Immigrants

Joan and Elsa

 My friend Elaine had a story about her immigrant family published in the Chicago Sun Times.  It includes a great picture of the family who came to America generations ago.  I am fortunate to have a more immediate immigrant in my life.  Elsa Mora came here from Cuba when she married Bill.  She has enriched my life with her stories and her perspective.  

The men who work in my garage are from Mexico and Africa.  We've gotten to know each other over the years.  They make moments of my everyday life more interesting.

My cardiologist is from Romania.  He loved it when I told him about Bill making a movie in his home country.

Diversity, inclusion, immigration are some of the most positive notions I can imagine.  I appreciate the Sun Times helping to spread this word around right now. 

 

Twice Told

 Natalie is graduating from college and is going off to a new beginning.   My college graduation felt like an ending.  I loved college,  The classes and the friends.  Could anything going forward be as great?

I didn’t have any family members coming to the ceremony so I wasn’t planning to attend.  But one of the girls in the sorority was also alone so I went to keep her company.  Later we went to a few parties.

As I was leaning in to say goodbye to a friend, the car door swung suddenly against my nose.  It really hurt.  And it hurt driving all the way back to Detroit.  It was broken.

Yes, my graduation was a breakup.  All the way.

Now I am back at Northwestern taking classes for oldsters.  Some of the same buildings are there, plus lots of new ones.  The sorority house is long gone, but my college roommate (who remains a best friend) lives on the same street where all of us gals once lived together.

Sometimes broken things come back together again…just in a different way.

200 Hundred Years

 1976.  The Bicentennial Year.  On July 4th Kathy and Jerry hosted a fabulous party.   The invitation said:  Do Something You Would Do Only Once Every 200 Years.

Phyllis played the kazoo.  Gertrude gave a rousing political speech.  Annette unleashed her psychic powers as a fortune teller.  She foretold Mitzi’s husband’s early death, but, of course, didn't tell (except to me.)

That fall Len and I dropped Bill off at college in Connecticut and drove up the coast towards Boston.  I became obsessed with taking a detour to see Plymouth Rock.  Having done no research, I was convinced it was a promontory easily spied by the Mayflower.

The Rock was a large stone displayed in an enclosure with greek columns.  Young people wore pilgrim costumes and sold trinkets.

Boston’s celebration was much more dignified and stuck to the familiar stories. I was grateful to be in the town where it happened.

Cinnamon Forever

 

Do you remember the old Ann Sathers on Belmont?  When it was a little storefront?  When Ann, who was a tall, scandinavian looking woman, would greet us at the door.? The waitresses were older ladies who looked like they could be Ann’s sisters.  One big family.

Bill loved the chicken.  We all loved the pies.  Everything was delicious.  Jay’s mother ate there everyday with her boss.

When Ann died the new owners closed the small space and took over the funeral parlor next door.  It seemed creepy, but that’s only us old-timers speaking.

Ann would have been so ashamed of this: during the pandemic, the politician who owns the restaurant was caught secretly serving his buddies.  They called it the “Cinnamon Roll Scandal.”

The Ann Sathers on Belmont is still there and there’s another one near me on Granville and Broadway.  I had a “notorious” cinnamon roll just the other day.

San Francisco

Melvin Belli

 Natalie is going to live in San Francisco after she graduates in June.  Here's a San Francisco story I remember well.

Jay and I went to Los Angeles for a Trial Lawyers convention.  At the opening cocktail party someone came up to me and asked: “Would you like to meet Melvin Belli?”  I didn’t know who Melvin Belli was but I said “sure.”

When Jay and his partner Joe Cohen saw who I was with, they came right over.  They certainly knew of “The King of Torts.”  Belli had a long list of celebrity clients.  And he took his place in American history by defending Jack Ruby after he shot Lee Harvey Oswald.

Belli practiced in San Francisco.  He was top dog in that town.  “You have to come up after the Convention.  I’ll show you a great time.”  And so a group of us drove up the Coast.  Belli came through for us splendidly.  

One young attorney who worked for Belli was particularly friendly and made sure we were treated royally wherever we went. Years later I noticed his name in the headlines.  He was with Jayne Mansfield when they both died in a fatal car crash.

Tears of a Fan

 Jerry Reinsdorf is so bad for Chicago he should be run out of town.  I’ll hoist the first pitchfork if you’ll join me.   The owner of the White Sox and Bulls has robbed our town of our joy.  The joy of looking forward to a new season (White Sox) or coming to the close of an exciting regular season (Bulls).  

The reason is simple: Reinsdorf won’t spend the money to field decent teams. So Sell.  You came here, you made tons of profit, take it and leave.   Okay, I understand that today’s crop of billionaires may not be ideal owners either. But I’ll settle for a few years of winning before I turn on them.

