald; and
great-great-grandmother of, among others, Tom, Jennifer, Penny and J.B. That
and my Ventra Card get me around the city cheaply and efficiently (no discounts
at Hyatt hotels either).<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
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My grandparents and uncle Adolph, c. 1916</div>
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<br /></div>
His first residence was the Van Dorn Apartments at 6054
S. Michigan Ave., across the street from St. Anselm Catholic Church, best known
from its role in James T. Farrell’s Studs Lonigan trilogies. Isadore worked
downtown in a belt and suspender business with his brother-in-law, C.J. (“Jake”)
Wolfson. His brother, Adolph, was five years older and had started at Carter
Elementary School and the religious school at South Side Hebrew Congregation up
the street before the family moved to South Shore during the early 1920s.<br />
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Van Dorn Apartments and South Side Hebrew Congregation religious school</div>
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<br /></div>
Home was a two-flat at 7430 S. Bennett Ave. A relative
told me the side streets were still unpaved back then. Adolph and dad attended
Bryn Mawr Elementary School on the 7300 block of S. Jeffery Blvd. My cousins Jim, Bob and Cathy would also attend Bryn Mawr, as
did Michelle Robinson Obama. The Robinsons lived around the corner on S. Euclid
Ave. several years later. Both boys skipped grades and would have attended
South Shore High School one-and-a-half blocks away but it wasn’t built yet. Instead,
they took the streetcar north to Hyde Park High School. After one year at the
University of Michigan, Adolph came home to attend the University of Chicago
and the university’s medical school. Dad was offered two choices after
graduating high school in 1934: attend the University of Chicago and live at
home or the University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign. He chose the latter. My
grandfather borrowed on his life-insurance policy to pay the tuition, room and board.<br />
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7430 S. Bennett Ave. and Hyde Park High School</div>
<br />
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As South Siders, Adolph and dad became White Sox fans,
something all five children inherited. Adolph saw his first game in 1921 and my
father shortly thereafter. They took the Wentworth Avenue streetcar to the
ballpark. Adolph bought season tickets after returning home from World War II,
and my father had tickets to all the night games – less than 20 – in the late
1940s and early 1950s. He and Adolph attended all three home games of the 1959
World Series (Frank and I saw Game 1). My first Sox game was in 1954 (or maybe 1953) and have
seen at least one home game every season except 1970 since, although I saw a
game in Boston during that terrible 106-loss season.</div>
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Ticket, 1959 World Series</div>
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<br />
My father pledged Phi Epsilon Pi fraternity as a
freshman, majoring in accounting. He would make several lifelong friends there
but, unlike many of them, did not marry one of the U of I sorority sisters.
His first roommate was Norman Cohn, a senior, who would go on to head a
construction company that built Old Orchard Shopping Center (he reminded us
countless times “My college roommate built this place” while shopping there)
and later became part of JMB Realty. My grandmother thought it was so wonderful
that dad has such a nice Jewish roommate when visiting them that first year.
She remarked how neat their room was, until she opened a closet door and piles
of stuff cascaded out. Only one of his brothers is known to still be with us,
Eddie Stein, who is going strong at age 100.</div>
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Phi Epsilon Pi, 1937-1938. Dad is 1st row at left; </div>
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Eddie Stein is last row in front of the door</div>
<br />
Dad achieved several honors, both academically and in
extracurricular activities. Despite being an accounting major, he was editor of
the 1938 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Illio, </i>the university’s
yearbook. His colleague at the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Daily
Illini</i> was Jack Mabley, who had a long career as a Chicago newspaper
columnist. He received the Sachem and Ma-Wan-Da awards as a junior and Beta
Gamma Sigma, the national honor society for business students. The only other
accounting major to achieve similar grades and honors was Thomas A. Murphy, chairman
and chief executive officer of General Motors from 1974 to 1980.<br />
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The Daily Illini, 1938</div>
<br />
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Despite his academic honors, my father could not get a
job with a Big 8 (now Big 4, all of whom are headquartered in Europe)
accounting firm after graduating in 1938. Why? Simply because he was Jewish. I
was told by a 1972 U of I accounting graduate with similar honors that certain
firms even then were known to be less hospitable to Jewish applicants. Dad
joined a Jewish firm (I don’t remember the name) and later became a partner at
Katz, Wagner & Co., where his main concentration was auditing. His clients
included Pick Hotels and Speedway Wrecking, which would later demolish the
first Comiskey Park. He worked for the firm until 1963, minus the three years
he was in the Army during World War II.</div>
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At work, unknown date</div>
<br />
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My grandparents lost the two-flat toward the end of the
Depression and moved to a high-rise apartment building at 7300 S. South Shore
Drive. Grandpa Jim died in 1942 at age 57 while the boys were in the Army, and
they returned to a small apartment after the war ended three years later. I
think the tight living quarters had something to do with my father marrying
Harriet Bloomfield on September 3, 1946, after having gone on a first date back
on March 22. Adolph would marry the following year. They had to pay somebody
under the table to get an apartment at 7130 S. Cyril Court. Home would later be
6738 S. Merrill Avenue, which was destroyed by fire in 1982. </div>
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Just married, September 3, 1946</div>
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My father was pretty much out of sight from January 1 to
April 15 every year. In fact, my brother and I were born on March 22 (very
ironic) and, because my mother didn’t find out she was having twins until three
weeks before we were born, Frank and I had to wait to get our own cribs until the
tax season ended. Dad would wake us up in the morning just to remind us he was
still around. During our first family trips east, we stayed at the Belmont
Plaza (now the W New York) in New York City and The Lee House (now demolished)
in Washington, D.C., both Pick hotels. </div>
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The twins, one week old, 1949</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
After April 15, dad travelled frequently to do audits at
Pick hotels, one of which was the Fort Hayes in Columbus, Ohio. He told us that
numerous Ohio State football players were on the hotel’s payroll, but the only time he
ever saw them was when they came for free meals. This made the Illini graduate
very unhappy when his school was placed on probation for minor offenses,
particularly when one of the whistleblowers was a staff member who had been
passed over for promotion.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
One memorable anecdote relates to the Sahara Inn, a motel
near O’Hare airport owned by mobster Manny Skar. The Sahara had declared
bankruptcy shortly after its construction in 1962, and Pick Hotels was one of
the creditors. A creditors’ meeting was held over a weekend at the Schiller Park
establishment, requiring the attendees to stay two nights; however, Illinois
Bell had yanked all of the phones in this pre-cell phone era. My father’s
parting words to our mother were, “If I’m not back by Sunday, call the police.”
