Hammond Doings

“Lead me back to the place I'm from
Past the farms and debris
You can see it from the highlands
As you roam 'long the range”

         “Come to the City,” The War on Drugs

While doing research in the Archives for a Hammond book similar to Jerry Davich’s “Lost Gary,” Times reporter Joseph Pete, seeking anecdotes, asked me for memories of Gary’s neighbor city.  After noting that the late historian Lance Trusty was the leading expert, I suggested he consult historian Joseph C. Biggot’s essay in “The Encyclopedia of Chicago,” which traces Hammond’s origins to Ernest Hohman’s stagecoach stop during the 1850s and George H. Hammond’s post-Civil War slaughterhouse.  I told him of paying 20 dollars at the grand old Parthenon Theater (in 1974, seven years before it closed) to watch a closed-circuit direct feed from Kinshasa, Zaire, of challenger Muhammad Ali defeating undefeated heavyweight champ George Foreman with his so-called rope-a-dope strategy.  Beforehand, a rowdy audience cheered and jeered during a softcore porn movie and openly made bets on the fight.  Around then I attended a talk by Hammond native Jean Shepherd at Purdue Cal, who beforehand was presented with a dozen White Castle sliders. At the Hammond Civic Center Phil and Dave played indoor soccer games, coached by Bob Laramie.  

In 1979, while I was faculty adviser to IUN’s Northwest Phoenix, the editors ran excerpts of Economics professor Leslie Singer’s report commissioned by the city of Hammond about its declining downtown, recommending that steps be taken to counteract perceptions of the city as predominantly black.  Mike Nommensen produced a ribald cartoon purporting to show Singer telling an African American baby, “Get out of town.”  At the last minute, after threats from Singer’s SPEA dean John Hunger, the editors deleted the cartoon.

I showed Joseph Pete my Eighties Steel Shavings(volume 28, 2007) that contains Lance Trusty’s “End of an Era: The 1980’s in the Calumet.”  The population of Hammond, “seemingly the least changed city in the Calumet,” Trusty wrote, “dropped from 93,714 to 84,000”and lost “its downtown and most of its industrial base.”:

  State Street resembled a devastated European city of 1945. Some life remained on Hohman Avenue, even after Goldblatt’s, the very heart and soul of old Hammond, closed. The Hammond Timesescaped to Munster and became The Times of somewhere, and NIPSCO, after a major rebuilding, moved its engineering and planning divisions to a vacant insurance building in Merrillville.  Downtown’s chief tenants were the growing St. Margaret Hospital Complex, the First Baptist Church, NIPSCO’s corporate headquarters, banks, and one bustling retailer, the Army & Navy Store.  The old downtown had gone the way of the trolley car and the buggy whip.

In an editor’s note to volume 28 I wrote: 

  Celebrating its centennial in 1984, Hammond had its first Republican mayor in 30 years.  Thomas M. McDermott had handily defeated Edward Raskosky after ridiculing the incumbent’s “urban renewal” efforts to convert the former Goldblatt’s, in the challenger’s words, into “the world’s largest flea market.”  Post-Tribunepolitical reporter Jim Proctor labeled Hammond a “wrinkled old city with a dead downtown and a declining population.”

The Eighties Shavings, titled “The Uncertainty of Everyday Life,” includes personal accounts of the tragic 1982 Cline Avenue Bridge ramp extension accident that resulted in 13 deaths and 17 serious injuries.  Ryan Cramer wrote:

  My mother was in the backyard of our small house in north Hammond when she heard a loud boom, followed by sounds of fire trucks and police sirens.  Then she spotted helicopters in the air.  “I remember it like yesterday,”she declared a quarter-century later. From TV she learned that the Cline Avenue extension had collapsed like a row of dominoes.  She knew one of the victims.

IUN student Andrew Laurinec wrote “Snowing Soap Flakes”: 

  My family lived in the Robertsdale neighborhood of north Hammond nestled between a popcorn factory, Lever Brothers, and the Amoco refinery.  Depending on the wind direction, you’d either smell popcorn, soap or whatever kind of noxious gas the oil plant was burning off at the time.  Sometimes at night Lever brothers would release a cloud of smoke and God knows what else into the air.  It was not unusual to see people washing their cars early in the morning. After all, there was already soap on their car.

1984 Hammond Clark graduate Jane Shimala recalled memorable moments during her largely unsupervised teen years:

  My first year at Clark I met Mary Anne, whose barren home life was similar to mine. She babysat for three children, and I usually kept her company.  We had free reign of the house and sometimes cooked, watch movies, and talked on the phone. One day we took the parents’ beautiful white Cadillac for a joy ride.  Though just 14, I had practiced my driving skills with my father in a parking lot, so I took the wheel.  We cruised up and down 119^thStreet with the radio blasting “Like a Virgin” by Madonna.  With the kids in the back seat I managed to go down several one-way streets the wrong way. Several senior citizens yelled at me, but we didn’t run into any police.  At that age we thought we were invincible, and that day we were.