I’m starting my baseball class again in March.  We’re reading a collection of stories by the great Roger Angell.  I know I’ll love the book and the discussion, but I would so like to be able to add an exciting trip to the park.

Can-America?

 Trump is threatening to invade Canada and declare it as the “51st State.”  So, here’s an idea:  how about California, Oregon, and Washington declare that they are now Canadian Provinces.  Maybe Maine and Vermont too.

Here are some very good reasons for the move.  Government funded universal health care.  Abortion rights.  Strict gun laws.  Free education.

OK, you say.  That looks good.  But, we don’t want all that British stuff all over again.  So maybe we can strike a deal.  We’ll get the benefits of an enlightened Canadian government and we’ll acknowledge Prince Harry.  Because he already lives in California!

(Worse downside:  hockey will never replace football.)

No End to Ben

 The Reader let Ben Joravsky go.  Ben Joravsky!  Their ace writer.  

The one who has been with us forever.  Everyone knows the Reader is dying.  It’s glorious Chicago run is about to run out.  Oh, Reader:  Couldn’t you stay intact as you leave us? Cutting Ben is cutting out your heart.

The Reader has meant a lot to me.  It was through a Reader singles ad that I met my best man.  Southwest side guy meets north side gal. 

Back to Ben.  I never forgot his epic series A Simple Game.  He followed the Roosevelt High School basketball team in the 1992 season.  It is a perfect story for those of us who love our city and are capable of facing its truth. 

 We’re lucky that Ben has had a podcast for the past several years.  I am addicted.  You can find it on Apple Podcasts and other sites.  I hope Ben and his merry band of lefties will keep me company for as long as I’m here to listen.

Openings

  

The two grand openings I attended and remember most were the Treasure Island Grocery on Cornelia and Broadway and the Harold Washington Library on South State Street.

Treasure Island made it a party.  There was a whale for the kids to climb on and admire.  Workers were dressed up like pirates.  Best of all, the food was so much more interesting than from other stores in the neighborhood.  Over the years, they opened up several locations so  there was always a Treasure Island nearby.  I heard that a family feud caused trouble and Treasure Island eventually closed.

The Library opening told another story.  There had been a competition for the design.  I absolutely don’t know who could have chosen the ugly, out-dated structure that was built.  I’d like to think that Harold Washington would have preferred something more sleek bearing his name. This is Chicago!  We take pride in our architecture!

I guess the Library was in a hurry or ran out of money because the inside had no decoration.  But there was a lovely sun filled room on the top floor and a comfortable auditorium below.  Of course, there were books on the shelves so I guess that’s what counts most.  

The Chicago Public Library system is the most well run organization in the city. Bravo!

A Good Group

I enjoyed the time I worked for the Chicago Council of Lawyers.  Founded in 1969 by Jud Miner, It was a group of younger, less established so less constrained, attorneys. (Obama worked for Jud’s firm when he first came to Chicago.)

I organized the committee meetings, the annual luncheon, took care of the office.  You’ve heard me tell stories about the friendly elevator operator in the Monadnock Building or the time the Women’s Rights Committee broke the B-girl law at Mr. Kelly;s. Everything ran smoothly…until it didn’t.  

The Council hired a nice enough man to be the Executive Director.  Thus, my boss.  Territorial imperative took over and I behaved like a petulant child.  I don’t remember how I left, just that I did.

I was so pleased a few years ago when Ron,  one of the attorneys in my class at the Senior Center, said:  “I remember you Joan. from the Chicago Council of Lawyers.”  We had a good chat about Chicago back then.  A time of upheaval and hope

 

Adlai and Harry

 One of my early jobs after college was working on Adlai Stevenson’s campaign for President in 1956.  You may remember my talking about the headquarters on Washington Street in the building where atomic secrets were kept during WWII.

Looking back, I guess “I Like Ike” was unbeatable.  But then, we were filled with enthusiasm and hope. How could you do better than Eleanor Roosevelt showing up to shake hands with us all?

One of the perks of my lowly job was to be able to attend fundraisers featuring famous people and great food.  My favorite was one at which Harry Belafonte was the featured guest. He made a point of mingling with the “help” which included us and the people cooking and serving.  

When I was in college, I almost saw Harry at the Empire Room in the Palmer House downtown.  It was a group of housemates, celebrating a birthday, black and white. We had reservations, but were turned away.  I’m sure if Harry Belafonte had known he would have seated us up front.

Serenity

 My quest for serenity comes and goes and has taken me in several directions.  One of them was when I took a job with The Midwest Center for Human Potential.  I found them space on Harrison Street in the South Loop. It was in the 1970’s, a time when Esalen, est, encounter groups and Gestalt Therapy attracted many seekers.

