“Don’t you think you boys picked up enough ketchup packets?” I didn’t count how many packets they stuffed into the bag at the drive through counter, but I knew my sons could probably fill an empty 12 ounce ketchup bottle at home because they always ask for extra packets at the drive through. This time only one of my two boys was in the car urging me to stop at the drive through and pick up a cheeseburger, fries and a milkshake for his dinner. I knew I’d have the upper hand here because I would not have two boys ganging up on me, telling me we can use the ketchup packets for extras when mom’s Heinz ketchup bottle runs out. They see this as a squirrel would see hiding nuts for the winter, a great supply on hand for the taking. But I only see this as the ‘here and now’, not like I’d want to store ketchup packets and anyway “we don’t have room in the refrigerator.” Brant would still shoot back even without his brother in the car, and he’d point out we do have room next to the double and triple A batteries. “Oh, how right he is, ten, 20 or 30 packets of ketchup in a compartment on the refrigerator door won’t really take up room for more important things in the refrigerator like bottles of Yoo-hoo chocolate or hot dog buns.
“You can’t possibly put all that ketchup on your burger,” I told Brant sitting in the passenger seat leaning over me to make sure they had our order right. He knows I’m not a ketchup guy, nor a fast food junkie for that matter. But he also knows I don’t like to take stuff like ketchup, mustard, or mayonnaise packets or too many napkins, but I do admit to having a soft spot for blue straws, except with the straws, I don’t ask for a dozen, I just wash the straw that came with the large raspberry milk shake.
My sons are ketchup loving kids that must smear ketchup on everything, so typically we run out of ketchup early in the week because the lone Heinz ketchup bottle my wife buys at the store on the weekends just doesn’t cut it. We’re not an extra bottle household and she refuses to give in to their demands. So the packets are the boys’ natural recourse. Problem with this logic is in the actual mechanics of ripping open these ketchup packets and pushing the thick sauce onto a bun or onto fries they’re bringing home with their cheeseburger. Here’s where dad is their first choice. “Dad, can you open those?” Brant and Brenden are the same; they just can’t wait until we get home and spread all the food out onto the table. I’ve not even put the car in drive to leave the drive through which is already showing a line of cars and impatient drivers waiting for their Ketchup on the Run. Brant would push five or six of the small packets at me and expect me to open them. Unfortunately I don’t have a lot of faith in these packets. My wife also doesn’t take kindly to finding my shirts and pants stained with dry ketchup. And I’m bordering on impulsive eating, especially fries, so I’ll dig into the bag for a few fries and the moment I do, not only do I get into a wrestling match with the bag my son is trying to push away from me, but my hands become immediately greasy and I don’t have anything to wipe away the grease to open the six packets Brant spread out on my lap. I used to try to appease him, grabbing a packet and attempting to rip. I mean my fingers would turn white on the tips I put so much pressure on a packet, but nothing would happen other than the packet would have enough grease to wipe on the axle where my tires spin. I’d repeat this, as my son watched, and provided his expertise. Why is he telling me how to open the ketchup packet, why can’t he just do it himself? The answer was never satisfying, just left me feeling this must be the generation of condiment challenged kids that can program a computer, fill an I-POD with music and text like crazy on their cell phones. But open a ketchup packet, change a roll of toilet paper, put their clothes away, wash a few dishes, throw out the garbage, NO those were beyond the scope of today’s kids. “Dad, you are so much better at tearing open a ketchup packet.” Better isn’t a word I’d use, I’d say they just don’t want to do anything that doesn’t have some ounce of fun in it. If opening a packet offered a prize inside, maybe I’d find them taking an interest.
We may never see these small ketchup packets disappear from fast food restaurants because we’re meant to be faced with one of the greatest challenges in life, opening the ketchup packet. I mean we as parents work so hard to make our kids independent, but now I can honestly report to you of a change in direction by Heinz, the company behind the torturous packets that date back to the 1960’s. The style hasn’t changed in 40 years, until now, that is. I’m not sure if hundreds of Face book anti-ketchup packet
groups had something to do with Heinz changing its packet design, but change they did and now the new packet is in test markets. Should Heinz find in test markets the packet does in fact reduce the stress on our lives, and then you may find yourself in the future holding the Heinz Dip & Squeeze dual-function package. This packet has a lid and you just peel it back like you’d peel back the silver sticky paper on deodorant. Take the packet and dip into your fries or for the cheeseburger’s bun, just tear off the tip of the packet and squeeze it…and the ketchup oozes out, a very tasty and practical way of satisfying your ketchup needs. Also for the health conscious and your doctor wondering why your sodium level has increased so much, the new test market packages have much less sodium.
We’re not solving the worlds’ problems here, but I promise you the brilliant minds wrestling with the impossible to tear greasy ketchup packets could run for Congress and probably win, for they are improving our health, solving a long standing problem, and not costing you much more than you already pay for food.