  Two years later, my parents went away for the weekend, leaving the house to me, my 17-year-old dropout brother, and his live-in girlfriend Karen.  Of course, we threw a big party. The month before, Jim had been in a terrible car accident and suffered a collapsed lung.  During the party Karen pushed him down the stairs, and next thing I knew paramedics were in the house.  We assured them Jim was fine and that they could be on their way. Looking to retaliate, I found Karen passed out on the front lawn.  Before she crashed, she managed to throw a brick through the windshield of Mary Anne’s boyfriend.

Hammond native Melissa described herself as a “rock and roll girl” and told IUN student David Vanette:

  In 1981 I was all of 14 when I first got stoned.  Every now and again I’d go to school, but, really, I just stopped by when my mom dropped me off. I got a good view of the hallway leading to the back exit, and that was about it.  I got kicked out of Clark and sent to Hammond High, high being the key word. Not that I was getting high all the time, but a large majority.  It was fun, and there wasn’t really anything else to do in Hammond.  So I starting out small time smoking weed.  That’s about as far as it got.  Tripped on acid once in a while, but that was rare. I just enjoyed the Roller Dome skating rink and hanging out with friends.

Roller Dome in heyday and in last incarnation

Built in 1952, the Roller Dome on 730 Gostlin Street featured a live organist playing various types of music on a Wurlitzer, depending on the audience.  It closed in 2008 and reopened for a few years as an indoor soccer facility.1984 Hammond Clark graduate Jane 

 Ray Emory, 97, at Pearl Harbor ceremony

Despite the numerous commemorations resulting from World War II navy vet George H. W. Bush’s death, Pearl Harbor Day passed almost unnoticed, as public memory fades. Heather Nauert, former FOX commentator selected by Trump to be U.N. Ambassador, claimed our alliance with Germany dated back to D-Day.  The 1941 Japanese attack motivated Bush to become a navy pilot right out of high school.  Just 20 survivors attended the ceremony on Oahu near where five battleships sank and where over two thousand sailors lost their lives. 

At Chesterton library I checked out two early CDs by The War on Drugs, who lived in the Philadelphia’s Fishtown neighborhood when recording them. I returned Anne Tyler’s “Vinegar Girl,” praised by” People for its irresistible humanity and unerring “ear and eye for familial give-and-take.” Francine Prose wrote: “Anne Tyler’s novels are invitations to spend time in the houses of the Baltimore neighborhood that she built – house by house, block by block – over her long and bright career.”

Ray Smock’s latest, titled, “If I Was a President and the Congress Called My Name” begins:

    It was 1973 in the middle of the Watergate Scandal that Paul Simon’s song “Loves Me Like a Rock” made it to number 2 on the pop charts. It captured the disillusionment and the angst of those years, when we discovered that our president was a crook. The third verse of the song hit me like a rock on the head at the time. It seemed so perfect. Now, 45 years later, Simon’s song still resonates.

If I was a president
And the Congress called my name
I said now who do, who do you think you're fooling?
Who do you think you're fooling?
I got the presidential seal
I got the presidential podium
And my momma she loves me
She loves me
She gets down on her knees and hugs me
She loves me like a rock
She'd love me like the rock of ages.

We all knew that Richard Nixon was hiding behind the presidential seal. He and his lawyers kept using the concept of “executive privilege,” to avoid complying with the investigations of special prosecutors and the House Judiciary Committee and the Supreme Court, that eventually brought him down. When I heard the song in those days, I always pictured Nixon hiding behind the presidential podium, peaking out to see if anyone was after him. Only a mother’s love could save him or forgive him.

  President Donald J. Trump is about to have several powerful entities call his name. Starting in January, Congress, in the guise of several major House committees, could call his name, and Trump, no doubt, will hold up the Presidential Seal and hope it has the power of Kryptonite to weaken the resolve of Congress to take him on. But will the Presidential Seal and the Presidential Podium be enough to stop the investigations of Special Counsel Robert Mueller? Or will Trump be able to ward off prosecutors in the Southern District of New York and other places, where investigations and lawsuits are pending?

  Each day, it seems, we learn new sordid details. A month after Trump’s inauguration, the Saudi government paid for 500 rooms at the Trump Hotel in DC for a program to bring U.S. servicemen and women to DC. Once in the luxury hotel the guest were sent to Capitol Hill to lobby against a bill the Saudis opposed. The Trump Hotel, owned by the president, netted $270,000 for this program. No one has charged the president with violations of the emoluments clause of the Constitution, where accepting anything of value from a foreign government is forbidden. But add this to the list of high crimes and misdemeanors that could become Articles of Impeachment in 2019.

