By Patrick F. Cannon

I often write about big issues, or at least what I think are big issues. Politics. Culture. Morality. Donald Trump. But I like to think I can be just as obsessed with the minutia and annoyances of life as the next person. Surely, Albert Einstein and Mother Teresa did their share of grumbling as they made their ways through this often frustrating world.

            When he walked his dog Newton, did Al rail against his fellow walkers who failed to pick up Fido’s poop? Particularly when Fido deposited his feces upon the sidewalk? I no longer have a dog, but I have more than once felt that unmistakable squish when stepping on a left-behind pile. Although I eventually equipped myself with tailor-made poop bags, at one time I had a contraption that scooped the poop without the need to bend over. The only time I forgot to bring it – it was early morning and I was groggy – I was berated at great length by a fellow walker. I fully deserved her chastisement.

            I find I’m increasingly miffed by lunatic drivers. I always drive about five miles an hour over the speed limit. Most residential streets have a 25 miles per hour (mph) limit; main streets usually let you speed up to 30 mph. If I’m tooling along at 35, inevitably someone having breakfast and talking on the phone is riding my bumper. Often, they will cross a double-yellow line and pass me. They will then go through that pesky Stop sign at the next intersection. I will often give them a discreet beep of my horn to call attention to  their disregard to the law, but it’s unwise to be too aggressive, lest the offender be armed. And when did it become OK to ignore red lights? (As an aside, I see this most often on West Madison Street in Chicago, even near the CPD station just west of Central, where the number of squad cars parked at all hours makes one wonder where the police might be who should be driving them.)

            I wonder if Mother Teresa was a golfer? I met her once, but didn’t think to ask. Since she was a saint, she probably wasn’t in one of the many female foursomes that I’ve played behind over the years. At the risk of being branded a sexist, I have observed that women take far longer to play a round of golf then men. If you’re behind a foursome of women, you can expect to do a good deal of thumb twiddling. On the greens, they take an inordinate amount of time over their puts, and I have never seen them concede a short put! Now, the rules of golf permit one to concede one’s fellow golfer a short put to speed the game along. But the main difference is this: men see golf as a game; women as a social occasion to be cherished at length. There was a time when women were not permitted to play on the same day as men. Halcyon days, indeed.

            And finally – and I know it’s not really rational – I cringe whenever I see a man eating dinner with his hat on. There was a time, when men wore fedoras to work, that when a lady entered an elevator, the men would almost always doff them in respect. And although I never quite understood the theology, Roman Catholic men always took their hats off in church, while women always wore theirs. Nowadays, even in the finest restaurants, one sees slovenly young men with baseball caps, jeans and T-shirts. Why? Because the restaurants are afraid of losing business.

            Several years ago, when the Million Room restaurant at Arlington International Racecourse still demanded jackets for men, I noticed two young men without them. I asked the maître de how they got away with it. “Heavy bettors,” he replied. By the time it closed (forever, alas), only a collared shirt and no jeans was the standard (unless you were a heavy better, that is).

Copyright 2023, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

First of all, congratulations on your election. Although I no longer live in Chicago, I have lived on its western border for more than 40 years. Before that, I had lived in South Shore, Rogers Park, Logan Square and the near Southwest side. I have regularly attended and supported Chicago’s wonderful theatres and restaurants; and belong to and support no fewer than five of its museums. I am also a long-time member of its public radio and television stations. I have even written seven books on Chicago architecture and architects. Bottom line: I have a vested interest in your success.

            Considering that more than 60 percent of Chicago’s registered voters didn’t bother to go to the polls, you should keep in mind that only some 20 percent of Chicagoans actively supported your candidacy. And I’m sure you realize that one of the prime factors in your election was the support of your former employer, the Chicago Teachers Union. Many people now assume you are “their” mayor, and will carry out the parts of their agenda that have nothing directly to do with educating Chicago’s children.

            What they don’t understand – and what you need to accept if you are to succeed – is that your country and your city are part of a Capitalist economic system, a system it shares with most of the world; and that has been largely responsible for almost eliminating abject poverty. Granted, it can be messy, but it certainly seems more rational – and fairer, to be honest – than the Socialist paradises of Cuba, Venezuela and North Korea, where the governments still try to  control means of production that hardly exist anymore.