FIRST CAR RULES
Please step forward if you bought your teen’s first car. I’m not rewarding your generosity; I’m actually imagining the punishment I’d like to inflict on you for buying your kid’s first vehicle. Maybe you should be in a police lineup and stand next to your kid. I mean you have indirectly inflicted punishment on me. My “in the market for a car” son won’t stop reminding me all of his friends have had their parents buy their first car and they are driving to high school, parking in the school parking lot with their late model Mustang, BMW, or Mercedes. I can’t compete with these parents, nor would I try anyway. My “in the market for a car” son knows the rules my wife and I have set for him. He must buy his own car, pay for the insurance, gasoline, and car repairs. That’s principally why he does not have a car today. He hasn’t saved enough money for something that resembles a car; inside and out. Despite our ‘set in stone’ stance on First Car Rules, he believes high school juniors are not meant to take the bus, they are meant to drive to school. No junior should wait on a street corner for the school bus is something I’ve heard him argue repeatedly. Yet I don’t give in, can’t really, his argument just doesn’t fit in with my bank account or work ethic. You work for what you get and appreciate the value. I can’t speak for all kids with parents buying their cars, but I feel there’s justification in working for what you get. Yes, he is working as he’s one of the few that found a job as a teenager and is saving most of his earnings. But recently his incessant call for a car drove me to a place in my town where fairly inexpensive used cars sit in a lot awaiting just such a parent and car-starved kid. Once again he reminded me of his friends with cars free and clear. I wasn’t budging, nor was my wife whom he asked the same question independently. He wanted us to pitch in…..half for the car….half for insurance. If one of us moved off our position, he’d be in…..and a Mustang would be parked in my driveway, but my wife is no fool and she’s not going to be played by any one. So I won’t see a monthly payment package, nor car repair bills or my son with his hand out asking for 20 dollars here, 30 dollars there for gasoline. With only 3-thousand dollars in the bank to play around with, he wasn’t looking for a high performance vehicle. Yet he found a vehicle with a really good black shine. The guy with the used cars runs a car painting business and recently painted this car in the lot off the street where he works. So it looked good as my son went by several times a week, borrowing my car on his trip to work. On further inspection, up close this time, my son noticed the headlights on the shiny car didn’t sit flush with the body….so he was thinking this vehicle was likely in an accident. The owner did mention this was a stolen vehicle, but he owns the license outright. We agreed to come back and take the vehicle for a test drive, maybe even visit our mechanic for his opinion.
Unfortunately on the day we were to return and drive the car to my trusty mechanic, my son wasn’t available to join in. Instead my wife and I took the vehicle for a test drive and we found something surprising. After the car warmed up, maybe 20 minutes into the drive, it began shaking on the dash, then in the steering column, then under the hood….and we heard a squeak in the back, likely an axle. Between the rattling and the squeaking, I pretty much knew what to tell and leave out with the owner. I suppose I could have told him the unbridled truth, the vehicle’s best use would be in a demolition derby, but I thought he’d not let us into his lot again, which would not sit well with my son. I did tell him the mechanic said the fluids looked good. But I said in the most sincere voice I could muster, I just could not let my son drive a car with 98-thousand miles on the odometer.
This ritual of test driving and shades of honesty have been conveniently avoided by some parents because they buy their kids first car and it’s usually a pretty expensive model and they won’t have to visit the mechanic, nor test drive the car themselves. Now I need to convince my son to continue saving his money until the end of his senior year and then he’ll have enough money saved to buy a car that would not logically end up in a demolition derby, but rather be driven on Route 14 or on the tollway, demolition derbies in their own right.
CALLING IT POLITICS
“Hi, this is Kirk Dillard……..Jim Ryan……Mark Kirk……” If you have a telephone at home, chances are you received a recorded campaign message from at least one of them, maybe all three. The candidates for governor and senator had their staff send messages not just once, but over and over to voters in Illinois .
In the week before the Illinois primary election, my home answering machine messages doubled and tripled, mostly with calls from the candidates asking for my vote. Well they didn’t exactly say, “Stew, could you please vote for me.” They touted their strength and that they would not raise my taxes. These candidates even got people that were not running for office to urge me to vote for their candidate. Truth is I could not keep up with the flood of political messages. So many calls with the same message, I pretty much memorized the approach on the first call. “Hi I’m Kirk Dillard and I’m running for Governor and I could use your vote February 2nd. Make sure you go and vote and don’t worry, I won’t raise your taxes.”