The “money man” who funded the Center called me to his office for a chat.  I had showed up late for a program and he was concerned. I left feeling satisfied that we had cleared the air.

The Board was comprised of four or five therapists active in the Center.  Mr. Money was the President.  “I recorded a meeting with Joan which I will play now”, he announced.  He secretly taped me??? I was appalled.  

As I voiced my strong objections, the “human potential” people sat silently.  So much for serenity. Or for legality. I quit on the spot.

Looking back, I don’t regret this path completely. I met some interesting people. My friend Marsha and I got a lot out of a weekend we spent at Esalen in Big Sur, CA.

The Big Snow

 Some days are like no others.  You know, the ones when everyone remembers where they were and what they were doing.  In Chicago on January 27, 1967 it was The Big Snow.  It had started the night before.  Diane, our baby sitter, decided to stay overnight rather than try to come back the next morning.  I had an important appointment downtown.  I was getting divorced.

I still can’t believe I trudged over to the el and it was running.  When I arrived at Daley Plaza I was alone in a sea of white.  We were in an “arms race” then and there was talk of nuclear war. And, after the bomb, “the nuclear winter.” 

End of the marriage?  End of the world?  I took a breath.  No, I’m here now and it is gorgeous.  Downtown Chicago. Silent and calm.

I stayed for a few minutes to deliberately take it all in. The el would take me back to whatever waited for me at home.

I Read the Articles

 I’m not going to apologize for feeling more plus than minus about Hugh Hefner and Playboy magazine.  I even went to a fundraiser at the mansion once and had a great time. 

A lot of my good impression stems from being neighbors with Nat Lehrman, the Playboy 

Editor, and his wife Kus. Nat was funny, generous and smart.  He founded the Playboy Foundation which supported civil rights, women’s rights and social issues.  He was just a great guy. 

My other positive connection to Playboy was as a friend of Judy Wax, whose husband Sheldon, was Managing Editor.  Judy comforted me during a scary time.  My daughter was traveling around the world and there were weeks on end when she disappeared into the ether.  Judy understood. Her son had also taken up life in India.

Judy’s career as a writer was just beginning with her book: “Starting in the Middle.”  I certainly identified with that. She and Shel were headed to a booksellers convention in LA when their plane crashed at O’Hare.

Chicago Welcomes MLK?

Bill ran into Steve James, the documentary filmmaker (Hoop Dreams), at Sundance.  James is working on the time when Martin Luther King came to Richard J. Daley’s Chicago to fight for fair housing.  “Oh, my mom could tell you a lot about that”, Bill said.  

So, what could I tell Steve James?  We were excited about the civil rights hero coming to our town. We went to see MLK at the old Chicago Stadium.  It was packed.  But what sticks with me are the men wearing trench coats who walked up and down the aisles taking pictures of us.  We joked through the years that our faces were probably somewhere in FBI files.

Daley was the BOSS and he was used to getting his way.  I lived among a group of young married who enjoyed the other Chicago.  We cheered Len Despres when he stood up to Daley in the City Council.  We followed every word when Mike Royko nailed it in his columns and book. We listened to Studs Terkel in the mornings, and The Midnight Special on Saturday nights. 

King’s fight for fair housing was in 1966.  Yes, my condo on the north side houses every imaginable group.  But, ultimately, we are still a divided city.                                                               

 

The Passing Parade

 My friend Bonnie was so into politics.  She would text me almost every day with her ideas about the latest twist and turn.  When I would disagree, she would say:  “But I’ve done the research!”  And now it’s all happening without her.  Which brings me, of course, to the fundamental point: we all walk for a few steps in the passing parade.

Does this mean we can’t take it all too seriously?  “I insist upon being engaged.  My voice can make a difference. I am history.” Yes, we are asked to dance to two tunes.  Engagement in the face of impermanence.

I’ve decided to look at it this way:  As I walk in the parade, the scenery I view can be of my own making and I will take it all in as I pass by.

January 20

 I’m wondering how I am going to cope with another four years of Trump.  I’m sure you are too.  The countdown will be over tomorrow and it begins.

Here’s what I’m telling myself.  The goal is to be calm, centered and confident in my position of defiance.  (Who you? Joan? Okay, you can roll your eyes if you want.)  

Dan Harris has helped.  He’s the meditation guy who looks and talks like us.  I’m re-reading his book, 10% Happier, and found him on Substack. He’s offering a special week of meditations starting today.

 The Illinois Coalition for Immigrant Rights has a Know Your Rights card. (Thanks John Bachtell for posting this on Facebook.)  We can all use the advice. The ACLU says it’s ready and I believe them.  Let’s pass around all the things we know we can do.

Remember, January 20 is Martin Luther King Day. When I was feeling really anxious, Bill said: “We Shall Overcome.”