            When you claim that the rich and corporations must “pay their share,” of taxes and fees, are you aware that 10 percent of the nation’s taxpayers pay 90 percent of its taxes? I haven’t been able to find actual figures for Chicago, but I suspect they’re roughly the same. Also, keep in mind that our unique Federal system permits corporations to shop around for better deals. If the folks in Texas and Florida offer lower taxes and less red tape, then there’s nothing to stop the Boeings, Caterpillars, and Citadels from leaving town. By all means, add a “head tax” to the burden of doing business in Chicago; just don’t be surprised when more corporations vote with their feet.

            You’re on record as advocating defunding the Chicago Police Department (CPD). When it became obvious that the increase in crime had become a major issue, you claimed you really didn’t mean it. But when you said it, you really did mean it.. Has experience, or the need to get elected, changed your views? If so, why not just admit it? One of your biggest challenges will be to restore the morale of the rank and file of the CPD. It should come as no surprise that they don’t like you.  I don’t envy you this task, but you might start by appointing a new superintendent that they can trust and support, but who will also actually seek to comply with the 2018 Federal Consent Decree.

            You should also meet with the head of the police union, John Catanzara. I know, he’s a jerk, but he represents a third of your future employees. He almost certainly thinks you’re out to destroy the CPD. Don’t tell him what you plan to do; ask him to tell you what he thinks you should do. Don’t argue with him; just listen. Confrontation didn’t work for Mayor Lightfoot, and it won’t work for you.

            Test the conventional wisdom. Just like most candidates, you claim that what’s needed is economic development on the south and west sides, and the jobs this would provide. The reality? Chicago’s unemployment rate is 4.3 percent, about as low as it’s ever going to be. If you want to work, you’ll probably be able to find a job. It might be a menial job, but it will at least pay the $13/hour Chicago minimum wage. It won’t, however, tempt the young gang member lured by the untaxed income available in the drug and organized-theft trades. And don’t criticize retailers for closing up shop in these areas; you know the real reasons only too well.

            It’s no accident that 400,000 African-Americans have moved out of Chicago since 1980. Many of them were  my neighbors in Oak Park. They moved to provide a safe haven and a better education for their children. The claim that they were forced out of the city by gentrification and high rents is ridiculous. Are rents in Austin and Humboldt Park higher than in Oak Park? Really?

            Progressive politics and democratic socialism might seem like good ideas, but they don’t translate well to local government. You should read the Chicago Tribune’s series on the mess the Cook County court system has become. It has been operated by members of your party for decades – everyone from the judges to the states attorneys to the clerks and bailiffs. The concept that “justice delayed is justice denied” has become a joke in Chicago and Cook County.

            Again, congratulations on your election. Everyone in Chicago and its suburbs has a stake in your success. Everything that contributed to Chicago’s emergence as the capital of the Midwest – abundant water, hub of rail, air and water transportation for the entire nation, great educational and cultural resources – are all available to you. But the city cannot truly thrive again until people feel (and are) safe; and major corporations and local merchants feel they are valued as more than just taxable nuisances.  

Copyright 2023, Patrick F. Cannon

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By Patrick F. Cannon

In his 1835 book, Democracy in America, the French diplomat Alexis de Tocqueville wrote this: “The Americans combine the notions of Christianity and liberty so intimately in their minds that it is impossible to conceive of one without the other.”

            In 2023, it seems that Americans don’t find it impossible at all. In 1940 (I was a sprightly two then) 72 percent of our fellow citizens went to church on a regular basis. By 2020, only 47 percent did. The other day, the results of a Wall Street Journal/NORC poll revealed that the share of Americans who say that patriotism is very important has declined to 38 percent. As recently as 1998, it was 70 percent.

            But there’s more bad news (or good, depending on your age, class and education): In the same period, those who saw religion as important dropped from 62 to 39 percent; the belief in community involvement, another American trait noted by de Tocqueville, went from 47 to 27 percent; and the share who say having children is important has gone from 59 to 30 percent. This latter confirms the reason for our declining birth rate, particularly among better-educated women.

            Religion’s decline has been reflected in the number of American children educated in parochial schools, always dominated by those operated by the Roman Catholic Church. In 1960, they enrolled 4.3 million students in elementary grades; by 2000, the numbers had declined to 1.8 million; and even with a slight increase due to Covid, to approximately 1.3 million this school year.