My reaction to the first avalanche of calls was mild irritation. I figured they’d stop and switch their campaigns to radio, television and newspapers, however the “free” advertising did not stop, actually increased in frequency as we neared primary day. Dillard, Ryan, Kirk and others had me stopping everything I was doing evening after evening, and checking my caller ID. The call could have been from my wife, mother, children, or work. It wasn’t, but I had to check because they may have had some kind of minor emergency and I’d need to react….but the dinner time calls did not just take time away, it disturbed my preparing dinner, eating dinner, putting away leftovers, cleaning the dinner dishes, thawing tomorrow’s dinner. These were merely dinner calls, there were the after dinner calls where I was watching prime time tv; shows like Castle or Chuck, American Idol, Grey’s Anatomy or Numbers. The candidates showed no mercy, even called while I brushed my teeth, put out my work clothes for the next day and turned off the light. I’m not asking for sympathy. These calls were common among voters. What were the candidates to gain? I grew tired of constantly having to check calls and began feeling that I didn’t like these candidates as much as I had initially. I could well imagine late President Ronald Reagan plugging for votes on the phone. He’d probably relay some home spun story and make you laugh, while former President Bill Clinton might tell of running into an Iowa farmer on the campaign trail. Even disgraced former Governor Rod Blagojevich might have concluded his recorded message singing an Elvis song and offering advice on how he’s been able to keep his hair.
The candidates have stopped their incessant phone calls because the primary election has ended and we’re months away from the General Election. They want to give us some time to clear our phone messages so they can start where they left off. I think I’ll create my own message to answer their message. I’ll say “this is a voter and if you say your name or the person you support, I will be sure not to vote for you, but if you promise not to raise my taxes I might change my mind.”
NOT A WASTED LIFE
Joe Lewis and John Sorenson stood at attention on an overcast and chilly morning. They were as military on this day as they’d been in Vietnam, 40 years ago. Each wore a cap, displaying his military service and membership in Vietnow. A few feet from them, a dozen American flags held in line on either side of a drive leading up to the front doors of a Crystal Lake funeral home. Patriot Guard Riders gripped the Stars and Stripes, the flags Joe and John affixed their eyes to, despite the flags waving in the wind. They watched as a detail of soldiers lowered the coffin of Sgt. Jason McLeod out of a hearse. The hearse had followed police cars and fire trucks and the Patriot Guard Riders from Du Page County Airport, past Crystal Lake Central High School where McLeod had attended a few years earlier to the funeral home. The soldier was finally in his home town, a long trip from Afghanistan, not unlike the return of the bodies of four area soldiers killed earlier in the year in Afghanistan. Three of those soldiers were from the National Guard Unit in Woodstock and Lewis and Sorenson attended their services. The two had vowed not to let their fellow soldiers returning home from Afghanistan and Iraq for military burial face what they did so many years ago from a distasteful national conscience. That’s why on this day with television news helicopters hovering overhead making this the top news story of the afternoon, Lewis, Sorenson and their group of eight members of the VFW, American Legion, and Vietnow Chapter held forth, a wall of veteran experiences. Radio talk show hosts and columnists were only hours away from saying Afghanistan had better not turn into another Vietnam. By the early evening, the nation would hear President Obama unveil his plan for sending 30-thousand soldiers into Afghanistan, the land where on November 23rd, Jason McLeod lost his life to a mortar attack. His wife stood at the entrance to the funeral home, holding a few tissues. Her expression was one I hadn’t seen in awhile. Pain was certainly evident on her face, but I saw something else, a look that had me transfixed on her eyes and mouth, trying to understand just what it was that forced her to bend over slightly and cock her head to the side. ..and then I heard John Sorenson say that through his tour of duty in the Vietnam War and the thousands of others that lived and died in the jungle, he hoped that no one would have to go and fight in any future wars because he stressed that “it’s a horrible waste of life, that we must find another way of settling differences.” I knew then the body language I saw from McLeod’s wife told all who could interpret that his life was not wasted, he did what he felt he must and would not hesitate for a moment if he had another chance. His 15 month old daughter must know that Jason McLeod is a hero and she will, her mother will say that the right decisions sometimes come at a great cost, but don’t hesitate to make the right decision. Believe our way of life is best. Jason McLeod did. His was not a wasted life….but a valuable life cut short.
A CANDLE LIGHTS THE WAY
From several directions you can walk into the Woodstock Square and on most nights, people with as many different reasons as there are entrances to the Square converge. On the night Jane and Bev brought dozens of candles to the Square, their convergence wasn’t a mere walk in the park. This was their annual Domestic Violence Candlelight Vigil. Bev Thomas and Jane Farmer would have each and every person reach into the pile of candles and pick one out to hold. The lights illuminated the faces of those surrounding the gazebo on the square; women and men and children, all huddling together, keeping the chill away, warming each other instead, for this solidarity of purpose, ending domestic violence. But I’ve been to many of these Candlelight Vigils on the Woodstock Square, and each one calls to memory the victims from our area and how their deaths are the light that’ll show the way to safety for someone else.