At the condo Becca and two friends made lemon mousse for a Chesterton French class assignment with Angie’s assistance.  Members of the choral group Sandpipers, they frequently broke out in song.  I was nearby and occasionally intermingled with them. I’d love to interview them about their lives, seemingly so different from Hammond teens in the 1980s. 

 Bears defense celebrates, USA Today photo

Weekend sports highlights include IU’s one-point roundball win over Louisville and Chicago’s upset of the L.A. Rams, 15-6, thanks to brilliant play by a Vic Fangio-coached defense and despite a poor day for QB Mitch Trubisky.  After eight dismal seasons missing the playoffs the Bears are finally earning their reputation as “Monsters of the Midway.”  Sunday we attended the Memorial Opera House matinee of “It’s a Wonderful Life,” then dined at Pesto’s.  Leftovers from my “rather large”(to quote from the menu, which didn’t do it justice) serving of lasagna should be good for several meals.  Saying hello from a nearby table was bridge buddy Barbara Stroud, who introduced me to two grandchildren attending VU.

 Tom Rea and Chuck Tomes

Duplicate bridge player Chuck Tomes, a former Math teacher whom I first met when he umpired Porter Acres softball games, has scored over 70 percent with several partners. Barb Walczak’s Newsletter congratulated Tom Rea and Tomes on a 72.69% at Charlie Halberstadt’s Wednesday Valpo game at Banta Senior Center.  Tomes recalled: “We plussed 18 of 27 boards, avoided major mistakes, got a lot of breaks, and had a lot of laughs.  Our Mexican two-Diamond opener got us a great contract for a top board.”  Note: a Mexican (Romex Bidding System) two-Diamond opener generally indicates a strong, game-forcing hand, either balanced, with long Diamonds or with three strong suits and either a void or a singleton.

Mastery

“The happiness of a man in this life does not consist in the absence but in the mastery of his passions.” Alfred Lord Tennyson

Tom Hallum achieved the rank of Diamond Life Master, having accumulated 500 points over a 40-year competitive bridge career. Longtime partner Joe Chin presented him with two cakes.  In Barbara Walczak’s NewsletterClaire Murvihill declared:“As well as being an awesome player, he is an excellent and enthusiastic teacher. He’d come over to my house and, in exchange for pizza, share his expertise with a bunch of us lower on the ladder. I still find myself repeating some of his axioms, including, ‘Clubs usually take care of themselves.’”  Lynne Kostopoulos noted: “He was so supportive and eager to help me improve my game when we played.  As an opponent, he is always so gracious and pleasant.  He will give advice or an opinion when asked but, otherwise not.” Steve Watson said: “Tom is a fierce competitor who truly enjoys the analytic part of the game.  His deep penetrating analysis extends all the way from the bidding, or lack thereof, of his opponents, to card reading and play, to opponent tendencies, and even to opponent gestures, mannerisms, and past history at the table.”

Tom Rea and I each earned .28 of a masterpoint for registering a 56.25 percent in the Chesterton game.  I hadn’t been partners with Tom before and wish I had two hands over, one where I was too timid in the bidding and the other when I attempted an unnecessary finesse.  Otherwise, we did fine and enjoyed each other’s company.  Tom is a former air force officer, and we discussed the recent Chicago Air Show, in which planes took off from Gary airport.  Jim Carson said he once lay down on an incline near 80/94 and watched jets zoom right over his head.  Director Alan Yngve congratulated Terry Bauer for earning an amazing 24 gold points at a regional tournament in St. Louis.  Partnering with Bill Birk, they finished first in three events, second in a fourth and sixth (of 60 teams) in the “Gold Rush.” Terry reported that his two young grandsons like Hong Kong’s international school. One’s teacher is from Australia, the other’s from Maine.

In Bridge Bulletin Billy Miller lamented that a woman in the early stages of Alzheimer’s whose love of bridge kept her mind and spirit strong couldn’t play on certain days because she had too many masterpoints. “The minute she stopped playing bridge,”Miller asserted, “it was like the light switch in her life was turned off.”  Such red tape has not prevented my former partner Dee Van Bebber from playing in local games even though I’m pretty certain she has earned hundreds of points over the years. Miller concluded: “We need to be more inclusive in times of need.”  I told Dee’s present partner, Dee Browne (Chuck Tomes, who usually brings both, calls them “Dee squared”) that a famous historian shares her name but without the “e,” Dee Brown, author of “Bury My Head at Wounded Knee: An Indian History of the American West” (1970).