Skar would be gunned down in a mob hit in 1965 as he exited the garage in his
N. Lake Shore Drive building after dining with Mrs. Skar at a deli on Oak Street.
Because take-home purchases were noted in the newspaper reports, our family
joke was “Manny Skar died clutching his salami.”</div>
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Sahara Inn matchbook</div>
<br />
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</div>
In 1963, Les Weil, a freshman brother when dad was a
senior, bought majority interest in American Envelope Co., which also had
plants in Baltimore and Washington. He asked my father to join him as chief
financial officer and treasurer. Not only would we see him now during the first
three-and-a-half months of the year but he also received a company car in order
to drive from the north suburbs to the offices at 3100 W. Grand Avenue, just as
Frank and I were getting our driver’s licenses. The company at the time was the
largest supplier of envelopes to Hallmark Cards and, as a small business,
qualified for government contracts, including envelopes for draft boards.<br />
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3100 W. Grand Avenue</div>
<br />
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</div>
The company did well during the remainder of the 1960s,
and Les and dad somehow found time to visit the Baltimore company in October
1966 when the Orioles played the Dodgers in the World Series. Thanks to the
previous owner, who had been instrumental in bringing the O’s from St. Louis,
the company had four season tickets right behind the Orioles’ dugout. I worked
in the plant during the summer of 1968 (http://brulelaker.blogspot.com/2014/07/transcendence-in-envelope-factory.html)
and will never forget going into the front office before traveling home to see
dad balance a half-million bank statement in his head and know where the few
missing dollars were. It helped to have a photographic memory.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaj39-P2ggShNgg31FhEzPPktz04etvqr5lxTJVOCV1L3vbu0z_jt8JgDeLZ7T727pXgjDt6kpvKnvsEBtovTc6afIpK5kz0wd2UxFXtlN85TFMl_5EKBRnId2qrOBlwae_QKOYl4sIAI/s1600/Baltimore+Orioles+World+Series+1966.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="386" data-original-width="968" height="79" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaj39-P2ggShNgg31FhEzPPktz04etvqr5lxTJVOCV1L3vbu0z_jt8JgDeLZ7T727pXgjDt6kpvKnvsEBtovTc6afIpK5kz0wd2UxFXtlN85TFMl_5EKBRnId2qrOBlwae_QKOYl4sIAI/s200/Baltimore+Orioles+World+Series+1966.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
Ticket, 1966 World Series</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
</div>
My father was a scrupulously honest man, but he did teach
me a few lessons about the realities of business life. During his tenure, the
company bought the building next doot on Grand and needed to build an enclosed
walkway between the two buildings. This required a permit, which was granted by
the local alderman, in this case, the very powerful and very crooked Thomas
Keane from the 31<sup>st</sup> Ward. They got it, after dad gave a cash payment
to one of Keane’s bagmen who came by to pick it up. No cash, no walkway. Keane
would be sentenced to five years in prison in 1974 for federal mail-fraud and
conspiracy convictions. In another instance, he was an unattributed source in
a front-page newspaper story on a shady state deal. When I asked why he didn’t use his
name, he told me, “I don’t know who’s behind these people. I don’t want a firebomb
at our front door.” <br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
</div>
Les and dad decided to sell the company in 1970 after it
had moved to larger quarters at 4400 W. Ohio Street. Unfortunately, the sale
was completed as a recession set in, and the acquisition disqualified it as a
small business, thus ending its government contracts. Dad had an employment contract but felt – as he later found out, rightfully so – the new owners were trying to
find cause to fire him and bring in a low-paid bookkeeper. Dad seemed much more
edgy after I returned home from college and a summer in California in August
1971 and even fretted about taking off time to meet my soon-to-be in-laws in
New York the month before our January 1973 wedding.<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
4400 W. Ohio Street (the name is still above the door)</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
</div>
My world was shaken to the core at about 2:45 on the
afternoon of March 29, 1973, when I received a phone call that my father had
been taken to a hospital I’d never heard of at W. Division and N. Cicero
avenues. Rather than go into detail here, the following post (http://brulelaker.blogspot.com/2010/12/sudden-death-in-family.html)
chronicles that last traumatic day of his life. Now, 44 years hence, I’ve worn
his South Shore Temple confirmation class ring he received in 1932 that rolled out of his personal effects envelope
longer than he did.<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
Confirmation Class 1932 ring</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
It took me a long time to come to terms with losing dad
at age 55. Only a few years ago when I knew he probably would no longer
be here did I find some sort of closure. Ironically, Adolph lived to be three
months short of 102 and was sharp it until the end. I never begrudged him that
because it was a great connection to family. Mom remarried the next year to
Irving Nathan, a man very much unlike dad, which was a good thing. He was
outgoing and gregarious and took the seven of us (Frank, Martha, Grant, Julia,
Janet, Marisa and me) in as his own. They traveled the world, kept old friends
and made new ones, and he left her secure to the end of her life at age 89 in
2013.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
</div>
Dad has been gone so long I really must summon up
remembrances of him, even as I describe them here. It doesn’t seem like just
yesterday. Every so often I think of something, like the time he and mom visited
me in Boston and took Frank and some family friends attending Harvard and MIT
to dinner at Durgin Park. The brilliant CPA didn’t know the restaurant was cash
only and didn’t have enough to pay the bill. He had to borrow money from us
students to settle the tab.<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9EzX6OJq2Mih7yvo9uXFyHPwV4oO1qg1Yoohp60gEpO5G10Iermtz_9GJPDUaDnsQwiwTXOkrMXs17rG9trrSQZ68DAcAYZmGpYSucCwCX7RhqgXgqlcBYYeabs75ackSzyWnC3XT4A8/s1600/MNN+last+photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="688" height="154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9EzX6OJq2Mih7yvo9uXFyHPwV4oO1qg1Yoohp60gEpO5G10Iermtz_9GJPDUaDnsQwiwTXOkrMXs17rG9trrSQZ68DAcAYZmGpYSucCwCX7RhqgXgqlcBYYeabs75ackSzyWnC3XT4A8/s200/MNN+last+photo.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
His last photo, with Reuben Shore, March 1973</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
</div>
One last thought: In August 1973, two families threw a
party for some of my school friends who were getting married. As we were saying
our good-byes to Dorothy Gutstadt, one of the hosts and the wife of another
fraternity brother, she looked at me and started to cry. Her (now ex- )
daughter-in-law said, “Oh, she cries at anything!” Holding back my tears, I
looked at both of them and said ‘It’s a long story.” Dorothy is thankfully
still with us, and I never fail to remind her of this . . . and how important
it will always be to me. Dad knew how to elicit both smiles and tears.<br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Brule Lakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18064595420011193426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6315197546984705121.post-1759013512569791532016-10-26T14:18:00.000-05:002016-10-26T14:18:01.058-05:00A Tale of Two (Empty) Swimming Pools<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;">Within
the span of 24 hours on September 9 and 10, I observed two empty swimming pools
in the Czech Republic. Each portays the history of the Jews in Czechoslovakia,
one symbolizing an almost certain end of the road, the other a rebirth.</span></div>
<span style="margin: 0px;">The
first is in the basement of Petschek Villa, the residence of the United States
Ambassador to the Czech Republic. Through a mutual friend, Janet and I visited
with Ambassador Andrew Schapiro and his wife, Tamar Newberger, in the late
afternoon and evening of September 9. Along with two couples and two guests,
Andrew and Tamar took us on a tour of part of the 70-room residence.</span><br />
<br />
The Villa was built in the late 1920s, during the brief
flowering of the first republic of Czechoslovakia by Otto Petschek, the
patriarch of one of the wealthiest families in the country. The Petscheks were
a German-speaking Jewish family, and their wealth was attributable in large
part to coal mining and banking.<br />
<br />
While the mansion was being built, the family lived in the
present Deputy Chief of Mission’s residence. The Petschek grandparents
continued to live there after the rest of the family moved into their new home
during the winter of 1929 - 1930. Otto Petschek became ill and died in 1934.<br />
<br />
In 1938, with the growing Nazi threat in Europe and
specifically toward Czechoslovakia, the Petschek family (a son and three
daughters) sold their holdings and departed for the United States, where
members of the family still live. After the Nazis occupied Prague, they
seized the house, and it became the residence of General Rudolf Toussaint, the
head of the German army occupying Prague. A considerable number of Nazi aides
and soldiers were quartered on the property during this seven-year period.<br />
<br />
Taking us into the basement and switching on a light in a huge
dark room, Andrew revealed an empty swimming pool with an interesting history.
NOTE: Because of the family’s wishes, photos of the pool and other rooms in the
residence will not be posted here or on social media. <br />
<br />
The swimming pool is said to have been used during only one
winter. By one account, after one of the Petschek sisters caught pneumonia after
swimming and nearly died, her father decreed that the pool should never be used
again. Another account holds that a family member dived in and broke a leg,
which resulted in the ban. Another explanation for the pools’ disuse (a less
dramatic one offered by a family member) was the pool was too expensive to
heat, even for an owner of coal mines. Either way, the pool has remained empty
for more than eighty years.<br />
<br />
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Terezin concentration camp</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The second is in the Terezin concentration camp, 40 miles
north of Prague, which visited the following day. The Nazis took over the fortress built by Hapsburgs between
1780 and 1790 that had been used a prison for army and political prisoners. It
served mainly as a transfer camp, although thousands died here from disease,
starvation and execution. For a visit by the Red Cross, the Nazis built
facilities that were never used by the inmates, including rows of sinks on each
side of a long room.</div>
<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Sinks, Terezin concentration camp</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 16px 0px;">
Toward the end of our visit, we were taken to an
empty swimming pool, surrounded by a fence. Jews and students were forced to
build it for the guards and their families in 1942. The inmates used it once .