Emotions caught up even the Executive Director of Turning Point as Jane Farmer read the names of victims; women who are neighbors, aunts, and friends. Domestic violence knows no bounds. My recorder kept taping. Just Duet strummed their guitars on the square and sang songs, “Let It Be” and other tunes appropriate for the mood. At that moment the song made its emotional appeal, I wondered how we could transform this feeling into something that would stop those who would control and abuse. Those seeing the Candlelight Vigil are not the abusers, they are the abused, but maybe on this night, an abuser would step forward and tell us how the light exposed a new direction. He did step forward, detailing a childhood of abuse, wanting only to stop it, but no power to do so. He protected his sisters, he thought, but they too were affected. As he got older, his relationships were all one of control and verbal and physical abuse. He had become what he most abhorred…and he grew worse with each day, not realizing he had choices. A good athlete, he envisioned a certain type of life, but his was way out of control and prison came up fast. After prison, he finally was pushed in front of the choices and began to turn himself around, eventually completing a program where he’d become trained in helping abusers see they too had choices. The candles light the way at the Candlelight Vigil, but only those who can see the light’s direction benefit and mostly they are the victims’ families. But sometimes we make progress in securing safety to one more potential victim’s home….and the benefits are many; the kids, their parents, all their relatives and friends, the employers, the schools, all are affected.
A candlelight vigil on a cold and damp night brought the promise of a better tomorrow. I would not have missed this event for anything because one saved life radiates out, shining brightly on one’s home and all the rooms inside.
RADIO IS FOR GIRLS?
When WMTH signed on the air 50 years ago, Harry Ford’s voice was the first voice heard. Wouldn’t be much of a milestone had Harry been just one of many thousands of voices heard on the student station at Maine East High School. His voice though was the voice we remember making STAR WARS exciting, giving us an unforgettable character in AMERICAN GRAFFITI, providing one adventure after another in INDIANA JONES. Not that “Harry” Harrison Ford would attend a 50th anniversary of the high school radio station, but the rich history of the station gave many alumni a reason to spend a weekend participating in the milestone anniversary of WMTH Radio and the 35th anniversary of WMTH TV.
I never stepped into the student radio station during my four years at Maine East, and when another student suggested I join WMTH in 1971, I turned the offer down, saying “radio is for girls,” which really made no sense then and makes no sense now. So I never met Mr. Mitchell in the speech and drama department….not until WMTH’s 50th anniversary this September. He held court in the station, standing in the middle of a dozen alumni, fielding questions. I caught his name tag dangling from his neck and the name was fairly easy to read as I walked into the room. “Mr. Mitchell”, the name tag seemed like a beacon questioning me what I was doing there and then he filled the space asking me, “who are you?” I felt naked without a name tag, but quickly realized I hadn’t paid for any of the WMTH events, so the name tag and accompanying shirt weren’t parting gifts for my experience on this day in front of Mr. Mitchell. I had an additional problem answering Mr. Mitchell. Someone told me he had passed away a few years ago, and I carried that thought into the room, only to see the name tag and then I repeated in my mind, he’s alive, he’s alive, okay what is he asking me because a dozen others are now staring at me and wondering who I am to interrupt. “I’m Stew Cohen,” I robotically said, thinking this probably won’t go over very well because the stations where I work can’t really be heard in Park Ridge without a really, really, good radio. He let my name that came out of my mouth fall to the floor and then he read the radio call letters on the front of my black shirt, “Y 103.9.” I wasn’t sure now whether I could ever just wonder around the radio station, I’d have to answer Mr. Mitchell to his satisfaction for a “pass” to reach the studio. “I’m News Director for two radio stations, Y 103.9 and STAR 105.5. “ He took this to mean, “there are actually radio stations with news?” I quickly jumped into the circle, now facing Mr. Mitchell as though I was his on-air guest, “there’s news in McHenry County, though we do cover all of Chicagoland.” I couldn’t minimize the importance, making people think we just focus on McHenry County. For someone I thought had passed away, he was pretty lively. I guess I gave him enough for an invisible pass to the rest of the radio station, and so I prepared to venture forth, first encountering Dale Wittlock, Class of ’73 and we talked. We had known each other through Monty Abrams, Class of ’72, and he had walked into the station behind me, but quickly left because he didn’t think he knew anyone. Then someone I knew looked familiar said my name and I looked at his tag, Dean Moss and I knew him, but couldn’t immediately place him. He said we worked together in 1979 for the Mal Bellairs’ family on radio. Dean is now in real estate, a pretty good move back then. So I was having fun reminiscing about the old days and then someone else said my name and this was Scott Cohn, and he thanked me for teaching him as an intern at WYEN-FM in Des Plaines. Now Scott is working with CNBC and I thought that was great. Finally a student asked what she could do to train as an intern in promotions and I gave her a name and a direction to pursue once she’s in college. Even though I hadn’t worked at WMTH as a student, I felt on this day, talking to those who had, that I did something really worthwhile and it was hard to tear away and leave, but I had a dinner across the street where a dozen of my classmates were gathering for our every other month dinner. I finally put to rest a stupid comment I made as a teenager that radio is for girls and I truly became a part of a radio station’s history and for this moment at WMTH, I’m proud to have made a difference.
Professional Humorous Illustrator Terry Sirrell says goodbye to Kiddieland.