Novelist Richard Russo masterfully brings even minor characters to life, witness 70-year-old semi-retired English professor Tom Newhouse in “Horseman.”  Reduced to a single class, his James Joyce seminar, the widower was known for bonhomie and largess with seniors of drinking age. He enters the Hub Pub, a campus hangout wearing a tweed hat over wild white hair and orders two pitchers of beer, one for students engaged in a drinking game and the other which he brings to a booth containing junior faculty Janet Moore and Tony Hope, chagrined that he is joining them.  Squeezing in close to Janet, he says, “You know what I like about you, Moore?”  Tony guesses what she is thinking, her tits, but Newhouse confides, “You’re a good dancer.”  “But you’ve never seen me dance,” she replies. 

Newhouse had recently been forced to attend a sensitivity seminar after an accusation of “inappropriate touching.” Janet, recipient of a bear hug, thinks of him as “the local Mr. Chips, a man who had all he could do not to let alcohol and loneliness undermine his legacy.”  Janet ultimately recognizes an innate generosity, invites him to Thanksgiving dinner, and confesses that she once was a good dancer and celebrated passing prelims by getting on the bar of a biker joint and belting out “Somebody to Love” by Jefferson Airplane.  Russo wrote:

  “That must have been something,”he said.  “I wish that I’d been there.”

  “Yeah, well, you missed it,” she told him.

  “Hey,” he said, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Just because I wasn’t there doesn’t mean I can’t remember it.”

Russo’s “Mr. Chips” reference is to James Hilton’s 1934 novella “Goodbye, Mr. Chips,” about beloved teacher Mr. Chipping, based on the author's personal experiences at a British boarding school.  The story has been adapted in films, musicals, and radio and television series.  Peter O’Toole played Mr. Chips both in a 1969 movie and on stage.

from Horace Mann 1970 yearbook; above Thespian Club members (Bernie Konrady front, middle); below, senior varsity swimmers Randy Weiss, Jeff Landsman, Len Predawn, Rich Flora, Bernie Konrad

I interviewed Bernie Konrady at the Archives, and then, having bonded, we continued our conversation at Ivy’s Bohemia House in Chesterton.  Born in 1952, Bernie grew up on Gary’s northside and attended Holy Angels through eighth grade. An older sister of Valpo mayor Jon Costas was his first crush. On Horace Mann’s varsity swim team for four years, he graduated in 1970 when, fleetingly, the school was fully integrated.  Proud to have grown up in the “Steel City,” Bernie said he wouldn’t trade those days for anything.  Those were halcyon times indeed in the city’s evolution; too bad they didn’t last.  Whites began moving away.  While Bernie was at the University of Northern Colorado on a swim scholarship, the neighborhood became rough.  Somebody shot their dog.  A rock crashed through a window - the final straws for the elder Konradys.

Sixty-five years earlier, Bernie’s grandfather Andrew Konrady came to pioneer Gary to work in the mill    and shared a bed in a Slovak boarding house run by a woman whose daughter Julia he married.  Andrew and John started Konrady Brothers Coal Company with funds provided by Julia’s mother. Julia kept the books.  Bernie credited his family legacy, beginning with his great-grandmother, for entrepreneurial skills that served him well in life.  During the late 1980s, Bernie started Konrady Plastics on Arthur Street in Gary with wife Sue keeping the books and acting as office manager. When he sought to expand the business on property in Portage Mayor Sammi Maletta told city officials that he’d known Konrady since he was a kid and vouched for him. Daughter Leah Konrady is CEO of One Region, Bernie invited Toni and me to the organization’s annual luncheon.

One Region CEO Leah Konrady

Konrady was particularly proud of the role his father Bernard Konrady played while a state senator in the early development of IUN’s med school. Responding to my inquiry, Health and Human Services dean Pat Bankson wrote:

  [Philip] Bainbridge and [Bernard] Konrady were trying to establish a med school in NW Indiana. The state responded by establishing a statewide multi-campus system in 1972. Legislators established the Lake County Medical Center Development Agency whose board levied a tax on hotel/motel rooms to support the new branch campus as well as nursing programs at Purdue Cal and Allied Health programs at IUN.  The legislation was changed more than a decade ago to direct the tax to support tourism, with a capped amount going to all the programs it had supported before, long after Konrady and Bainbridge had passed on.  I met Bernie but not Phil when I came to campus in 1978. The program up to 2013 was a two-year program, not premed, just the preclinical years, so students would go to indy after us for their last two years.  Under my leadership we added years 3 and 4 of med school. So yes, they helped establish a well-functioning and stellar med school branch.  The tax still exists and supports ours and other health related programs in NW Indiana. We owe the legislators a debt of gratitude for their foresight and making our campus a jewel in the crown of the IUSM system.