            I was educated in Catholic schools for eight elementary grades, but I’m among those who no longer regularly attend church. And although I no longer believe in the divinity of Christ – or any other religious figure – his basic message of forgiveness and tolerance still inform my moral opinions and decisions. But I wonder what replacement we have for this religion-based moral education when so few of our young people attend either religious schools or churches that offer Sunday School? 

            Many of our surviving Christian churchgoers seem more attached to the Old, rather than the New, Testament. They seem to prefer the vengeful Jehovah to the Jesus of the Beatitudes. How else can you explain their continuing support of Donald Trump?  And their belief –regardless of what the 1^st Amendment might say —  that this is a Christian country? The odious Marjorie Taylor Greene, when reminded of the Constitution’s specific separation of church and state, responded that, after all, most of the Founders were Christians. And no doubt White and straight too.

            Patriotism doesn’t have to mean “my country right or wrong.” It should mean “my country is worth my efforts to make it a better, fairer, more democratic place.” Yet, our young people seem to be more and more disengaged from anything but their own concerns. Even their literature, art and music seems more personal than universal. I listen to the songs of someone like Taylor Swift and hear little but self-regard and complaint.

            Swift has no higher education to give her some perspective, but the decline of the liberal arts at our colleges and universities means that an important source of moral education for many of our young people has been lost. Even those with a more rounded education can be forgiven for tuning out given the quality of our politicians.

            But maybe I’ve become too cynical. Perhaps you can give me some cause for optimism?

Copyright 2023, Patrick F. Cannon   

Wasted Education?

By Patrick F. Cannon

I’m a graduate of Northwestern University, which is tied with Duke University at number 10 in one of the rankings of American colleges and Universities. When I started going to school there part-time in the Fall of 1956, I only knew that they had a well-established “Evening Divisions,” which was the only way I was going to be able to afford a college education. In today’s money, my salary as a clerk at the New York Central Railroad was equivalent to about $30,000 a year.

            As I recall, a course worth two-semester hours of credit was $70. Since I could normally only take three course per semester, it took me exactly 8 years of nights and weekends to graduate. You have to add two more years on to that for military service (we still had a draft then). After those two years, the G.I. Bill paid for the rest of my education. I think I even got a book allowance. I checked my bookcases, and the only books from those years I still have are a French-language edition of Albert Camus’ The Stranger; James Joyce’s The Dubliners; and Bernard Berenson’s Italian Painters of the Renaissance.

            I was that now dying breed, an English major. To refresh my memory, I recently ordered a transcript from Northwestern. I took 15 courses in my major; but was surprised to see that I took 16 in the History Department. As I recall, you were required to take basic writing and literature courses; a full year of American history; ditto a foreign language (French in my case); a full year of either science or math (I chose Biology); and something called “Logic: The Art of Thinking.” I don’t recall how many courses you had to take in your major, but I had more than enough.

            Among my electives were five courses in the Art History Department, including a course in Chicago architecture taught by recognized expert Carl Condit, which led to my lifelong interest in architecture; and, after I retired, to seven books on Chicago architects and architecture. Other electives were courses in the Greek Myths; Existentialism; anthropology; advertising; and political science, including a full year course titled “A Cultural and Intellectual History of Russia.” As a result, nothing that happens in that country surprises me.

            In those days, course registration was in person. You checked the catalog to see which courses you wanted to take, then tried to show up as early as you could. As I recall, the room was arranged by department. There would be a tab with the course name; behind it would be the number of cards equal to the number of places available for that course. If there were cards left, you snagged one, filled it out and handed it in. If no cards were left, tough luck. You just had to search for another course that had cards left. When I look at my transcript, I think I see some courses that fit that category.

            In all the courses I took, I don’t see one on the ins and outs of custom and multi-wall bags, which I had to learn for my first job when I got out of the Army in the sales and marketing department of the Union Camp Corporation. I had to learn about bags on the job. And after more than 50  years, I could probably do a decent job of explaining the different types of bags and what they’re used for. Although I hadn’t yet graduated, the most important part of that job was being able to communicate clearly with both customers and our design and manufacturing staff. Learning about bags was the easiest part.

            Later, I worked for an agency that managed and did public relations for smaller trade and professional associations. Among my clients were the Ground Water Council, the Metal Lath/Steel Framing Association and the Society for Management Information Systems. Needless to say, Northwestern didn’t have any courses directly related to these groups, but it did provide me with ability to learn, and to effectively communicate what I’d learned. Ditto with my final job, as head of public relations and communications with Lions Clubs International, the world’s largest service club organization. 