. . for the propaganda film. It was not particularly large or deep, compared to
the pool at the Petschek Villa.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Swimming pool, Terezin concentration camp</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 16px 0px;">
Of the vast majority of Czech Jews taken to Terezin, 97,297
died, including 15,000 children. Only 132 children were known to have survived.
The elderly and families were brought in large numbers to Terezin. Then, in
large groups, they were transported to the east, to Auschwitz-Birkenau, when it
was fully operational in late 1942. The elderly were sent immediately to the gas chambers, while younger inmates who still
could work were temporarily spared. Terezin families were, in some instances,
kept together at Birkenau, in family barracks, until their fate was met.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Terezin Concentration camp</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 16px 0px;">
Simply stated, the empty Terezin swimming pool was as depressing
a symbol of death one can find for the Holocaust. Ovens, gallows, gas chambers
and the like our guttural reminders of the unfortunate capabilities of human
beings. The pool rather transcends that, as one imagines the slave laborers
literally being worked to death for the benefit of the guards and their
families, as they were in bunkers below Auschwitz making parts for B-1 and B-2
rockets. Sadness and anger overwhelm the soul as one looks out at the decaying
expanse.</div>
<div style="margin: 16px 0px;">
<br /></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Terezin concentration camp</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 16px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The pool at the Ambassador’s residence is the opposite, a
symbol of the enduring strength of the Jewish people. Ambassador Schapiro’s
mother’s family lived in Prague during the war. In fact, the Czemer family (his
grandfather worked for Shell Oil) lived in an apartment building close to the
Villa. Raya Czemer fled Czechoslovakia at age 5 in 1939 and settled in Chicago,
where she attended public schools, college and medical school, becoming a psychiatrist.
Andrew had a distinguished career in law, including clerking for U.S. Supreme
Court Justice Harry Blackmun, before being named ambassador in 2014.
Ironically, the residence had already been made kosher by the previous
ambassador, Norman Eisen. Our tour included the kitchen, where the chef displayed
the freshly baked challah that would be served for Shabbat dinner.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 16px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The story of rebirth doesn’t simply end with the success of
the son of a Holocaust survivor. A month previously, Alex Schapiro celebrated
his bar mitzvah at the beautiful Spanish Synagogue, where his grandmother's family had
worshipped. Rabbi Asher Lopatin, president of a modern Orthodox rabbinical school
in New York City who had been the family’s</span> rabbi at Anshe Sholom B’nai Israel
in Chicago, officiated.<br />
<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Spanish Synagogue, Prague</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Two empty swimming pools, one representing death and the cruelty
of humankind and one representing life and the will of a people not just to
survive but to prosper in many ways. I shall never forget either of them.</div>
Brule Lakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18064595420011193426noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6315197546984705121.post-14128825462811630482016-05-26T09:57:00.000-05:002016-05-31T15:18:52.142-05:00Fenway Tales: September 1968<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
I transferred to Boston University from Lehigh University
after my freshman year, arriving in September 1968 knowing a few people in the
area but none at BU. As a transfer student, I was required to arrive early with
the freshmen, partly to take a test that exempted me from the language
requirement (I passed). Home was Room 401 in Myles Standish Hall, a former
hotel in Kenmore Square that housed Major League Baseball teams in town to
play the Red Sox or Braves until it was bought by the university in 1950.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Four students lived in the three-room
suite; I was assigned to the former living room with a returning student, while
another transfer student and a returning student had the single room.</div>
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<div align="center" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
Myles Standish Hall, 2008</div>
With classes yet to begin and Brent, the LIU transfer still
not arriving, I found myself on Sunday, September 8 (my mother’s 45<sup>th</sup>
birthday), with nothing much to do. To kill time on a beautiful afternoon, I
walked the few blocks to Fenway Park to see what turned out to be my first,
last and only professional soccer game. I’d been to the ballpark to see a Red
Sox game on a family trip seven years earlier and, although Fenway hadn’t yet
reached icon status, it was an interesting place to see an athletic
contest. The Boston Beacons hosted the Baltimore Bays in their final games of
the <span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">North American Soccer League
(NASL) season.</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"></span><br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3yu9B9BkmX4XzsXdUyPvWuO6Z9g4NO_sP-_8KhWvqDM9-c1V-KgoMC_eNIwkjZjJwyp2oZbaSkFoTTB_WR-m3z1e4NXIiAgR91_LEORKYY0WYZvJA_0bHrv1vESKKW6PJNfkVxePurrc/s1600/Red+Sox+1961.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3yu9B9BkmX4XzsXdUyPvWuO6Z9g4NO_sP-_8KhWvqDM9-c1V-KgoMC_eNIwkjZjJwyp2oZbaSkFoTTB_WR-m3z1e4NXIiAgR91_LEORKYY0WYZvJA_0bHrv1vESKKW6PJNfkVxePurrc/s200/Red+Sox+1961.jpg" width="123" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcj8fsA2ih8un0vUl3CN9abqQ0ONGE5s4Wn1_rlX-JLacA17nLWmpADfjC2o3BwgFOANpI8TIT1xvZ5I-RAz1dqjFsO6atc7KcyNaoLWig6lGthDPV3JOx11MQ_k88Ieo9o05rHqGn_Qw/s1600/Red+Sox+1961.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcj8fsA2ih8un0vUl3CN9abqQ0ONGE5s4Wn1_rlX-JLacA17nLWmpADfjC2o3BwgFOANpI8TIT1xvZ5I-RAz1dqjFsO6atc7KcyNaoLWig6lGthDPV3JOx11MQ_k88Ieo9o05rHqGn_Qw/s200/Red+Sox+1961.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="113" /></a></div>
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Boston Red Sox program cover and ticket, 1961</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"></span><br /></div>
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">In 1967, two professional soccer
leagues started in the United States: the United Soccer Association</span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"> (USA), a collection of entire European
and South American teams brought to the U.S. and given local names, and the National Professional Soccer League</span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"> (NPSL) The two leagues merged in December 1967 to form the NASL, which
began the season</span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"> with 17 of the 22
teams that had participated during the 1967 seasons. The teams used mostly on
foreign talent. Despite some successes, the NASL also had significant problems.