*Kiddieland closed September 27th in spectacular fashion. Thousands of people came the final day and lines were at least an hour long on some rides like the Little Dipper.
KIDDIELAND
Kiddieland in Melrose Park is the Chicago area’s Disneyland minus Tomorrowland and other theme parks within Walt Disney’s sprawling southern California site. Although not on the same level for entertainment with Disneyland or Disneyworld, Kiddieland had longevity on its side. The park has operated for 80-years, far surpassing Disney’s parks. But time seems no longer on the side of Kiddieland, the park is open for its final summer season. For the millions of families in Chicagoland that could not afford a Disney trip to California, a trip to Kiddieland served them well. I am a Kiddieland Kid, having spent many a summer day riding the Kiddieland Express train, or wishing I had enough courage to board the Little Dipper roller coaster. As I got older, Riverview took over as my theme park of choice…..but those summer days in the late 1950s and early 1960s are etched in my memory. My mom and dad never worried I’d have a problem with a ride at Kiddieland and they enjoyed the atmosphere of safety and fun. Kiddieland's name really said it all for me. I found a place where they really cared I had a good time. The final visit for me was probably in the mid 1960s, I was 10-years-old and I didn’t know this would be the last visit, but I took a good look at the Express train that worked its way around the perimeter of Kiddieland, real smoke billowing from its engine and the engineer wearing a face that often broke into a smile . I saw the track and waited for another train to go by, but my parents and I had been there all day and this was now nighttime and the trains had stopped running.
One day this summer, another child will look back from the parking lot to the park as his parents are taking him or her to their car to leave. If the child's like me, he or she will look hard for that one last time, a long "take it in" look, at the rides and the train and all that made this experience a great one for a kid..but what’ll make this final look different, is that Kiddieland ceases to exist after September 27th. The lease on the land is running out…and the families that own Kiddieland are looking to sell to developers. Good bye Kiddieland, you join the ranks of the best parks that gave many of us the best summer adventures and are now solely in our memory. Thanks Kiddieland, Riverview, Santa’s Village and Adventureland.
A WHOLE HEARTED HUG
As disciplined as he is, I could not imagine Dustin Cresey thinking anything other than wanting to dart out of the gazebo on the Woodstock Square, jump the gazebo steps and run into the arms of his parents. The 21-year-old from Belvidere, however, stood motionless in line with other Illinois Army National Guard and listened to Major General William Enyart, Adjutant General for the Illinois National Guard. Enyart called each and every one of the members of Company D, 1st Battalion, 178th Infantry, a hero. He didn’t pick out Cresey or any one specific standing at attention, but he noted through their efforts in Afghanistan for the past year that they have stood up to the challenge. The General noted these soldiers were building the schools for children in Afghanistan , they dug wells, built a bridge, connected three irrigation pipe systems and worked on another 20 projects. They also patrolled, according to Enyart, and one such patrol he painfully recalled, his voice a bit lower than before, led to the deaths of three soldiers from Company D; Sgt. Robert Weinger of Round Lake Beach, Sgt. Christopher Abeyta of Midlothian, and Spc. Norman Cain of Mount Morris. Their humvee was struck by a roadside explosive. Two months later, Sgt. Lukasz Saczek of Lake-in-the-Hills died from non combat related injuries. These soldiers were remembered, their pictures on easels near their families. Before the Major General walked over to the podium in front of the gazebo, the soldiers marched into the square….on a cobblestone walkway flanked by people holding standard size U-S flags. This generated great excitement among those at the ceremony, sitting on the opposite side of the square, not yet gaining a full picture of their loved ones returning, but they would minutes later, their soldier husbands and sons ascending the steps of the gazebo to look out at their families gathered together. This love, you could feel, this relief, this mounting joy waiting to burst...primed, I believe from the soldiers earlier coming into the square, accompanied by the Patriot Guard on motorcycles and firetrucks circling the square......hitting with their tires each of the stones that make the square unique in northern Illinois….This feeling, you can’t really understand unless per chance, you’re among those waiting on the square to see someone that you prayed for to live while doing the job he was trained for in a dangerous part of the world. The power of the rumbling fire trucks and patriotic music blaring from the speakers on the gazebo pierced everyone, and brought Cresey’s parents to tears, his father and mother hugging each other, their boy is home from Afghanistan. In minutes they’d learn what it feels like to have someone hug the life out of them and appreciate every moment.
Ribs slathered in Applelicious barbeque sauce drew my attention and the fact the line was the shortest of the seven ribbers at the Rockin Rotary Ribfest in Lake-in-the-Hills gave this event a prominent place in my gastronomic experiences. I knew the Aussie line would be long because the Australian team of ribbers cooked up meaty but soft fall off the bone ribs last year at the first Ribfest. My wife, Rita, and son, Brant, looked forward to their return trip to Sunset Park.