            I had what’s called a “liberal” education. These days, I’m told, students want their university education (which is generally overpriced) to have a specific point. They see no advantage in learning about Elizabethan poetry, since it’s hard to imagine monetizing Shakespeare’s sonnets. Who has the time to listen to Beethoven’s Ninth? And how could appreciating the paintings of Diego Velasquez possibly get them noticed at Goldman Sachs?

            But almost every job or profession – with the exception of the sciences, engineering and medicine – requires mostly on-the-job education and training. No wonder the majority of graduates are unhappy about their educational experience, particularly since most have gone into debt, only to discover their education didn’t really prepare them for the real world. It’s true that a degree from an “elite” university (Harvard, Yale, Stanford, and, yes, even Northwestern) can get your foot in the door and maybe even more money. In the end, though, it’s how you perform that will predict your future success.

            The young would also be wise to remember, as the Bible says, that man cannot live by bread alone. People like Shakespeare, Beethoven, Rembrandt and Jane Austen can teach us more about ourselves than “Principals of Investment Banking.”

Copyright 2023, Patrick F. Cannon

The Long and Short of It

By Patrick F. Cannon

About 10 days ago, I got an email from the United States Golf Association (USGA) announcing that they were proposing, effective in 2026, the distance that golf balls could travel would be reined back for professional and highly-ranked amateur golfers. Recreational golfers – that’s me and my fellow duffers – would not be affected.

            Why would they do this? Well, the average distance for tee shots using a driver on the professional tours has steadily increased: 257 yards in 1980; 263 in 1990; 273 in 2000; 287 in 2010; and 296 in 2020. The golfer with the highest average for an individual in 2020 was Bryson DeChambeau at no less than 322 yards. Why is this a problem? Basically, because golf courses were never designed for these distances, so that those that host top events must continuously increase their yardages to keep competitive. Some are simply running out of land.

            There are two main factors involved: better physical condition for golfers, and improvements in clubs and balls. The USGA has already placed limits on equipment; the proposed rules on ball construction will result in a 20-yard decrease in average drives. They have asked for comments on the new rules. One professional golfer I heard interviewed said he thought any comments would have no appreciable effect on the final decision, especially since the R&A (Royal & Ancient of Saint Andrews), which governs the rules for most of the rest of the world, is on board with the USGA.

            I got my first set of clubs when I was about 10, and I have played off and on since then. I reached my peak in my 30s, when I could hit my drives about 240 yards, and – on a good day – score in the low to mid 80s. Now that I’m 85, let’s just say I act my age; but I still enjoy nine holes on a fine day. As I said, the new rules won’t affect me, but they got me thinking about other sports. (For the record, I think golf clubs and balls should have been frozen in about 1950.)\

            The bat has always been wood, so baseball fans like to obsess about the ball.  Since the home run became more prevalent in the 1920s, the game has been divided into the “dead ball” era, i.e., before Babe Ruth and his ilk started the homer craze, and the various iterations of the “live ball” to the present. While Major League Baseball claims all balls used are the same (fans love to argue the point) the main change in baseball, it seems to me, has been in physical conditioning, once sometimes enhanced with chemicals. Stricter drug testing has mostly eliminated the latter, so New York Yankee Aaron Judge’s 61 homer season last year is generally thought to be legitimate.

            Physical conditioning and strength training have had, it seems to me, the biggest effect on pitching. Today’s pitchers throw harder and faster, resulting in lower batting averages overall. While I haven’t looked carefully at the statistics, I have the feeling that pitching careers are shorter, despite sophisticated arm and shoulder surgery. When I was a kid, it was assumed pitchers would be able to pitch all nine innings. Complete games are now rare.

            The same physical factors have contributed to more serious injuries in what I would call the inflated-ball sports – our football, what we call soccer, and rugby, among others. The balls players kick and throw around haven’t changed much in many years, but players size and strength has. In American football, this has been a mixed blessing. Serious injuries – particularly concussions – go hand in hand with a faster, more violent game. Rule changes to minimize injuries have only been partially successful.

            I may be proved wrong, but I think setting new records in sports like track and field may be increasingly difficult. How much more sophisticated can we actually get in diet and exercise regimes? Usain Bolt’s world records in the 100 and 200 meter races were both set in 2009; Noah Ngeny’s in the 1000 meters in 1999!