Trump said on Fox and Friends,“If I was impeached, the markets would crash and everyone would be poor.” Ray Smock sneered, “He must think the entire economy revolves around him. And how does he explain the amount of poverty in America even with a thriving stock market?” Scott Walsh piped in: “Trump knows nothing about history, but apparently he thinks of himself as a latter-day Louis the 14th. 'I am the state.'”

The “Final Jeopardy” category being “U.S. Historic Sites,” contestants were asked to identify one dedicated in 1864 whose motto is “Our Most Sacred Shrine.” Answer: Arlington National Cemetery. None knew it.  Guesses included Gettysburg Cemetery, the Lincoln Memorial, and the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.  Sad.  I frequently visited those hallowed grounds while working summers at Boys Village of Maryland during the late 1960s, the reason, I assume, to impress the incarcerated teens.

For a class assignment street-smart Aaron Wiley, an aspiring teacher, wrote about his family background, present situation, hopes for the future, and an unforgettable character, “Old Man Johnson”:

  At one time I wanted to be a police officer - something many children aspire to. I do not like school, never did and still do not. Putting my brain into overdrive is taxing and tiresome.  What keeps me going is the payoff.   I attended Ball State for a few semesters but after switching majors a few times realized I was costing my mom too much money so last summer I decided to attend IUN.  I’m an Education major because helping children is something I am passionate about.  I’m from the inner city of Chicago and know how children can easily be influenced. I want to reach them before they are sucked into a lifestyle of making quick money through selling drugs or robbing people.  My mother, Yolanda, a Chicagoan, was an Illinois hearing officer until she retired in 2005 as a result of her father passing, which really took a toll on her.  Certain songs would remind her of him and she’d start crying.  My father, Joseph, is from Gary. He worked for the Post-Tribuneand now is a landscaper, cutting  grass in the summer and plowing  snow in the winter.  My dad has ulcers in his legs, which hampers his ability to walk.  A stroke has affected his brain. He has a hard time gathering his thoughts.   My mom is the middle child. She had a younger sister who passed away at a young age and an older sister Jay.  My dad, on the other hand, has nine sisters and a twin brother, all with children. His family is so big I do not know all the names. I am closer to my mom's side. I am also a middle child, sandwiched between younger brother Brandon and Terrance, who has a different father, is 14 years older than me, and lives in California. Brandon is a hospital cook and lives in Indianapolis.  

  My uncle passed away last year after a four-year battle with cancer.  He was a constant presence in my life, taking care of my brother and me while my mom worked.  He took and picked us up from school, and planned excursions, letting us experience Chicago from many different points of view. My uncle fought through his health problems as best he could and put on a brave face to the world. Although he never complained, it was obvious that he was slowly withering away. It got to the point where he was hospitalized.  Over the summer I  had bought tickets for us to see the Bulls play the Celtics. In the hospital he insisted that he’d still be able to go.  When it became necessary to insert a ventilator tube down his throat, my uncle demanded that it be removed.  After consulting his brothers and sisters, my mom, who had power of attorney, granted his wish. He stayed alive only for a few hours.  Near the end he gave me a fist bump.  I wept, knowing what it meant. 

  I began substitute teaching at the Lighthouse Academy in Highland.  My first-graders were getting out of their seats, asking me all types of questions, messing with one another, and challenging my authority. The teacher’s assistants helped in a major way because I literally had no control over the students.  At the end of the day, I sat in my car for ten minutes contemplating if I really wanted to be a teacher.

  I attended the Saint Patrick’s Day parade in Chicago, first time that I can recall. People were wearing all types of green clothing.  I arrived about an hour early and noticed many college students in the crowd.  When the parade started, before long, I was paying more attention to them acting wild than the boring parade I could’ve seen on TV.  Some were climbing trees while others threw plastic water bottles at them.  The experience reminded me of a basketball game, better in person than on TV.         

    Former postal worker Mr. Johnson is like the great-grandfather I never had. I can count on him to make me laugh and raise my spirits. A former army staff sergeant originally from Alabama, he relocated to Chicago because his sister was there.  He married three times but has no children. My grandma lives in his building, and they developed a friendship.  A few years ago, Mr. Johnson fell and she took him to the hospital before rehabbing in a nursing home. He  hated it there, so my grandma brought him home.  His legs and arms were stiff and he became wheelchair-bound.  I became one of his caregivers.  He could still move his legs but he did not possess the strength to walk. He could write and eat but his fingers were permanently in one position due to arthritis.  In a way, “Old Man Johnson” was like an adult baby; he could do some things for himself but needed somebody to wash him, brush his teeth, fix his food, and other things. He was cognitively sharp and used to doing things on a schedule (army background). During the week he went to a daycare center for adults. I had to get up at 4:30 a.m. to get him ready.   We often talked sports. He loved boxing, football (especially the Packers), and baseball. Although basketball was not his favorite sport he did have a favorite player, Magic Johnson. He knew my love for basketball and being inquisitive, would have me break down what was going on. To sum up, Mr. Johnson has had a profound impact on my life.  I admire his easy-going manner and positive outlook.  Though 94 years old, his memory is sharp, and I love hearing stories from his childhood. 