The teams included only 30 North American players. High salaries for foreign
players and steep rents for large stadiums, coupled with low attendances,
resulted in every team losing money in 1968. Only 5 of the 17 teams returned
next season</span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">.</span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">The Beacons were a new team,
while the Bays had been part of the NPSL. The Boston Shamrock Rovers, owned by
Boston Bruins owner Weston Adams, were disbanded after playing one year in the
USA in suburban Lynn. The Bays, owned by Baltimore Orioles owner Jerry
Hoffburger, played in spacious Memorial Stadium, the home of the Orioles and
Colts. They lost the only NPSL championship game to the Oakland Clippers. </span><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbxUc6NFiOSlMtaISi1M_1FJVTO7ySp4c4hNndo6k3GH63vp1ZUksdDoRu_4AIyio1HjnNZDMcHjVTgTXAg57WE7aJ2IvToD2WgvPuIvveLHvqZtlsFJA6UC1BErqjMzwrz5_5rGd38eA/s1600/Baltimore+Bays+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbxUc6NFiOSlMtaISi1M_1FJVTO7ySp4c4hNndo6k3GH63vp1ZUksdDoRu_4AIyio1HjnNZDMcHjVTgTXAg57WE7aJ2IvToD2WgvPuIvveLHvqZtlsFJA6UC1BErqjMzwrz5_5rGd38eA/s200/Baltimore+Bays+2.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9KMHMvznBDPf9hveLBMt2_zDERdcUSG6ChYWdL-mUWdLeB2so3wMLO4y_6RHHB2-_vZf-jbi87bbg6t53R5vSCCIEx6-EgvJjJ7fCb8eO0bMRnycq_8ssIBD5DC02DKDBG4fL6eLcAIw/s1600/Boston+Beacons+logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9KMHMvznBDPf9hveLBMt2_zDERdcUSG6ChYWdL-mUWdLeB2so3wMLO4y_6RHHB2-_vZf-jbi87bbg6t53R5vSCCIEx6-EgvJjJ7fCb8eO0bMRnycq_8ssIBD5DC02DKDBG4fL6eLcAIw/s200/Boston+Beacons+logo.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="191" /></a></div>
<div style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Baltimore Bays, 1968, Boston Beacons logo, 1968</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9KMHMvznBDPf9hveLBMt2_zDERdcUSG6ChYWdL-mUWdLeB2so3wMLO4y_6RHHB2-_vZf-jbi87bbg6t53R5vSCCIEx6-EgvJjJ7fCb8eO0bMRnycq_8ssIBD5DC02DKDBG4fL6eLcAIw/s1600/Boston+Beacons+logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">After purchasing a general-admission ticket (the going price according to tickets for
games in Baltimore and New York appears to have been $3.50 – about $24 today -
but may have been less), I settled down into a nearly empty section that would
have been opposite the pitcher’s mound on the first-base side. The Beacons
defeated the Bays, 1-0, before 2,229 fans. The Bays would make it to the next
season; the Beacons did not. The Beacons ended the season at the bottom of the
Atlantic Division with a 9-17-6 record. Their largest crowd was 7,319 (not
including an exhibition versus Pele and Santos, which drew 18,431) on August 6
against the Atlanta Chiefs. The Chicago Mustangs, who played at Comiskey Park,
drew the league’s second-worst average attendance of 2,463.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEIWHF1zoft58iqd5bUTfUB7gfCMNp2a3sck3-mWG3v3qWiauqbUehh5N-8SrMGUnWtxw27U2R6cNEB-gCCpYyrZPYi16hWOsXj6aS0EI2ZcEhiqVPyjX2e9bDmNRRTSFjRSCTYA9ENHU/s1600/Boston+Beacons+vs.+Baltimore+Bays+1968.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEIWHF1zoft58iqd5bUTfUB7gfCMNp2a3sck3-mWG3v3qWiauqbUehh5N-8SrMGUnWtxw27U2R6cNEB-gCCpYyrZPYi16hWOsXj6aS0EI2ZcEhiqVPyjX2e9bDmNRRTSFjRSCTYA9ENHU/s200/Boston+Beacons+vs.+Baltimore+Bays+1968.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Beacons' lone goal vs. Bays, Sept. 8, 1968</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">The following Friday, again with
no plans for the evening, I returned to Fenway to
see the Red Sox take on the Minnesota Twins. Unlike the previous season, when
the Red Sox defeated the Twins on the final game of the season and waited for
the Tigers to lose to the Angels to win its first American League pennant since
1946, both teams were far behind the league-leading Detroit Tigers. In the
final season before MLB split each league into two divisions, the Red Sox
finished 4<sup>th, </sup> behind 17 games with a 86-76 record, while the Twins
ended up in 7<sup>th</sup>, 24 games back at 79-83.</span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">One of my goals was simply to
kill an evening, as the game started at 7:30 p.m. The Red Sox’s starter was Ray
Culp, who pitched for the Phillies during their infamous 1964 season and came
over from the Cubs during the winter in another disastrous trade for the North Siders. The Red Sox
sent Rudy Schlesinger and cash to the Cubs; Schlesinger had one pinch-hit
at-bat in 1965 and would never make it to MLB again. Culp won 71 while losing
58 before retiring from the Red Sox after the 1973 season. Dean Chance, winner
of the 1964 Cy Young Award with the Angels sporting a 20-9 record, a 1.65
earned-run average and 11 shutouts at age 23, started for Twins. He won 20
games the previous season, his first in Minnesota, but lost the all-important
final game of the season. </span><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhatpH5wVHWtggrBgNlqjrE96QShoulb0VPzsodNq9Dz4UAt0fr6k5xaiNtqqznBMbJaoYzV-H9sPYmo_jPcANP-HBKqIdPFyZTMpbnwCjL5yBDMVQ-8ynvvJ0mkjP8mnpoOkhlOY19mTs/s1600/Dean+Chance+1968.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwHar2mpZKDwVfaquCGtGuXedx5zzuke7lrkwKe-q8nRu_TM5KXI91T6FAppWAKcLPklSzlC2rX3qjQnd5gigdDb2om87i7yPbSn5l2IvylX-_KlLwzuDfaRe_-_uWxiW9lMk9NjPl55k/s1600/Ray+Culp+1968.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwHar2mpZKDwVfaquCGtGuXedx5zzuke7lrkwKe-q8nRu_TM5KXI91T6FAppWAKcLPklSzlC2rX3qjQnd5gigdDb2om87i7yPbSn5l2IvylX-_KlLwzuDfaRe_-_uWxiW9lMk9NjPl55k/s200/Ray+Culp+1968.jpg" width="146" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhatpH5wVHWtggrBgNlqjrE96QShoulb0VPzsodNq9Dz4UAt0fr6k5xaiNtqqznBMbJaoYzV-H9sPYmo_jPcANP-HBKqIdPFyZTMpbnwCjL5yBDMVQ-8ynvvJ0mkjP8mnpoOkhlOY19mTs/s1600/Dean+Chance+1968.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhatpH5wVHWtggrBgNlqjrE96QShoulb0VPzsodNq9Dz4UAt0fr6k5xaiNtqqznBMbJaoYzV-H9sPYmo_jPcANP-HBKqIdPFyZTMpbnwCjL5yBDMVQ-8ynvvJ0mkjP8mnpoOkhlOY19mTs/s200/Dean+Chance+1968.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="150" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
1968 Topps cards for Sept. 13 game starting pitchers</div>
<br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">The Red Sox, on Culp’s 6-hit
shutout, defeated the Twins, 3-0. Attendance was 23,171. A two-run home run by
Ken “Hawk” Harrelson, his 35<sup>th</sup>, and an RBI by light-hitting rookie
infielder Luis Alvarado (.130 that first season) accounted for the Red Sox’s
runs. Harrelson would later become the White Sox long-time play-by-play
announcer, while Alvarado would have four undistinguished seasons with the
White Sox (4 home runs, 57 RBI and .218 batting average). Alvarado was traded
from Boston to Chicago after the 1970 season with Mike Andrews (who left me a
pitifully small tip after I waited on his group during my very short stint as a
waiter that summer) for future Hall of Famer Luis Aparicio after his second stint with the
White Sox.</span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">The most important part of the
game was its time: 1 hour and 40 minutes. It may have been the fastest game for
the Red Sox or even in MLB in a five-year period, and only 11 minutes longer than the fastest night game in MLB history. So much for killing time; I
was back on the street by 9:15. I would attend three more games at Fenway
during my college days: a Patriot’s Day game in April 1969 (Yankees 6 Red Sox
4) and White Sox’s games in 1969 and 1970, both started by Tommy John. On June
4, 1969, home runs by non-power hitters Ed Hermann, Gail Hopkins and Bobby
Knoop gave the ChiSox a 7-2 victory. The following year, my only season not
seeing a White Sox home game since going to the ballpark in 1954, Wilbur Wood and Danny Murphy could not hold a 3-1