            In the animal kingdom, Thoroughbred horses have been bred and raced since the mid-18^th Century. In North America, the most recent record for the common one-mile distance was set in 2003; for 1-1/8 in 1988; for 1-1/4 in 1980; and for 1-1/2 in 1973, which was Secretariat’s legendary Belmont Stakes victory. With today’s emphasis on deeper and safer tracks, I don’t see  these broken any time soon, nor do I think substantial improvement in the Thoroughbred is even possible after nearly 300 years of selective breeding.

            Anyway, in golf, we will never know if Tiger Woods is really better than Jack Nicklaus; or if Nicklaus was better than Bobby Jones. Is it the player or the equipment?  How would Rory McElroy do at St. Andrews using irons with wooden shafts, and drivers with real wood heads? I’d even let him use today’s balls. I’d love to watch that!

Copyright 2023, Patrick F Cannon

Time for a Change!

By Patrick F. Cannon

I just turned 85, but you’d be hard pressed to see much difference in the way I present myself to the world than I did 40 or even 50 years ago. Whiter hair, but combed the same. Khakis; button-down sport shirts; no beard; leather shoes; no tattoos; and no rings in my ears, nose or eyebrows. My one remaining suit is navy blue; and my blazer is same color, the latest in a series of perhaps a dozen I’ve owned since 1965.

            The other day, I saw an older man, perhaps only in his 70s, who sported long hair dyed blue; tattooed arms; and a get up that reminded me of the Beach Boys in their prime. What Ho! I thought. Maybe it’s time for a change. That old geezer got noticed, while nobody ever gives me a second – or maybe even a first – look. How then might I transform myself?

            I decided I would dye my hair based on the nearest holiday, e.g., green for St. Patrick’s Day, red for Valentine’s Day; red, white and blue for the 4^th of July; orange for Thanksgiving – well, you get the idea.

            I’m on record as being tattoo skeptical. But is this just an old fogies prejudice against the fashion of the day? But, I asked myself, what kind of “body art” would suit a sophisticated chap like myself? As my mother has been dead for 67 years, that old standby didn’t seem appropriate; nor did an anchor, since I had never served in the Navy. But then I remembered seeing a young fellow with a tat based on a painting by the Dutchman Piet Mondrian (1872-1944). You may recall that Piet was really the first painter to explore truly abstract forms.

            Of course, that’s been done, so I didn’t want to be a copycat. Since I’ve been giving tours of Frank Lloyd Wright buildings for many years, why not have a tattoo highlighting one of his famous art-glass window designs? Perhaps his most famous is the “Tree of Life” at the Darwin Martin House in Buffalo. Any body artist worth his or her salt should be able to adapt it for one of my arms.

As a former English major – a dwindling tribe – on my other arm I would favor the famous opening lines from Ernest Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms – “In the late summer of that year we lived in a house in a village that looked across the river and the plain to the mountains. In the bed or the river there were pebbles and boulders, dry and white in the sun, and the water was clear and swiftly moving and blue in the channels.”  That should fit nicely on my other arm, perhaps embellished with a few of those pebbles and boulders. Because my manly torso isn’t what it once was, I think I’ll forego having Old Ironsides at full sail on my back.

As to wardrobe, I believe my new tattoos will demand sleeveless shirts. Saks Fifth Avenue has a nice selection, as well as baggy pants to match. They can also outfit me with the ill-fitting suits that are all the rage. The beauty of these de rigueur duds is that you don’t have to wear a shirt; some suits even come with sleeveless jackets! The pants legs are becomingly short. Socks are optional, so the oversize brogues gain the prominence they deserve. Based on Saks’ web site, I’m sure I can outfit myself for less than $10,000!

Before taking the plunge, I checked my closet one last time to determine the extent of my donation to Goodwill. I counted 15 sports and three dress shirts, and eight pairs of wash pants, as well as the one suit, three sports jackets and matching trousers. As I reached for the first shirt, tears, unbidden, suddenly cascaded down my cheeks. What was I doing? Abandoning my signature look for mere fashion? Thank God I came to my senses in time!

Copyright 2023, Patrick F. Cannon

Blame Game

By Patrick F. Cannon

President Biden failed to show up at the scene of the Norfolk Southern Railroad derailment in East Palestine, Ohio, so somehow it became his fault. Our canny former president, Donald Trump, did show up. As it happens, that area of Ohio voted overwhelmingly for him in 2020, so he came to preach to the choir.