above, Celia Sanchez; below Ryan Henry

Celia Sanchez’s 2017 journal highlights include getting a tattoo on her left bicep based on an album cover by The Used from Chicago master artist Ryan Henry:

  January 9:At 4:30 a.m. I got a wakeup call from my boyfriend since work begins at 6. I am a Human Resources team member at Target in Highland. On weekends I help my dad at at Swap O Rama Flea Market, but this weekend will be going to Nashville to see Avenged Sevenfold, one of my favorite bands – a Christmas present from my boyfriend. 

  January 10:At work, I finished my portion of the front end of the store – beauty and electronics - and helped a coworker with the rest of the sales floor by 9:30.  I took a different route to IUN due to power cables on the highway. The side streets got me to campus almost as quickly. 

  January 11:My A&P (Anatomy and Physiology) lab instructor is my friend’s mother. I work with both of her daughters at the Highland Target. All three are very nice.  After class I rushed home to pack for Nashville and picked up snacks for the 7-hour drive. I went to bed a little after midnight. 

  January 12:My boyfriend did all the driving to Nashville while I studied and caught up on much-needed sleep. Snow came down hard. Right outside of Nashville; there was a bad accident, closing the expressway and causing an hour delay.  Candlewood Suites was very nice and about a 10-minute drive from downtown. At Bridgestone Stadium we saw amazing performances by Avenged Sevenfold, Breaking Benjamin, and Bullet for my Valentine. 

  January 13:  We slept in most of the day.  We have pretty crazy schedules so sleep is precious to us. We even cancelled plans to go bar-hopping that night. 

  January 14:  Since we had a room with a kitchen, we bought breakfast food and snacks for late-night cravings.

  January 15:We were out on the road by 9 a.m. Once again, it was snowing, even heavier as we neared home. We stopped at a sit-down restaurant and I got home around 8 p.m. surprised to see that my family was having a movie night so I joined them. 

  January 16:  After work I rushed home to change my insulin pump, and then set off for IUN. I finally looked at my phone 15 minutes away from campus and discovered class was cancelled. 

  January 19:Finally, at last, TGIF (Thank God, Its Friday)! It’s also pay day, and I’m off work.  My big plan was to go to Chicago for a tattoo appointment! This will be my third and I’m extremely excited, but a bit nervous. Ryan, my tattoo artist, has done excellent art work before on my foot/ankle/leg, so I was looking forward to seeing what he has in store for me! He presented me what he drew up and I absolutely loved it! It never seeks to amaze me with how he puts his own twist on ideas I give him. My tattoo is inspired by an album cover design by my all-time favorite band, The Used. A red heart is hanging by a noose from a dead tree branch, with the words In Love and Death. This will be my first color tattoo. 

  January 20:  It was very hard and bothersome to sleep because the tattoo was on my inner left bicep. As much as I wanted to roll around and wrap my arms around my blanket, I couldn’t. It’s an open wound and I am a Type 1 diabetic susceptible to infection! I was diagnosed April 13, 2017, two months before my 17^thbirthday! I arrived at the emergency room with a blood sugar of 740, a number that can be deadly. The doctors told me if I’d waited another day, I would have been dead or in a coma! I do what I need to do every day to keep myself healthy and alive!

  January 21:Sunday fun day at Swap O Rama! I am a vendor with my father and brother. We started almost 6 years ago. There’s good and bad days. We sell tire shine and car air fresheners. This Sunday was slow. 

  January 22:  My blood sugar is pretty high. I swear its becoming harder and harder to wake up mornings. I need to get to bed sooner, but I don’t get home until around 8 and have to eat dinner.

  January 26:My tattoo is healing nicely. I’ve gotten so may compliments on it. I spent the evening with my boyfriend. It’s hard for us to find time to see each other, especially when he works nights. 

   January 28:You may wonder why a Radiological major is taking a history class. Well, it is an elective. I am the only Radiological major in the class. 

  January 30:  I hate changing my insulin pump at work. 

  February 1:By the time I came into work, the schedule was done. All I had to do was go over Rule Violations and distribute hours between work centers and team members. I left work at noon in order to get to my lab in time. Like every Thursday, I’m eating lunch outside the classroom. I barely have time some days. My lab instructor is aware of my diabetic condition and tells me to come in when I’m ready.