lead, and the Red Sox won, 4-3. I regret not seeing the Boston Patriots play in their 1968 and last season at Fenway Park.</span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">While picking up my ticket at
will-call (thanks to one of my BU roommates, Nate Greenberg) for the Diamondbacks
– Red Sox game in June 2008, the agent asked if I’d ever been to Fenway Park. I replied, “Yes,
but not for 38 years.” Two things were noticeably higher: a new deck added
above the roof level that had been turned into luxury boxes and ticket prices,
paying $90 to sit halfway up the upper deck. And, of course, “Sweet Caroline,”
which always has me reaching for the mute button.</span><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqThExPWuIAGtoLh-im15p0say9pt8476_VDmZZS8WdJRhmGNhh7mA7FFUphAK9oVK-_OIaO63sM-WqWOD34ZnN1APoPTilX-wBgFZ7QWFjK3tYZlydHQy7DSi6yvNVRhzXXMdVBgtfB8/s1600/Red+Sox+2008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqThExPWuIAGtoLh-im15p0say9pt8476_VDmZZS8WdJRhmGNhh7mA7FFUphAK9oVK-_OIaO63sM-WqWOD34ZnN1APoPTilX-wBgFZ7QWFjK3tYZlydHQy7DSi6yvNVRhzXXMdVBgtfB8/s1600/Red+Sox+2008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqThExPWuIAGtoLh-im15p0say9pt8476_VDmZZS8WdJRhmGNhh7mA7FFUphAK9oVK-_OIaO63sM-WqWOD34ZnN1APoPTilX-wBgFZ7QWFjK3tYZlydHQy7DSi6yvNVRhzXXMdVBgtfB8/s200/Red+Sox+2008.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="68" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpngp-L1A7t-KihsjvU59Sfrd7UQeFGaTI_jiirF0XAfG8viaXevRjq0SMFQ_R7T3TVjBwNPu2n_YCowWlXEHo2wrCA8Bn3K4Bpnuefej4wjw5FCKHLBoI1adhGsoiKEFG_keUFrNs0mo/s1600/P6250321.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpngp-L1A7t-KihsjvU59Sfrd7UQeFGaTI_jiirF0XAfG8viaXevRjq0SMFQ_R7T3TVjBwNPu2n_YCowWlXEHo2wrCA8Bn3K4Bpnuefej4wjw5FCKHLBoI1adhGsoiKEFG_keUFrNs0mo/s320/P6250321.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Fenway Park, 2008</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Brule Lakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18064595420011193426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6315197546984705121.post-32683210250313261982016-03-08T08:57:00.000-06:002016-05-25T16:08:41.556-05:00Here in Youngstown<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m
not a diehard Bruce Springsteen fan but rather took a liking to his music
through searching for Nils Lofgren performances on YouTube. I first came across
Lofgren from his days with Neil Young and Crazy Horse and his knockout
performance of “Keith Don’t Go” more than 40 years ago. Born two years after me
in 1951, also in Chicago, he joined the E Street Band in 1984 and also did some
solo work. Some his most notable work with the band is on “Because the Night”
and “Ghost of Tom Joad.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lJ5-_qNNibI&list=FL3aOq_p4ICNjldoWHkXW7xQ&index=193"><span style="color: #0563c1;">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lJ5-_qNNibI&list=FL3aOq_p4ICNjldoWHkXW7xQ&index=193</span></a></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7foD_6PMRg&index=188&list=FL3aOq_p4ICNjldoWHkXW7xQ"><span style="color: #0563c1;">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7foD_6PMRg&index=188&list=FL3aOq_p4ICNjldoWHkXW7xQ</span></a></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">My
favorite of all is “Youngstown.” It’s a blistering 5-star, circle-the-bases
performance by the band and has been performed in venues around the world. It
always gets me thinking about my one trip to Youngstown, Ohio, in what would be
my first taste of what I call Post-Industrial America.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">At
the end of the 1980s, I was a vice president at The Financial Relations Board,
Inc. (FRB), the nation’s largest investor-relations firm at the time. I had
several excellent clients – Budget Rent-a-Car, Toro, Old Republic International
and Giddngs & Lewis, to name a few – but at various times was stuck with
new clients for which the only rationale for signing up was to get as much
revenue out of them as possible until they cut us loose. These marginal clients
were a bane to every account manager’s existence because like the good ones you
still had to bill certain hours, do monthly reports and perform other cumbersome
tasks.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">One
day, probably in early 1989, my boss Dennis Waite and I were called into the
president’s office and told we had a new client: GF Corporation and its wholly
owned subsidiary, GF Business Equipment, Inc., in Youngstown, Ohio. Having done
work for United Stationers and ACCO World in the office products segment, I
thought it would be a interesting assignment.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">However,
this was an unusual client for several reasons: It was in eastern Ohio, where
the agency had no other clients and might well have gone to the New York
office; the company, although listed on the New York Stock Exchange, was in
deep financial trouble; and the assignment was to help get the stock price up as
quickly as possible to fetch a better sale price. </span></div>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkhlhyphenhyphenkB-H2Qse5H-B0-NGoOUAAThztbaljJ-M6_rNZqx8InuoWRK1OmWdiHMr9M5GV9N_P1vZjP4jps7DdFbNgteId_Pg6lIpjkM0sLeZyxwssDbjpDJeS9CYN7_djhOKWDD98fjZFew/s1600/GF+stock+certificate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkhlhyphenhyphenkB-H2Qse5H-B0-NGoOUAAThztbaljJ-M6_rNZqx8InuoWRK1OmWdiHMr9M5GV9N_P1vZjP4jps7DdFbNgteId_Pg6lIpjkM0sLeZyxwssDbjpDJeS9CYN7_djhOKWDD98fjZFew/s1600/GF+stock+certificate.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
GF Business Equipment, Inc. stock certificate</div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Under
usual protocol, a full account team would fly out for the new-client
orientation meeting, which would be Dennis and me, a member from Market
Intelligence (the FRB unit that set up investor meetings across the country)
and a media-relations person. However, given that there was probably little or
no budget, I was the sole FRB representative sent to meet with management. To
save money, it would be a one-day, in-and-out visit to talk with the CEO, CFO
and others involved in the company’s investor-contact programs.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">GF
began life as General Fireproofing Company in 1902. It entered the
office-furniture business in 1907, changing its name first to GF Office
Furniture and later to GF Business Equipment. GF was once the nation’s largest
producer of metal office furniture, employing more than 2,000 people at its
plant at Dennick and Wydesteel on Youngstown’s east side. Because of its
expertise in metal fabrication, it manufactured aircraft parts during World War
II rather than office furniture. According to reports, GF discontinued several
product lines during 1970s.</span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Other
than a walk through the plant, I remember very little about the visit. I was met by
a woman whose name I’ve long forgotten (I’ll call her Carol for this purpose)
and, as you may guess, the relationship was so short-lived that I’ve retained
neither a Rolodex nor business card for anyone at GF. There were no sessions with
CEO Ronald Anderson and the CFO discussing the business, plans for a turnaround
or other actions that would help increase shareholder value, if I met them at
all. There was, however, the plant tour. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Very
few production lines operated that day down the long stretch of a typical
American factory, and the facility was amazingly quiet. As Carol and I walked
through the plant, me in a banker’s gray pinstriped suit, starched white shirt,
red power tie and black oxfords, I noted the workers eying me warily for an inordinate
amount of time. Each sported a look of suspicion, sadness and resignation.