East Palestine is just west of the Pennsylvania state line, in a part of Ohio hit hard by the loss of heavy industry, like its neighbors Pittsburgh, Youngstown, Wheeling and Steubenville. Area residents voted for Trump because they felt betrayed by their government, and saw him as a champion against the entrenched establishment. They thought he really cared about them, and many still believe he does. The evidence suggests, however, that he cares only about himself. In private, he probably sees them a “losers,” a word he cherishes.

The reality is the tide of change washed over this and other areas, leaving behind what has come to be known as the “rust belt.”  Someday, the tide may change and bring back prosperity, and no doubt the president of the day will take credit, just as Biden has taken credit for today’s low unemployment and seeming prosperity (he tries not to say too much about inflation).

The derailment was an accident, one of many that occur every year on the nation’s railroads. President Biden had nothing to do with it. The responsibility lies purely with the Norfolk Southern Railroad Company, and lax regulation. That it happened in East Palestine was their misfortune. Living in the Chicago area – crisscrossed with tracks as it is – I shudder to think what a similar derailment would have meant had it happened on the tracks that travel through the Austin neighborhood.

If we’re honest, we should admit that the blame for many of our problems is shared more or less equally by Democrats and Republicans. Let’s take inflation. Stimulus and infrastructure programs passed by both parties have contributed to it. An example: I received checks I didn’t need, which I promptly donated to charities and other non-profits. I was also given tax cuts, which the nation couldn’t afford. Who do we blame? Trump, Biden, Obama, Bush? Or maybe FDR? How about ourselves for electing self-servants instead of public servants?

President Biden is being blamed for the mess at the southern border. But the immigration mess has been with us for multiple administrations. There are legislators from both parties who have worked together to craft solutions that would both better protect the border and deal rationally and humanely with the millions of illegal immigrants who have become an important part of our economy. What has happened to these bipartisan efforts? Partisan squabbling, that’s what.

(Of course, presidents are responsible for some of our misfortunes. I’ll just mention two that we can lay at President Biden’s feet: leaving Afghanistan like a thief in the night; and forgiving student loans before last year’s mid-term elections when he must have been told it might not be found constitutional.)

Back to the derailment. Due to deregulation – a Republican mantra – we now have freight trains 200 or more cars long. These endless trains – if you’re waiting for one to pass – are crewed by just two people, an engineer and conductor. Just one bearing failure in one wheel among nearly a thousand can cause a major derailment, yet railroads are not required to have heat sensors. As it happens, the Norfolk Southern does have sensors, but at intervals too far apart in this case. There is bipartisan legislation pending that would mandate heat sensors every ten miles. If through some miracle it passes, you can be sure President Biden will take credit for it!

Copyright 2023, Patrick F. Cannon

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire!

By Patrick F. Cannon

Nikki Haley, former governor of South Carolina and US ambassador to the UN, has announced a run for the Republican nomination for president. Age 51, Haley has suggested that any candidate 75 or older for that office should be required to take a cognitive ability test to see if they are truly capable of leading the free world. An otherwise obscure congressman, Scott DesJarlais (R-TN) – he’s 59 – did her one better by suggesting a constitutional amendment to make it mandatory.

            For many reasons I won’t go into here, this idea isn’t going anywhere (not least because it might occur to members of Congress that they might be tested!). Another idea that won’t fly – although it makes perfect sense to me – is to require all candidates for Federal office and judgeships to take a lie-detector test.

            I took one once, and must have passed, since I got my security clearance. I don’t remember every detail, but it starts with some obvious yes and no questions to set some kind of base (and yes and no are the only answers you can ever give, except for follow-ups). For example, the examiner might ask if you ever stole anything. If you honestly answer yes, he might ask what. I won’t bore you with my youthful transgressions, except to say they were minor.

Of course, lie-detector tests can’t be used in court, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be used in the court of public opinion. So, as a public service, I have compiled a list of questions an examiner might use when grilling candidates. (I should mention that some sociopaths and other goofballs don’t recognize the difference between the truth and a lie – you know who I mean – so probably could pass the test easily).