A name like Pigfoot should have drawn attention from this huge crowd gathered in the park, but it didn’t, not so much as some of the other rib grilling masters and their signs of weird sounding names and odd pictures of pigs on motorcycles or pigs holding a knife and fork or a pig smiling at barbeque sauce. I figured each line would be close to an hour wait, but not Pigfoot..so Brant and I waited in that line, and I got to thinking that if heaven were a place where one could eat ribs every day and not put on weight, then this was heaven in Lake-in-the-Hills because ribs are right up there in my life.
I would not want to slave over a grill myself and cook ribs, but I certainly would enjoy someone else slaving over a grill and these masters of the rib and the sauce, beans and cole slaw knew how to make the masses happy and full of meat. The tents where people could eat comfortably if not in full mess mode, were jammed with people hunched over, eating ribs. But I had my son find a spot where we could eat and not have our eyes blinded by the light shining under the tent. There my wife and son waited for me because I had to complete the meal with a large cup of freshly squeezed lemon and sugar and ice, they call lemonade. However, this was an extremely long line and only two people were squeezing, yet there I stayed waiting for a glass and my wife and son waited for me to sit down before they began their assault on the rib dinners. One of the young squeezers had her wing in a cast and I kind of felt sorry for her as she had to use that damaged arm to squeeze lemon juice into these cups. The other helper was a young man and he was in need of a cup of cold lemonade himself. He kept wiping his forehead with the hand he used to squeeze lemons, but I figured this was just the price one pays for real food with character.
We completed our evening at the Rockin Rotary Ribfest with Waffleman, a cold treat, a million other people seemed to need at the same time we did. So again, we waited in line and I think I lost my appetite for Waffleman, but Rita and Brant couldn’t change their mind in a million years, they’d want this treat of vanilla ice cream, fruit and chocolate on a waffle. Then we were done, except for buying the sauces; Applelicious and Aussie for future grilled dinners that wouldn’t exactly match up to this Rockin adventure, but then again, at the Cohen’s home, there’s no waiting in line for anything, we all eat at the same time, though not always in the same room.
QUOTING NOW
I am painfully aware of how deadlines in the media have led to less checking of sources and more immediate acceptance of information and how fast the information spreads through major media outlets. Recently a university student in Dublin, Ireland, fabricated a quote for the obituary of French composer Maurice Jarre, adding the quote to Jarre’s Wikipedia page. Though editors at Wikipedia caught the attribution free quote twice, dozens of blogs in the U-S and newspaper web sites in several countries including Britain used the incorrect information. The student, Shane Fitzgerald, wrote of Jarre “One could say my life itself has been one long soundtrack. Music was my life, music brought me to life, and music is how I will be remembered long after I leave this life. When I die there will be a final waltz playing in my head that only I can hear." This quote is a dream for the media, playing to the ear and to the eye, but Jarre never said this, nor wrote these thoughts on paper. Instead the student gives us something that is very telling of the composer’s character, yet, completely fabricated. The sociology student waited a month before he admitted to the made up quote….but his message was clear….the media is all too dependent on Internet sources.
The obit of the French composer is but one extreme case of the media’s pressures to produce and how they answer by turning to such services on the Internet as Wikipedia. I think the composer should have simply written his own obituary and provided quotes useable by the media, and Wikipedia should have protected at all costs, the work of famous people. Not that I fit into this category, but I’ve been thinking of developing my own media friendly quotes on my life. I don’t want someone either misinterpreting something they thought I said or someone making up a quote because all the things I said that anyone could recall were apparently lame.
During my radio career, I volunteered my time in schools, reading to children for such themed days as “Dr. Seuss’ Birthday” and “Love to Read Week.” This is something I’d like to have people remember. “The words danced off the pages as I read them.” I could read an entire newspaper aloud, never stumbling, never unfocused, always smooth and effortless.
Sitting for hours, writing news copy then reading each and every newscast with the appropriate energy and enthusiasm, was my goal every morning I delivered news on-air. Anyone hearing a newscast for the first time would get my best, I would not shortchange them because they listened really early in the morning or for the last cast. Every one was as important as the one before. “My words spoken in the form of news stories painted pictures in the minds of my listeners and the particular way I expressed my thoughts, gave added nuance to the words.” I would probably never have said this, but for the Dublin student, I’m making sure the truth is told.
More than 30 years ago, I started writing radio news copy and not only was I having a hard time with the conversational style but the words didn’t flow onto my copy paper. I wondered whether I could ever find the creative process less daunting. Over a period of years, the process became easier and began to flow from my mind into my fingers. So I’m saying something else that can go down as something quote friendly. “The words flowed from my mind through my arms and into my fingers dancing finger tango on the keys.” Write for more than 30 years and you too will “Dance with the Stars.”
I feel good with these thoughts and I can’t see how someone would want to embellish what I’ve said here today. I sure hope I’ll develop more media friendly quotes on my life because I’m hoping I’m nowhere near done with my career, but if a kid comes around looking for something the media can snap up…he shouldn’t have to make it up…the quotes are all here already.