After returning to Carol’s office she told me why: They thought I might be
somebody checking out the place for possible acquisition. Obviously others had
been through before; I hadn’t realized that at age 40 I could look like a
captain of industry.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Upon
return to the office the following day, I surprisingly received little
resistance when informing management this was a lost cause. GF probably paid my
travel expenses, and we didn’t do as much as a quarterly earnings release. This
trip has obviously left a great impression on me, some 27 years later. It’s one
thing to read about companies in distress, quite another to witness it on the
inside, first-hand.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In
December 1989, GF stated it would close the Youngstown plant during the first
quarter of 1990. It had been running losses of $9 million to $10 million
annually on shrinking sales. The company <span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span>declared bankruptcy on April 18, 1990,
and its manufacturing facility, trademarks and patents were acquired by Tang
Industries, an industrial conglomerate headed by Chicagoan Cyrus Tang. The
plant closure put 300 people out of work and resulted in a flurry of lawsuits
regarding pension and health-insurance obligations. R<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span>emaining production was
transferred to Gallatin, Tennessee, and the company name was changed to GF
Office Furniture, Ltd. That facility has since closed; a call to the main
number states it has been disconnected. </span><br />
<br />
The following is a link to photographs of the shuttered plant on Flickr by Steven B. Heselden, a retired Columbus, Ohio, firefighter, who graciously allowed my usage for this entry.<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt;">
</span><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sbh3743/albums/72157626931501604"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="color: #0563c1; font-family: inherit;">https://www.flickr.com/photos/sbh3743/albums/72157626931501604</span></span></a><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As late as the 1960 census, Youngstown's population was about 167,000, down only about 3,000 from its high in the 1930 census. By the time of my arrival, it had fallen to approximately 96,000, and today is estimated at about 65,000. Here, then, is Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band doing "Youngstown"; watch a short 60+ year-old guy in a top hat with a hip replacement end the song with a dazzling solo. It's about the only thing positive to take from this story.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xYpvJVjbXNc&list=FL3aOq_p4ICNjldoWHkXW7xQ&index=124"><span style="color: #0563c1; font-family: inherit;">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xYpvJVjbXNc&list=FL3aOq_p4ICNjldoWHkXW7xQ&index=124</span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></div>
<br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Brule Lakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18064595420011193426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6315197546984705121.post-2482126051802919182015-09-08T14:33:00.000-05:002015-09-28T16:09:17.657-05:00Englewood HospitalityRecently on a Facebook post, I noted a security guard at a
Bucktown elementary school told me I couldn’t take pictures of the building,
despite being far across the street on a public sidewalk and shooting with a
wide-angle lens. The school, he politely informed me, doesn’t allow photographs
of its students. Despite sending the photo and a link to laws regarding public
photography to the principal, she replied basically the school was instructed
by the police to call them if anybody was photographing or taping the
children (they didn’t for me) and the rule was no photography, public property
be damned. <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia9vRD_q42c3JDI2rnhUnSGe5V-oIFVGGRTj80vgn56aM_NaacSb1yr1wRcPxNL5Uoc_nu87PXMC7WdqXrYplLYJynuI0u4xC3x-_v9UAnMMOlgfnNCvNPJBhvPArsUpR6syhmXXkVeTE/s1600/P3112510.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia9vRD_q42c3JDI2rnhUnSGe5V-oIFVGGRTj80vgn56aM_NaacSb1yr1wRcPxNL5Uoc_nu87PXMC7WdqXrYplLYJynuI0u4xC3x-_v9UAnMMOlgfnNCvNPJBhvPArsUpR6syhmXXkVeTE/s1600/P3112510.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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CICS Bucktown</div>
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I write this because all to frequently I’m admonished for
one reason or another on my North Side photowalks. “Why are you taking pictures
of my house?” is usually asked with a snarl rather than in an inquisitive
manner. Rarely will anybody say hello or even nod an acknowledgment. This is
almost exactly the opposite on the South Side.<br />
<br />
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<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]-->Initially venturing to the South Side to take photographs of
old family residences and former synagogue buildings for my book <i>There Used
to Be a Synagogue Here: Former Chicago Temples</i>, I found the neighborhoods
of Bronzeville, Grand Boulevard, Oakland/Kenwood and Washington Park very
hospitable to a 60ish white guy walking down the street with a camera. People
politely inquire about my interest in their neighborhood, volunteer information
about the area or simply say hello or nod in passing, something that would
surprise somebody like Brian Kilmeade at Fox News. Nothing more than “What are
looking at?” yelled from a distance by a young teen – more to impress the two
fellows with him – was even remotely threatening.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8xDNCEDU61Kp4n5fsNHmrcbQ2W1ZoEr5ZOTEudU6X4JV1-c6jybSevoM6aI0tuPYnK8vLwMiRgDvO9zXWy_-Ac0dNl1TPvnW2or3ESteq-ataYtST7WVe5o8pHFY9MvIy-TdiwKLJ-Pc/s1600/P4056318.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="123" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8xDNCEDU61Kp4n5fsNHmrcbQ2W1ZoEr5ZOTEudU6X4JV1-c6jybSevoM6aI0tuPYnK8vLwMiRgDvO9zXWy_-Ac0dNl1TPvnW2or3ESteq-ataYtST7WVe5o8pHFY9MvIy-TdiwKLJ-Pc/s1600/P4056318.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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3600 - 3606 S. Giles Ave.</div>
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I was treated to a special type of hospitality this week
after photographing the former South Side Masonic Temple at W. 64<sup>th</sup>
and S. Green streets, which has made Preservation Chicago’s 2015 list of the
city’s seven most endangered buildings. I knew there was a large church in the
vicinity, which came into view as I was driving west and south. I parked the
car at the corner of W. 65<sup>th</sup> and S. Peoria streets and began
photographing the church – St. Stephens Evangelical Lutheran Church – from
several different vantage points. As I was finishing, a gentleman who I’d seen
entering the former parish house across the street reemerged and asked me,
“Have you met Reverend Raven? Would you like to photograph the inside of the
church?” For those of you who have seen my church photography, you know I
wouldn’t pass up this chance.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ueQLsDHmJtThyphenhyphenP6cKrv5v42sZWGguWKTVdaiW7imlKZzPr4PXX447ZxRYiVR8xYNm2h74vDuyVTiv5PxairMvnm0eoZFu7PUhlHW26-ZW1G1vetTd2R_73Uyvc4_CrRKMwvmXwFyeoU/s1600/P3172626.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ueQLsDHmJtThyphenhyphenP6cKrv5v42sZWGguWKTVdaiW7imlKZzPr4PXX447ZxRYiVR8xYNm2h74vDuyVTiv5PxairMvnm0eoZFu7PUhlHW26-ZW1G1vetTd2R_73Uyvc4_CrRKMwvmXwFyeoU/s1600/P3172626.JPG" width="153" /></a></div>
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St. Stephens Evangelical Lutheran Church</div>
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After a few minutes, the Rev. Dr. Henry Raven, St. Stephens’
pastor, emerged and greeted me at the door. Before crossing the street, he
informed me that this was the second oldest church building in Englewood – the
Chicago Embassy Church is the oldest – and hoped to acquire landmark status for
the 1909 structure. It was founded by German immigrants – a plaque on the
Peoria Street entrance states, “Ev. Lutherische St. Stephanus Kirche” – and the
first black families became members in the late 1950s.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCFwj-M-3lmzD5FbjYprRBpnQ_pM1eud6AO80gMxmUtEvlA68R3Hn6ItJo1TkpfiEQ8kNJW3WEiOtQOMcBIzuc3l9zLz5nvIvcKDhq0MwD1nVRKNCUO-9BktGr_m3LgxdzlB0q0KtOphE/s1600/P3172627.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="95" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCFwj-M-3lmzD5FbjYprRBpnQ_pM1eud6AO80gMxmUtEvlA68R3Hn6ItJo1TkpfiEQ8kNJW3WEiOtQOMcBIzuc3l9zLz5nvIvcKDhq0MwD1nVRKNCUO-9BktGr_m3LgxdzlB0q0KtOphE/s1600/P3172627.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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Original plaque from German congregants </div>
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Rev. Raven took me to a side entrance on the 65<sup>th</sup>
Street side and opened a door and sliding metal grate, which led to the front
of the church. Passing the now-obligatory drum set in the corner, I saw a
stunning interior with a unique yellow-and-green color scheme. The pulpit is
dominated by an ornate wooden dais and large working pipe organ above. Rev.
Raven urged me to walk up to the balcony in the rear and the organ loft in the
front. The narrow stairways featured stained-glass windows, and the views from
both perches were excellent.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnvwKTFdzfq7w6-G5g21jGVf4ytmDLQ-gon5jm8R5ichwV8NfbTf1Vo6vQAO1ccZR-1dq2hShDC_bDuJ1Q0EEBeVYr-zW06e-vPnnJZFwnSmAAm5Uw5lEoFdein4h3-Z9xOdJyEje_uAY/s1600/P3172638.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnvwKTFdzfq7w6-G5g21jGVf4ytmDLQ-gon5jm8R5ichwV8NfbTf1Vo6vQAO1ccZR-1dq2hShDC_bDuJ1Q0EEBeVYr-zW06e-vPnnJZFwnSmAAm5Uw5lEoFdein4h3-Z9xOdJyEje_uAY/s1600/P3172638.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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St. Stephens Evangelical Lutheran Church</div>
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As you can see in the photos, the church needs some work,
for which Rev. Raven is raising money. He became pastor ten years ago and has
increased church membership after some problems caused by the previous leader.