• Have you ever read the Constitution of the United States?
• Do you ever want to read the Constitution of the United States?
• Do you really think all men are created equal?
• Do you think it’s OK to legislate morality?
• Do you secretly read the New York Times?
• Do you secretly read the National Enquirer?
• Are you now, or have you ever been, a member of the Communist Party?
• Are you now, or have you ever been, a member of the ACLU?
• Are you now, or have you ever been, a member of the Oath Keepers?
• Are you now, or have you ever been, a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution?
• Are you now, or have you ever been, a member of the United Daughters of the Confederacy?
• Do you secretly speak French?
• Would you like to be a lumberjack and wear women’s clothes?
• Have you ever stolen your neighbors newspaper?
• Have you ever lusted after your neighbor’s wife? Or husband?
• Do you ever change your position on an issue based on polling?
• Do you think Tom Brady is cute?
• Do you practice smiling in your mirror?
• Do you care about anything other than getting elected?
• Do you think the Chicago Bears are ever going to win the Super Bowl again?
• Do you think God is a Republican?
• Do you think the Devil is a Democrat?
• If you thought you could get away with it, would you lie, cheat, steal and even commit murder to become president of the United States?

I won’t have to take this test, or even a cognitive ability test, because I turned 85 this very day, and have better things to do with my time than run for any office, even dog catcher (although I do love dogs, and that’s no lie!).

Copyright 2023, Patrick F. Cannon

New “Menu” in Town

By Patrick F. Cannon

Buoyed by the improving economy, famous chef Jean Claude “Boomer” Bilbao has opened a new fine dining restaurant in the chic Chicago suburb of Forest Park. Called simply Boomers, it  features the usual tasting menu, but with a twist – instead of $500 a head, it’s available for $50! (or $65 with wine/beverage pairings).

            During my recent visit, and honoring a long tradition, the meal started with an amuse bouche (literally, “funny mouth” in English). In an expensive emporium, this might consist of a perfectly-poached quail egg, nestled in a foam made of Indian Ocean squid ink, presented in a tiny porcelain spoon. Boomer’s take on this classic starter is more modest, but no less tasty, consisting of a perfectly-seared nugget of Spam, served on a tiny leaf of iceberg lettuce. This is paired with s mere thimble (literally) of Virginia Dare’s famous pink wine.

            My fellow diners must have been amused, for their laughter only stopped when the next plate was served. I must confess that it was a dish I had never encountered in my extensive culinary travels – Pidgeon gizzards braised in Mountain Dew. Our server explained that chef had installed traps on the roof, which provided a reliable source of the notably stupid fowl. After extracting the entrails, what remained was sold off to fine dining spots in Chicago, where they were branded as wild-raised “squab.” A decanted white wine of unknown origin helped get this distinctive dish down.

            These tiny rarities were soon disposed of to make way for a palate cleanser. Our server – an aspiring actor of unknown sex – explained it was a mixture of avocado and zucchini, blended together in a freezing centrifuge, then molded into elegant little cubes, and placed on a heart-shaped piece of Brawny paper towel. Finally, using a medicine dropper, the server delivered just one drop of Klingler’s justly famous hot sauce to the top of the cube. The room was soon filled with a multi-colored mist; it was thus difficult to see one’s fellow diners enjoying this combination of the bland and fiery. Pure spring water was served to cool palates.

            It was now time for the main course! Chef Boomer himself led the servers from the kitchen, and stood by while each of us was served a gold-finished aluminum can, accompanied by a church key. “You have all heard of the famous Kobe beef of Japan, fed with the best of feeds, supplemented by beer and sake, with the sacred cows even massaged! This results is the world’s best, most expensive, but fattest meat. I cannot in conscience serve it, but I can offer you  the essence! It seems the rich diet produces a rare wind – called the “Divine Wind” in Japan – which the producers have now canned for export to a choice clientele. This evening, that’s you! 

            “If you’ll take your opener, get as close to the can as possible, then quickly open it and breathe deeply at the opening, you will experience a sensation unique in the Chicago area. Let me count to three; at three everyone open their cans in unison – one, two, three!”

            The assembled diners sniffed in unison. A variety of noises ensued. For me, the fleeting odor remined me of nothing so much as the smells in my Army barracks on a Sunday morning after the lads had spent Saturday night drinking beer and eating pizza at the NCO Club, although the odors then were somewhat less fleeting.

           After this unique experience, dessert was something of an anti-climax: Oreo cookies blended into a mousse with Mogen David Extra Heavy Malaga, and topped with a Maraschino cherry. When Chef Boomer and his staff came out, they were greeted with an emotional silence instead of the usual applause. I’m sure they were heartened by this reaction. In any event, I’m told tables at Boomers are booked months in advance.

