Stanley Cup

The Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup finals in six games, their first championship since 1961 (icons Bobby Hull and Stan Mikita were youngsters), on an overtime goal from a tough angle by young stud Patrick Kane. At first there was confusion over whether the puck went in the net, but the replay left no doubt. I had been rooting for the Flyers and would have loved the series to go seven games, but I’m a Blackhawk fan, too, and enjoyed the celebrations afterwards. Sightings of players and the Cup itself have occurred ever since the charter flight landed in Chicago late last night. Lord Stanley’s Cup dates back to 1892, when the Governor-General of Canada had it made to reward the top amateur team. It weighs about 32 pounds, and hockey has a nice tradition where everyone on the team can take it anywhere he chooses for a day. WXRT has been playing the Hawks’ unofficial theme song “Chelsea Daggers” by the Fratellis (like the Ramones, the last names of all members of this Scottish alternative band are Fratelli). Jon Fratelli sang between the second and third period of game 5, pretty interesting since what they play at the games is the instrumental hook. The words, in fact, are risqué (i.e., “I was good she was hot . . . gave me gear thank you dear bring your sister over here”). Toni’s sister Mary Ann emailed her daughters before the game to get their Rosary out. The Flyers were warriors and did Philadelphia proud. The Conn Smythe trophy probably should have gone to goalie Antti Niemi, but since it clearly was a team victory, perhaps it was appropriate for captain Jonathan Toews to receive it.

After Henry Clay’s son Theodore had an accident that resulted in a blow to the head, doctors performed a procedure called trepanning that involved drilling into the skull to drain fluid from the cranium. Theodore suffered from uncontrollable fits and then dementia, no thanks to what now seems to be a barbaric procedure. While in the Kentucky legislature Clay jousted with a Federalist relative of Chief Justice John Marshall, climaxing with a duel with pistols. Each fired three rounds; Clay suffered a slight thigh wound.

I sent Jerry Davich’s Post-Tribune article about Gary’s Gay Pride parade, whose theme was “Free To Be, Me,” to Anne Balay. She contacted him about publicizing her oral history project “Steel Closet.” He promised to mention it on his blog and perhaps in print. He has a big blog following, including my buddy Darcey Wade. Anne is attending the two-year anniversary bash at Sappho’s Salon featuring controversial feminist guest performer Holly Hughes. I learned on Google that Holly was one of the so-called NEA Four, to wit, as I told Anne: "Hughes, a New York performance artist, was penalized for having allegedly stuck her hand up her vagina–a gesture that, however mutually rewarding for audience and performer, occurred during a federally funded performance, which the NEA felt violated its obscenity rules." Anne replied: “Doesn't she know there's daemons in there?!?!? Great quote!” I had to look up the meaning of “Daemon” and learned that in Greek mythology they are spirits, both good and evil, such as love (or lust) that lie somewhere between the mortal and the divine.

Alissa emailed from Barcelona: “Hola! Since I wrote last I have been couch-surfing (online network of travelers who stay on people's couches rather than hostels/hotels). It is the best thing since sliced bread. I honestly had no idea how much I would love this. We have had 3 hosts- a guy named Nabil in Paris, a woman named Beatrice and her two children in Rouen, and now 2 guys & 2 girls in Barcelona. Without even having met us, Nabil bought us all tickets to a concert (Air & the Hot Rats- Air did the soundtrack for the movie 'The Virgin Suicides') Very cool. Took us to all these places around the city that tourists don't go to. Had picnics (Parisians are obsessed with picnics) and saw a night view from a church overlooking the city. Beatrice is who I want to be when I grow up. She hangs out with an ex drummer of some French punk band from the 80ś and once sold her car so she could afford to travel through Africa. She lives in a small town in France where no one watches their children because it is so safe. We almost kidnapped her son, Melchior because he is the cutest little French child in the world. Gonzalo, Lu , Caro and Koldo are pure bohemian awesomeness. They own almost nothing. Everything that they do have in their home was salvaged from days when rich people throw out their old things. Their living room is a constantly changing mural because everyone they meet adds to it so they can remember the people who pass through. We wish we were half as cool as these people but they seem to really like us. We’re making them dinner tonight even though we leave for our hostel today.” The adventure continues. Toni and I were in Barcelona two years ago with Jim and Kate Migoski, and Toni almost had her purse snatched in a hotel lobby. The city was dirty, but I had a good time walking down Las Ramblas and gawking at the street performers. Big Jim and I posed with a garish woman in a fat lady outfit.

Mitch Lenyo wanted advice on going back to school, perhaps to pursue an advanced degree in history. He worries that his writing skills are deficient. He’d like to be a lawyer but the cost of law school is astronomical. Several times he’s expressed interest in moving to Hawaii, something I did in 1965 after quitting law school and getting married. I emailed back: “I am always reluctant to advise students to attend grad school unless they really enjoy research; also the job market is very tight in that field. You'd be a good high school teacher and might consider IUN's Urban Teacher Education program (UTEP). I still think establishing residency in Hawaii is for you. You could look into the cost of law school, the need there for teachers, etc. IUN just started a Masters program in Liberal Studies that involves developing writing and research skills.”

Someone from the university approached me who hoped I could be an unofficial adviser to IUN’s newspaper, the Northwest Phoenix, reading copy beforehand to make sure nothing scandalous gets published. I declined and replied that doing that can be a slippery slope, as I learned in 1979 when I held a similar role while teaching a course on the history of American journalism. Some people blamed me for things in the paper and saw me as a power behind the throne. For that reason I left all final decisions on what went in to the editors, John Petalas and Joe Salacian. Plus I don’t believe in censorship.

Former Education professor John Ban brought 30 seniors to the university to learn about the Archives and Region history. I did my audience participation “Age of Anxiety” talk that had worked so well at the Chesterton (Duneland) Historical Society. I resisted a temptation to add anecdotes about a guy in Hammond who found a rat in his toilet bowl and about a woman who attended a burlesque show in Cal City. One stripper was so obese and large-breased that she could swing a boob over her shoulder. A Steel Shavings subscriber among the seniors asked if I regretted being so personal in my “Retirement Journal.” Another, Dolores Armenth, told me she’s in my Fifties issue, having been interviewed by one of my students, Angela Grizzle. I actually used three photos of Delores in volume 23. She told Angela Grizzle that cigarettes cost 25 cents a pack and that “my friends and I had to look in the encyclopedia to see what men looked like without clothes.” She added that “sex was acceptable between engaged couples, but most young people I knew had sex with only one person during high school.” Before my talk I told an anecdote about Ban defeating me in a ping pong tournament and then withdrawing due to a bad back. I told John that I wanted to bring back former Faculty Organization chairmen to gavel to order meetings in the coming year. He chaired the Faculty Org three times during the 1980s and thought it was a fine idea. He mentioned graduating from high school in 1950 and going to work in the mill, where people told him to get an education and don’t be stuck working such a dirty job. I love running into people ten years older than I who are vibrant and intellectually active. Tom Higgins, whose memoir of being at Horace Mann and going to Ted’s Drive-In got laughs, is another role model. Located where Routes 12 and 20 came together near Aetna, Ted’s had waitresses dressed like drum majorettes who’d sometimes dance if you gave them money for the juke box.