Rev. Raven also hopes the landmark designation will help with upkeep. The
church has the original blueprints for the building, which should enhance his
efforts. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFeSMCdeQxao6Ub0s-jCpAR4pI-GbLns5a5kVMrQyBqSWy_A_8OKetLFQBbEpklxr_HjDo5TjAfKUY355vUC5X1ZhHPxa2pYr4tSHcvwDpcVFABJ9swErqMxYmXGIHdW8Wn-yl9Ti_Ibg/s1600/P3172654.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFeSMCdeQxao6Ub0s-jCpAR4pI-GbLns5a5kVMrQyBqSWy_A_8OKetLFQBbEpklxr_HjDo5TjAfKUY355vUC5X1ZhHPxa2pYr4tSHcvwDpcVFABJ9swErqMxYmXGIHdW8Wn-yl9Ti_Ibg/s1600/P3172654.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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Church balcony</div>
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We returned to the former parish house and exchanged
information. The former parish house now serves as offices and the hall for the
Family Feeding Center, a Wednesday and Friday soup kitchen opened in April
2014. The first of its kind in Englewood, the soup kitchen supported by
Shepard’s HOPE feeds 200 people each day. The Action Coalition of Englewood is
also headquartered here. Prior to departing, I gave Rev. Raven a small donation
for his hospitality and promised to send my best photographs for use by the
church.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZFzC-G_o12ATLoGNXavMiTUelILCIJnmWiL2iCmQdNXnGenhnhrE_4h19vYCHOgJEwrptINy_OgDvw2dT6Yei5by4wadFrx597BivKNRjGJMnKzU2hxLH_TGJG36uQ-J45kxiTlv6Hp8/s1600/P3172655.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZFzC-G_o12ATLoGNXavMiTUelILCIJnmWiL2iCmQdNXnGenhnhrE_4h19vYCHOgJEwrptINy_OgDvw2dT6Yei5by4wadFrx597BivKNRjGJMnKzU2hxLH_TGJG36uQ-J45kxiTlv6Hp8/s1600/P3172655.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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Pipe organ</div>
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This is the third church into which I’ve been invited while
taking exterior photographs. The first, the Independence Boulevard Seventh-Day
Adventist church (the former Congregation Anshe Sholom) in Lawndale, came about
when a maintenance man spotted me through a window shooting the side doors,
which feature Hebrew letters inscribed above glass crosses in the doors. The
other, the Ebenezer Missionary Baptist Church (the former Isaiah Temple), would
be visited later during Open House Chicago 2012. While also photographing South
Side churches during the Chicago Architecture Foundation’s Open House Chicago,
I’ve met several very nice people who take great pride in showcasing their
buildings to visitors.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE-fm10_YUOcxQXPSZfhgi8T67voiaSnbfDXNJsnfztOnJWXmS5szh2pdUoegOBZJEIhrjVwl9_CyzTQ_uprHw1GLhtCQyyyir5SAtnyfPK_dbv_vFI3tZZe0ZbbblcGljxo-o9P_U5lE/s1600/PA180607.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE-fm10_YUOcxQXPSZfhgi8T67voiaSnbfDXNJsnfztOnJWXmS5szh2pdUoegOBZJEIhrjVwl9_CyzTQ_uprHw1GLhtCQyyyir5SAtnyfPK_dbv_vFI3tZZe0ZbbblcGljxo-o9P_U5lE/s1600/PA180607.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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Corpus Christi Church, 4920 S. King Dr.</div>
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</div>
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Thank you again, Rev. Henry Raven, for extending yourself to provide me with a unique photography opportunity. Here's to a better 106th year for the church, landmark status in the future and better times for Englewood. It's wonderful how going outside one's comfort zone can result in such rewarding experiences.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Bom5uHhblbg9zpUey80tQ4zknXWBiwWuj35ipzOCO0e4l9SP4l8eRyg9rjPTjSVXLO9tJ-hgLa10x1ypBedWK1XT98oWBizAP6qMFaxDYmAWZoAMnhHODNhaKBrIeLloaz4yJRCzfzg/s1600/P3172658.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Bom5uHhblbg9zpUey80tQ4zknXWBiwWuj35ipzOCO0e4l9SP4l8eRyg9rjPTjSVXLO9tJ-hgLa10x1ypBedWK1XT98oWBizAP6qMFaxDYmAWZoAMnhHODNhaKBrIeLloaz4yJRCzfzg/s1600/P3172658.JPG" width="138" /></a></div>
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St. Stephens Evangelical Lutheran Chuch</div>
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Brule Lakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18064595420011193426noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6315197546984705121.post-45299535813947429472015-08-12T09:21:00.000-05:002015-08-12T09:21:02.697-05:00I Must Be in the First Row: Janis Joplin's Final Concert
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Nobody knew it, but the thousands that attended Janis
Joplin’s concert in Harvard Stadium in Boston 45 years ago tonight witnessed
her final performance. I hadn’t planned on going and, even if it weren’t her
last concert, it certainly was memorable.</div>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwFOwFyXclhyM_JhgSSD5Txxdukf8uDqp58LBtfRBL8v4w-AzEL7P5pthU8kgH8of-UIqdG9zUbCGSJL7ta-a6F4lP89Pqg3X59SyAPX-z8MRWsKHAGHTiAm0MZo0Am6vCM2Un7MYrYIg/s1600/Janis+Joplin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwFOwFyXclhyM_JhgSSD5Txxdukf8uDqp58LBtfRBL8v4w-AzEL7P5pthU8kgH8of-UIqdG9zUbCGSJL7ta-a6F4lP89Pqg3X59SyAPX-z8MRWsKHAGHTiAm0MZo0Am6vCM2Un7MYrYIg/s320/Janis+Joplin.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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Janis Joplin, Aug. 12, 1970</div>
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Photograph: Peter Warrack</div>
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On a hot August evening, my friend Calvin, who I
knew from volunteering at The Storefront Learning Center in the
South End, had traveled up from Roxbury to my un-air-conditioned apartment on
Ashford Court in Allston. Our apartment lease ran through the end of August, so
I stayed in Boston and was joined by two Harvard friends who were working in
the city that summer. We knew there was a Janis Joplin concert that night at
Harvard Stadium, so we decided to check it out. The stadium was a
mile-and-one-half away.<br />
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<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]-->As has been reported, the concert was supposed to be limited
to 10,000 persons. However, because the band’s equipment had been stolen, the
concert’s beginning was delayed for a number of hours while replacements were
located. We encountered a mob scene upon arrival. I’ve read reports that people
scaled the stadium walls to enter; in any case, Calvin and I simply walked in an
open gate. </div>
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<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]-->Here’s where it got interesting. Of the estimated 40,000
people who eventually made it into the stadium, we ended up in the first row,
right in front of the stage. So how did we get there, without any type of pass
or VIP IDs, without once being stopped? </div>
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<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]-->Calvin was a 6’3” black man with a neat Afro and wire
glasses. He was probably one of the most dynamic persons I’ve ever met, very
self-assured but not intimidating. Calvin simply walked through the crowd with
authority, seemingly parting the sea of white kids, as he headed toward the
stage. Perhaps a few people said something to him, which he simply ignored.