Copyright 2023, Patrick F. Cannon

G.O.A.T.?

By Patrick F. Cannon

The basketball player LeBron James recently became the all-time leading scorer of the National Basketball Association (NBA), taking that distinction away from Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Many fans immediately claimed that James was the Greatest of all Time, or G.O.A.T., in shorthand. “Wait a minute,” many responded, “what about Michael Jordon? After all, he’s the all-time leader in points per game and won more NBA titles in his years with the Chicago Bulls!”

            Sports fans love to argue about stuff like this. Who’s the greatest hitter of all time? Babe Ruth? Ted Williams? Ty Cobb? How about the greatest football player? Many claim that honor for Tom Brady. But how about Jim Brown? Or Walter Payton? Or, from different eras, Sammy Baugh or Bronco Nagurski? Was Roger Federer really better than Rod Laver? Or Max Verstappen superior to Juan Manuel Fangio? Can we really compare athletes from different eras?

            For the snootier among us, who was the greatest painter? Was it Rembrandt, Picasso, or perhaps Jeff Koons, with his colorful carnival of the animals? Was Mozart better than Beethoven? And just what is the “Great American Novel?” A recent article by Rick Kogan trotted out Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby once again. A fine book, no doubt, but better than Saul Bellow’s Adventures of Augie Marsh? Or Twain’s Huckleberry Finn? Or Grace Metalious’ Peyton Place, which shocked the nation?

            You see the problem here. But while I think it’s fruitless to name the G.O.A.T. in the world or even in our country, it may be possible on a more local basis, and in more modest pursuits. For example, I have had my hair cut in several states, and even in foreign countries, but  by far the greatest of all barbers was undoubtably the legendary Pino “Golden Scissors” Grimaldi, who emigrated from Sicily to ply his trade at the once fashionable Hotel Brevoort in downtown Chicago.

            Now long gone, replaced by a sterile office building, the Brevoort was home to the famous literary luncheon group, the Potawatomy Powwow, where you might find literary lights like James T. Farrell, Sinclair Lewis, Saul Bellow, Ernest Hemingway, Mike Royko, Rick Kogan, and yours truly, quaffing a Martini or two, and enjoying the famous Roast Turkey with shad-roe dressing. 

            If you were lucky, you could end the day getting a Grimaldi haircut. I should tell you that an appointment with Pino wasn’t easy to get. In fact, you added your name to the waiting list of favored customers, then hoped that those above you would either move out of the area, or die. Once you were in his list, you could be certain of getting an appointment, although initially it might be at an inconvenient time.  Refusing an appointment time was tantamount to lifetime  banishment.

            Once ensconced in Pino’s chair, you would be treated not only to a perfect haircut, but receive the benefit of his breadth of knowledge about any and all subjects – sport, politics, finances, the very meaning of life. It was said by more than one customer, that a shave, haircut and shampoo at Pino’s hands could cure the worst hangover! Every mayor of Chicago was a customer – even Jane Byrne – as were financiers and captains of industry. I’m told that he was a rich man when he finally retired to Palm Springs, but not as rich as we! His departure signaled the end of the Golden Age of men’s haircuts.

            Another “greatest” in my long experience was the king of short-order cooks, the redoubtable Pablo “Chewy” Garcia, who manned the griddle at the Olympiad, just west of the Chicago River between Union and Northwestern Stations. If you sat at the counter, you could see Chewy work his magic, handling a dozen or more breakfast orders at one time, and never getting one wrong. His only help was a rotating group of interns, young men still wet from swimming the Rio Grande. In my experience, he was the only short order cook who actually knew the difference between over easy and over medium, and whose poached eggs were perfection itself.

            Although I never saw him in action for lunch, I’m told his olive and mushroom burgers were legendary, and his fries always perfectly brown and crispy. Great honors came his way, including the “Golden Griddle Spatula” and Honorary Membership in the American Hellenic Educational and Progressive Association. He even became baptized in the Greek Orthodox Church! Alas, the Olympiad closed in 2010, yet another victim of unbridled development. So, Chewy hung up his grease-spattered apron for the last time and retired to Santorini.    

Perhaps I should also mention Joe “Magic Rag” Conyers, who kept the wing tips of bankers, lawyers and politician gleaming for so many years in the lobby of City Hall; but then I remembered that few men have shoes these days you can actually shine, so wouldn’t have any idea what I was talking about..

Copyright 2023, Patrick F. Cannon