  February 2:I needed to be in Chicago by 8 a.m. for a doctor’s appointment. My boyfriend came with me after a long overnight shift. I usually go by myself, but it is nice that he made the effort. I was so nervous waiting for my results. The doctor said the readings were nearly perfect and I was her prized patient. I always do what she asks, unlike many diabetics.  Then it was on to my second appointment. The ladies at the front desk were mean and very short with me. A nurse asked me to explain why I was coming in and then cut me off to say that’s something I should be telling the doctor. Finally, the doctor, who seemed in a rush, checked some vitals, asked a few questions, and basically cleared me in a matter of 10 minutes. I think I’ll transfer to the University of Chicago Hospital, where I have amazing doctors who treat their patients with care and kindness. There has not been a single visit where I felt uncomfortable, even with a new doctor.

  February 5:  I was stressing all day and trying to study in between breaks at work for my first A & P exam. I’ve had test anxiety before but not this intense. Even after it was over, my chest felt really heavy and it was hard to breathe and swallow. I still had my statistics class, and then it took an hour to get home because of all the snow. I almost crashed exiting the expressway. 

  February 6:My boyfriend took my car in for new wipers and a wash. Then we went out for my lunch break. That was the highlight of my day. It was nice to see him so early in the week. 

  February 9:My boyfriend and I slept for a bit with our puppy and then went out for lunch. Back home, I focused on cleaning and reorganizing my room, usually neglected throughout the week. It doesn’t get trashed, but things need to be put in their place.

February 14:For Valentine’s Day we had reservations in downtown Chicago at Steak 48. The New York Strip is AMAZING! After that lovely dinner, we spent the night in the city and had a wonderful breakfast. 

  March 14: With Spring Break at hand  I left for Miami with my boyfriend!  I seriously need this. This will be our second trip together, and unlike Nashville, we are taking a plane. 

  March 15: We visited Bayside Market Place, a big outdoor mall. We got food and drinks and sat on the pier. People on boats were partying, and a band was performing. I suddenly spotted Ruben from back home! We said, “hi” and marveled at running into each other. We then spent the day shopping.  We also had to go visit Target, because we both work there so why not!

 March 16:It was a great day but the water was freezing. We only dipped our feet it. It was more relaxing to just lay out on the beach. We walked through a block featuring foods from around the world.  Music was playing, lights were over the trees above us, and there was a huge chandelier at the end of the block. Which I still wonder how that got that to hang up above the trees. 

  March 17:Happy St. Patrick’s Day!  We explored around our hotel and went to a different outside mall, a bit smaller but with the same types of shops.  Happy hour started at 4, an hour earlier than back home.  There were a bunch of street performers that got everyone involved in a funny skit that about all races getting along. 

  March 18:Back home in time for sister Rose’s seventeenth birthday party.  We arrived bearing gifts so everyone was happy. I slept soundly.

Celia Sanchez with Daniel Nelson

R.I.P.: Peerless Chips

“The bright nature of man is peerless and surpasses all jewels. The aim of learning is to bring out this bright nature.  This is the best thing in the world.” Kaiten Nukariya, “Zen: The Religion of the Samurai”

The word “peerless,” meaning matchless or having no equal, has been used to describe great beauties, such as Cleopatra and Lady Godiva, and leaders, such as tyrant Kim Jong-Il and the “Great Commoner” William Jennings Bryan, as in “Peerless Leader of the Democratic Party. “Peerless Leader” was also the nickname of Chicago Cubs first baseman (of Tinker-to-Ever-to-Chance doubleplay fame) and manager Frank Chance, who guided the Cubbies to World Series victories in 1907 and 1908. In “Pitching in a Pinch” (1912) Christy Mathewson wrote: “If Frank Chance has to choose between accepting a pair of spikes in a vital part of his anatomy and getting a put-out, or dodging the spikes and losing the put-out, he always takes the put-out.”

Peerless assembly line, now silent; NWI Times photo by Jonathan Miano

Peerless has also been the trade name for countless businesses, ranging from pest control and gutter cleaning to pump companies and movie theaters.  And, for 89 years, potato chips.  Alas, Peerless Potato Chips, based in Gary, Indiana, is going out of business.  The company, located at 1661 West Eleventh Avenue, was a casualty of the unhealthy concentration of food chains -  in this case, Central Grocers, the parent company of Strack and Van Til supermarkets, which has declared bankruptcy.  Founder John Hogg, a British fighter pilot, emigrated to America after World War I. He started the company in 1928 and survived gangsters shutting him out of the Chicago market and then the Great Depression.  Children of immigrants attending Froebel School could stop in and witness potato chip production and expect to get samples for their personal consumption.  In 2008, Mike Sula of The Reader wrote of Hogg’s son, current owner Jack “Boss” Hogg: 

Jack grew up working in the plant, and after a tour in Vietnam with the Green Berets, he took over from his old man. Peerless used to do its best business with walk-ins, but they started locking the factory doors in the 80s as the neighborhood went downhill. Over the years, taverns and small groceries have become less important to chippers, and the industry has come to depend more and more on supermarkets, a niche just as cutthroat. “I've had buyers for supermarkets sit there, look at me across the desk, and say, 'You give me a thousand dollars per store,’” Jack says. “He'll guarantee us four feet for six months. Then that guy's gonna get caught . . . and he'll be gone, and another guy wants a thousand out of you.”

