The death of Lily Ledbetter, the champion of equal pay for women, reminded me of a favorite moment I wrote about in my book. Here it is.
There’s a charming article in the New Yorker about how a group of women lawyers went back to McSorley’s restaurant/bar in New York to celebrate the signing of the Lily Ledbetter Law and reminisce about how they had sued McSorley’s in 1969 for barring women. It was a bloody battle.
In the 1970’s I worked for the Chicago Council of Lawyers. The women in the Women’s Rights Committee decided to challenge Chicago’s B-girl law. The law barred unescorted women from sitting at the bar in nightclubs and restaurants.
I decided to join the women when they launched their challenge. They chose the nightclub Mr. Kelly’s. This club was a hot spot on Rush Street which attracted the most popular comedians and singers. On the night we went, a little known comedienne named Lily Tomlin was opening for Shelley Berman. The women sent her a note telling her about the B-girl law and advising her that they were going to infiltrate the bar. Lily, who had no clout at that point, still had the guts to tell the management that she wouldn’t go on unless the women were seated. Mr. Kelly’s caved and the law was eventually overturned.
I wish I could go back to Mr. Kelly’s, but it is long gone. Lily Tomlin became a star.
As you know I love my Literature of Baseball Class. This time the book is: "Why We Love Baseball." It's a countdown of 50 memorial moments in the game.
I've found that incidents in baseball (and other sports) give us a clear look at the complexities of life.
Harvey Haddix pitched 12 perfect innings during which his team failed to score a run. They ended up losing. Haddix, throughout his life, downplayed the achievement concentrating on the loss.
I believe that his perfect effort far outshines the outcome. The human story is that we can give it our best knowing that we always live among others.
This reminds me of an experience in my life. I'm including it here.
I was reading an article about grief. It mentioned that people who are grieving frequently imagine that their loved one is still around, perhaps as a bird, dog or cat. This reminded me of an episode from a few years back. After a few dates, a man I knew invited me to visit him at his house near the beach in Wilmington, North Carolina. He seemed like an okay fellow, and I loved North Carolina as a child, so I said: “yes.”
As soon as I walked into his house, I was afraid it was going to be a long weekend. There were old newspapers everywhere, coffee grounds on the kitchen table, dishes in the sink. His wife had died a few months before so I was ready to cut him some slack, but it was difficult. I quickly retreated to the space his daughter had prepared for me. It was a refuge from the clutter.
It wasn’t too long before I noticed a beautiful red bird. It was sitting on the sill every time I looked out of the window. I imagined that the wife’s soul was lingering so I started talking to the wife/bird. I found out a lot about this man who was brutally left behind by her sudden death. Enough to relax more than I thought I would.
We had a good time that weekend. I didn’t tell him about the bird, but he owed that creature a lot .
And so did I.
This is from my book: Joan Chandler Today
There's been an uptick in attendance at the Sox games these past two nights. The logical explanation is that fans are showing up to be able to say they were in the stands when the Sox proved themselves to be the all-time worst team in baseball.
The team has stayed true to its frustrating ways. They have won the last two games, at the last minute even, thus (so far) denying breaking the record at home. Today is their last chance to award the ignoble prize right here on the South Side.
I'm inclined to hope they lose so we can boo them on their way. On the other hand, I don't hate the players who just don't belong in the major leagues. I reserve that for the owner, who probably won't be anywhere near the ballpark today.
My car died in the parking lot of Auto Zone on Clark. Mario, my garage guru, warned me that he heard funny noises when he started it. So, I was there seeking a check up on the battery. Nothing wrong there.
It was when I attempted to leave that the death occurred. Turned the key. Nothing. The resurrection began when my fixer guru showed up to take me home while I waited for his tow truck, and the diagnosis, and dreaded estimate of costs.
My 2002 Acura has given me a wonderful, free life, I go where I want, when I want, sharing the ride or not. And now, my four wheeled companion is beginning to wear down. I think we’re dwindling at about the same pace.
No one at the DMV is grabbing my keys. Should I surrender?
For the first time since 2006, an American man is playing in the US Open Tennis finals.
The end of the disastrous White Sox season is mercifully only weeks away. The Cubs haven't scored a run in days. So, if we didn’t give up weeks ago, we can finally turn our attention away.
This is what hope feels like on this beautiful Sunday morning.