Whenever anybody asked me where I was going, I kept walking and replied, “I’m
with him.” I think there were two dynamics working: one, fear of a confident
black man making his way through a crowd and, two, persons feeling it would be
racist to stop him just because he was black.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzAJvPbepN7r7ZzqPkay8eNpFDSVMiWmVHBBKHRzIV5aOB7bAkO8soNOo2NnuCujJ5a54qRIUVLpKCOARFngcZLFAchDA4cfnkkz0EUtbOk3LLn3oRgjQ7IvDovRMe3W5ZIXI1ppseVIc/s1600/Calvin.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzAJvPbepN7r7ZzqPkay8eNpFDSVMiWmVHBBKHRzIV5aOB7bAkO8soNOo2NnuCujJ5a54qRIUVLpKCOARFngcZLFAchDA4cfnkkz0EUtbOk3LLn3oRgjQ7IvDovRMe3W5ZIXI1ppseVIc/s320/Calvin.jpeg" width="218" /></a></div>
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Calvin, undated photo <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve read various accounts of the quality of the concert,
only 8 songs long, and some recordings exist. My recollection was she was far
from top form, given one can assume what she may have ingested during those hours
of extra down time. Calvin, an excellent judge of people, figured she was
wasted on some combination of substances and beverages. According to noted
photojournalist Gwendolyn Stewart who was also in the front row, Joplin was
cowering in her trailer as the crowds swelled. She was never in danger, as the
stage was raised high off the ground, safe from a rushing horde that never
materialized. I do remember the sexually oriented banter between Janis and
attendees; it was pretty mundane and good theater. She would die of a heroin
overdose on October 4, 1970. </div>
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Unfortunately, my good friend Calvin passed away much too early 30 years ago. Those were different times, seemingly long ago but still in many ways fresh as yesterday.</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"></span> </div>
Brule Lakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18064595420011193426noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6315197546984705121.post-78444289163630257832015-04-09T09:16:00.001-05:002015-04-09T16:54:09.897-05:00“Draft or Lite?”: Waiting for Kenneth Sherwin<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As Opening Day 2015 approaches, with fans more optimistic
about the Sox and Cubs than in recent memory, I was tempted to repost my 2011
recollections about Opening Days (</span><a href="http://brulelaker.blogspot.com/2011/04/third-new-years-day.html"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">http://brulelaker.blogspot.com/2011/04/third-new-years-day.html</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">)
but this year’s game will be something different.</span><br />
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</span><br />
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<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The aforementioned </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">post notes that returning to the
ballpark means reacquainting oneself with people after a fall and winter’s
absence. I mentioned my beer vendor Kenneth. Sadly, Kenneth Sherwin – or Kenny as many
called him – will not be at Opening Day at either Chicago park, for he passed
away suddenly in Miami Beach at age 61 on December 29. It shocked and saddened
everybody who knew him.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4btSmEXFjYNgRWcjIZISRef4Tf03ju_-wkscJZGfg66dtwK6ENEAcSmqDpfdARth6AENzihrMR7bitclFlTSQ6p0ClYDTT0M6KS7jqkxxLGmUTQniJFKQjEUKR6Ww0CVSL_QTC3dcZc4/s1600/P6263038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4btSmEXFjYNgRWcjIZISRef4Tf03ju_-wkscJZGfg66dtwK6ENEAcSmqDpfdARth6AENzihrMR7bitclFlTSQ6p0ClYDTT0M6KS7jqkxxLGmUTQniJFKQjEUKR6Ww0CVSL_QTC3dcZc4/s1600/P6263038.JPG" height="171" width="200" /></a></div>
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Kenneth Sherwin, June 26, 2009</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I started buying beers from Kenneth around 2006 after
attending games regularly in my cousin’s seats in Section 126 on the first-base
side. This was generally Kenneth’s territory. During the 2008 season, the Sox
won every regular-season game for which I purchased those beers – probably 14
in succession – to the point that I chased Kenneth down by the right-field
corner to buy a beer during Game 4 of the American League Division Series vs.
Tampa Bay. Alas, that didn’t work, as the Sox were eliminated with a 6-4 loss.
In the meantime, we would see each other around town; he lived three blocks
from my mother’s apartment and played tennis at Midtown Athletic Club.</span><br />
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<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Kenneth was a character, to be sure, which most of us found
out in more detail after his passing. The youngest of five children, he grew up
on the North Side before attending the University of Miami. He decided against
a career in law – his father was an attorney as are two brothers – and
variously worked as a trader and as a high-end men’s clothing salesman. Kenneth
became a vendor in 1981 and worked both ballparks, Chicago Stadium and United
Center for the Bulls and Blackhawks, Soldier Field for the Bears and various
concert venues. He was also a throwback to the days when many of the vendors
were Jewish.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpaS8IbbCKvDTliEy5l_ncC9izSOcTizfHYkVUEes6z3HqTQoSrTdxaCN7adWw0nLB9Tk8-blBA0aT10PIRsLCLk2WV6KuONEz2gS-blCk5UyGBKUauAlc5NN_MVunUTeL0L0GUyHMZ-Q/s1600/P6263047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpaS8IbbCKvDTliEy5l_ncC9izSOcTizfHYkVUEes6z3HqTQoSrTdxaCN7adWw0nLB9Tk8-blBA0aT10PIRsLCLk2WV6KuONEz2gS-blCk5UyGBKUauAlc5NN_MVunUTeL0L0GUyHMZ-Q/s1600/P6263047.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
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Kenneth with cousins Jim, Cathy and Bob, June 26, 2009</div>
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</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If I were attending a Sox game with friends, the response at
the concession stand to “Do you want a beer?” was always “We’ll get them
at our seats from my beer guy.” Depending how early we had arrived, we either
saw Kenneth cutting across rows before the first pitch or going up and down the
aisles. Even after all of the years, he’d usually ask “Draft or Lite?” He was
good for a quip, asking our daughter, “Is he behaving himself?” or remarking
when Janet was along, “I see you brought your girlfriend tonight.” His only
complaints were about the weather – too cold – or the effect of small crowds on
his bottom line.</span><br />
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<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last season through my friend Rob Taman, I attended six
games at Wrigley Field. Upon spotting me, Kenneth invariably asked, “What are
you doing here?” Between the two stadiums, I must have seen him 20 times last
season. In fact, as I headed to his funeral service, I told Janet, “How many
people do I see 20 times a year?”</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7CVsDUI-tAepxpC7Y9Ya1LiA2MUmNzxvY5GaBWZOvIJq8MLwdMVe1NZwL9vS8IyxsDCGBqTRa3uPr9kSYCiSrE5_G95wMU6vUBDRi6uSmRXE8G1TL7m7r7kJCaQWqXS5VY1N-33T5nFA/s1600/P5249308.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7CVsDUI-tAepxpC7Y9Ya1LiA2MUmNzxvY5GaBWZOvIJq8MLwdMVe1NZwL9vS8IyxsDCGBqTRa3uPr9kSYCiSrE5_G95wMU6vUBDRi6uSmRXE8G1TL7m7r7kJCaQWqXS5VY1N-33T5nFA/s1600/P5249308.JPG" height="177" width="200" /></a></div>
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A cold night at Wrigley Field, May 24, 2011</div>
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</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In relating to his brother Bob what turned out to be our
last conversation, he told me that Kenneth always spoke his mind. In fact, it’s
why he no longer worked at the United Center. Some time back, Kenneth was
servicing one of the suites and received a very small tip. He handed it back to
the man and said, “Here, you must need this more than me.” The guy complained,
and he was eventually fired. Kenneth manned a beer stand at the Bears games
rather than vending in the seats; he pointed out that those vendors were
non-union and thus didn’t follow the protocols of the other venues, including
entering an aisle that a fellow vendor is servicing.</span><br />
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<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With winters now open, Kenneth bought a condominium in South
Beach, four blocks from the ocean, so he could continue his tennis and cycling
pursuits year-around. He was a regular at the annual tennis tournament at Key
Biscayne, where he followed his favorites both on and off the court. It’s not
surprising his Florida residence featured a framed jacket autographed by Roger
Federer. It was his love of tennis and cycling and ability to haul beer cases
some 150 times a year that made his sudden passing so much more baffling. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Opening Day will follow the usual
routine: arrive early and roam the park taking photographs, order a brat by the
stand at Section 126, take a seat (either 3 or 4) in Row 9 and wait for my beer
guy. But like Godot and Lefty, Kenneth will not arrive. Back to our last
conversation. After my friend Rick, a Cubs fan and good tipper, ordered our
second round, Kenneth said so all could hear, “Bring this guy to the park more
often.” I plan to this season; I only wish Kenneth would be there to accept the
tips.</span></span></div>
Brule Lakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18064595420011193426noreply@blogger.com1