 Jack Hogg in 2008

Scott Hogg in 2017; photo by Carole Carlson

Jack Hogg, battling lung cancer, is planning to move to Las Vegas.  He told Post-Tribune reporter Carole Carlson that Central Grocers “owe me a bunch of money” and that Jewel-Osco, which has made an offer to purchase Strack and Van Til stores, is taking Peerless off the shelves of its own outlets.  The original factory was across the street from the present one, built to accommodate larger equipment, such as the peeler machine and the continuous fryer.  Once a shipment of potatoes from Florida arrived that contained alligator eggs.  Plant manager Scott Hogg told Post-Tribune reporter Carole Carlson, “People are calling from all over. One guy was crying.”

Post-Tribune photo of Walgreen's by Carole Carlson

Similarly, despite protests by Gary Mayor Karen Freeman-Wilson, First District Councilwoman Rebecca Wyatt, and Miller Business Association President George Rogge, Walgreen’s is closing its Miller store in Gary, which opened in 1993.  It is one of 200 nationwide shuttered by the heartless policymakers of America’s largest pharmacy chain in an effort to cut costs and increase profits, consequences to local communities be damned.  When we first lived in Miller, Frank’s Pharmacy served our needs just fine, but behemoths like CVS and Walgreen’s drove Frank and countless independent druggists out of business. Because Walgreen’s pharmacy closed at seven p.m. during the week, many customers went elsewhere to have prescriptions filled.

Dee Van Bebber (foreground) with Dottie Hart, Jimbo, Terry Bauer; photo by Tom Rea

Dee Van Bebber and I played 18 hands of bridge Tuesday evening and 27 more on Wednesday.  I had more than my share of marginal hands where I had to decide whether to open light.  We played two hands in a row after first both passing.  In each case our opponents bid 1 Diamond followed by 2 Diamonds, and then one of us we bid 2 Hearts.  In the first case, I had four Hearts to the King, and Dee made ten tricks for high board.  In the second instance, I had 7 Hearts to the Jack and bid them a second time when an opponent raised to 3 Diamonds.  Dee had a lone Heart, and trumps split 6-0, so I went down two; but it wasn’t a complete disaster since two East-West couples made 3 Diamonds for a better score than our opponents.   

Dee asked if I knew about Bergen Raises and proceeded to explain that they are responses to a partner opening one Heart or Spade with a 5-card major.  If you have four of their suit, a proper response would be 3 Clubs with 7-9 points or 3 Diamonds with 10-12 points.  Marty Bergen, winner of 10 national championships, has also popularized a concept called “The Law of Total Tricks,” which, for the time being, seems too complicated for my taste.  I’m willing, however, to try Bergen Raises. In Barb Walczak’s Newsletter Wes Adamczyk, in a tribute to the late John Chmielowiec, wrote that when they played together, they used more than a hundred alert bids, including his invention of two-way raises of overalls.

Walczak congratulated Mike Brissette and Alan Yngve for their fine showing at the Great Lakes Regional in Bay City, Michigan, tying for third in the Knock Out round.  Under the headline “The Longest Day,” Walczak wrote: “Alan Yngve, who oversaw three bridge games in one day and was still on his feet after 14 hours, deserves a hearty round of applause for providing us with a fun-filled day and the Alzheimer’s Association with a generous donation.”

For over 30 years, beginning in the 1970s, I wrote reviews for “Magill’s Literary Annual,” a digest covering 200 distinguished books of that year.  The 2008 volume, for instance, included my essay on Marc Fisher’s “Something in the Air: Radio, Rock, and the Revolution That Shaped a Generation.”  “Something in the Air” was also the title of a Thunderclap Newman record that captured the existing antiestablishment mood of 1969.  My piece opened with this Hunter S. Thompson witticism:

  The radio business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs.  There’s also a negative side.

While conceding Thompson’s point about the medium’s cash nexus, Fisher was a true fan who appreciated radio’s potential, albeit rarely achieved, for greatness.  He gives kudos to Jean Shepherd, an eccentric genius from Hammond, Indiana, who invented talk radio.  Twice fired for persistently digressing from the music format, he migrated to WOR in New York, where held forth nightly for four and a half hours mixing occasional jazz recordings with acerbic tales of festering youth that had a universal appeal.  As an adolescent, Fisher listened to Shepherd on a cream-colored transistor hidden under a pillow.