A HERO'S WELCOME
A mom’s love knows no boundary lines and reaches her war weary soldier son in Iraq with packages from home and cards and letters and the latest on the three-year- old daughter he hasn’t seen in a year. The cookies are his favorites, the cards are pictures of places he’s seen and the letters talk of life in his hometown and his favorite hangouts. For the moment he’s chewing on the cookie, all of the things outside his sleeping quarters fade away. Staring at the hometown picture or reading how his daughter drew a picture that almost looked like daddy gives him a moment of pause. He’s choked up….but doesn’t want the others to see, not because they’ll think this Marine is weak, but because he doesn’t want them to cry, for they too have been away from their wives and their sons and daughters to fight for what they know is right. The Marines are tough, all of them are protectors of freedom wherever sought. For this 25-year-old soldier, he’ll have to make do with his favorite cookies from childhood and the stories told of his family. But his calendar shows a red “X”, a date on a piece of paper that gives him great hope. Jimmy Reichers of Crystal Lake is coming home to his family this week. His mother, Noreen Stevens, saw the seven months of her son’s service in Iraq as the soldiers saw it, as one day at a time. All those days have disappeared and her Jimmy is headed home for three weeks of combat leave, then he’s in for more training in Hawaii and deployment to Afghanistan for two more years and maybe she thinks he’ll re-up. The ‘here and now’ is what matters, not what will be because Noreen at least has some control over the ‘here and now.’ Her son is coming home now. He’s rightfully pessimistic though, the National Guard and Army receive the ceremonies of flag waving Americans along a parade route welcoming home their hero. His mother has seen the same, but where he says Marines never receive the warmth of America’s spirit, she has reason to disagree. In the past few days, the Marine Corps League Auxiliary of McHenry County has stepped to the front, giving Noreen help. The Auxiliary through Barb Klapperich has supplied a couple hundred American flags at Moe-B-Dicks on North Shore Drive …..and Warrior Watch will lead the motorcade from the Des Plaines Oasis to Crystal Lake. Sign-O-Rama has donated a Welcome Home banner with ‘James’ name on it where the sign can be seen along the route. Also a couple of businesses, 1776 and JA Frate, are honoring Reichers by having his name on their marquee. This soldier, who thinks for a minute, we won’t give him the warmth of a returning hero doesn’t know to what length his mom will go to make sure every effort is expended to prove him wrong. Noreen and her other children had walked the streets of her neighborhood giving the announcement of her returning soldier son. They tried not to miss anyone. This afternoon at 4 o’clock, she’d like to see a sea of waving flags on McHenry Avenue , Route 14 Northwest Highway, North Shore Drive to Moe-B-Dick’s at 1050 N. Shore Drive .
SARA’S HOPE
Crystal Lake South High School teacher Kerrie Kurth brought into the newsroom a picture of Sara and I looked at this color portrait of a beautiful 16-year-old girl with long blond hair and piercing brown eyes. If she were running for queen of the McHenry County Fair, she would be crowned, no question. Just moments before I laid my eyes on a very healthy looking young lady, Kerrie had showed me one of her students in her functioning living skills class at South. The girl in this picture wore a cheerleader type outfit, holding a pom in her hand it appeared, while sitting in a special chair, her eyes closed and head slightly forward. Kerrie told me to my surprise both of these pictures are of the same girl, Sara. But how could this be, the pictures are so different, yet the subject is the same….and the same age? A photographer I’m told did a bit of work on the portrait as Sara would look if she did not suffer from a rare disease. Kerrie and Sara’s nurse, Sheila Gatz of Hospice of Northeastern Illinois and Hope’s Friends told me Sara has Juvenile Batten Disease. Only 200 children suffer from this disease. My decision to help publicize Sara’s Hope is not based on her image of what she might have looked like had she not been suffering from Juvenile Batten Disease. My decision is based on what I learned about Sara and efforts by her friends to help Sara and others with this fatal disease. Every year millions of dollars are raised for cancer cures and heart research and other high profile diseases, but the lesser diseases, really generate very little attention and dollars. What’s 200 people suffering from a rare disease….when millions of people are suffering from cancer or heart disease? For the family of Sara, a cure for Juvenile Batten Disease means everything. You see, this is the type of disease that slowly robs a young person of their eyesight, then their ability to walk, mixed with seizures and speech loss, eventually landing the young person in a wheelchair, then with a feeding tube and eventually death by their late teens, early 20s. Sara lost her sight at age 8 and today she talks but you can’t really understand what she’s saying. Yet her nurse tells me she can understand in her mind what she’s saying, just can’t get the words out properly….in a way she’s trapped. Kerrie Kurth, her teacher at Crystal Lake South High School wears a t-shirt proudly…..with the writing on it saying….Sara’s Hope…so yes you can hope….with friends like Kerrie and Sara’s nurse Sheila Gatz, for they are instrumental in efforts to raise money for Sara and other children just like her. For you see, hope is money. A doctor with the Batten Disease Support and Research Center wants to perform a clinical trial that may help those like Sara……but needs close to 250-thousand dollars on top of the 275-thousand dollars already raised by the Center to begin the trial. In testing mice, the doctor’s work has slowed down the disease and we’re told even reversed the affects of the disease. On Saturday, April 18th, please give a little of yourself, money that is, what you can give for the clinical trial. The Wool Street Grill in Cary will honor Sara’s Hope the night of April 18th from 6 to 9 o’clock. There will be unlimited pizza for a minimum donation you’ll see at the door and raffle prizes. Kerrie and Sheila are realistic in that raising in excess of 200-thousand dollars may not be possible with one fundraiser, but they are hopeful businesses will want to give too and the combination of business and individual donations will bring a smile to Sara’s face and hope that the next shirt says Sara’s cure on it in white letters.
GOOFY DRIVES EM CRAZY
I’m determined to use my serious face for teaching driving lessons to my 15-year-old son. I know from personal experience living with him that any look less than serious will not do. You won’t find in any driver’s instruction booklet a paragraph or two on the faces of a driver’s instructor. Seems too trivial or maybe slightly crazy, but I maintain you have to find a way to make sure the teen in the driver’s seat isn’t just doing his or her own thing; a teenager seeming to know it all. You must know the personality of your teen and understand what type of hand gestures and facial reactions from you will make them listen and respect you the most, especially in these circumstances that you are in the passenger seat and your offspring has the wheel of a death machine. I’m certain my son would not even know I’m sitting next to him if I smiled and nodded, he might think I’m sleeping. He’s so used to seeing the serious face and reacting to its immediacy. I could show a face where my eyes are jutting out of their sockets, but that’s a fear face I should reserve for special occasions. Too much gloom and doom behind the wheel and I’m afraid he’d turn me off as well. So I’ve practiced the serious face in the mirror at home, especially before I go off with him in the driver’s seat. I clinch my teeth, furrow my brow, and I stare at him, occasionally changing my stare into a glare should he stop abruptly or attempt to start an already started engine. I have the techniques down, but do I have the patience? I come from a family where patience wears thin behind the wheel. My dad taught my mother how to drive many years ago and I can recall that I never wanted to drive after that experience. But I would be fortunate. When I was learning the 3 point turns of driving, parallel parking, and switching lanes, I had a professional high school driver’s instructor in the passenger seat and he had an extra brake under his foot. I never had either of my parents in their car teaching me to drive. So I didn’t learn their bad habits and I gained a bit of confidence with my professional instructor. Yet I've had to take my son for 50 hours of driving day and night. What is the Secretary of State asking of me? This pressure could send me into heart palpitations. I don’t need more stress in my life, I need less stress. But my wife works long days and isn’t really available during the week to spend the necessary time on teenage driving instruction. Then the unthinkable happened. My son misplaced his wallet in school. Seems the school scheduled pajama day and he decided to wear sweats to school and he put his somewhat fattened wallet in his pocket, but somehow the wallet fell out. In the wallet were his permit to drive, student ID, money, school and bus pass. This news of course disturbed me. I hate losing anything and I once lost my wallet in high school too so this brought back memories. But I also kind of felt relief because I wouldn’t have to continue teaching him how to drive until he had his permit back and we couldn’t go immediately to the Secretary of State Driver’s License facility in Woodstock because I had to work late. But then after a couple of days of searching in school, one of the teachers found the wallet and everything was intact and he was ready again to drive me crazy.
Stew Cohen
LINCOLN'S 200TH BIRTHDAY
My friend Terry Sirrell is a professional humorous illustrator and I asked whether he might have a drawing of Abraham Lincoln from his portfolio of artwork..and he came up with a wonderful Lincoln drawing that I'm proud to include in my story on Honest Abe. You can go to these links for additional information on Terry's work....and check out other stories on Stew's Page for more Sirrell.-Stew Cohen
Reaching up with one arm, using the other arm for balance, I stood on my toes and stretched my arm as far as I could over my head, until the tips of my fingers made contact with his nose and the nostrils felt smooth as I expected; cold and smooth. This I think is the most touched nose in the world at the cemetery where Abraham Lincoln is entombed in granite. Touching the nose of Honest Abe’s bronze bust at the base of the Lincoln burial site at Oak Ridge Cemetery represents good luck, that’s the belief anyway. For me, the magic year was 1968, I was 14- years-old and could reach the bust by myself, no boost up from my father. My parents, sister and I visited Springfield that year and made sure to stop at the usual Lincoln sites; his tomb, his home, and the old state capital building. Nearly 40 years passed, I returned to the cemetery, this time, with my own family and made sure my youngest son experienced the Lincoln magic as I did so many years before. But my son couldn’t reach even the tip of Abe’s prodigious nose, as Brant was only 11-years-old and not quite tall enough. So I lifted him off the ground as best I could and he stretched his arm over his head and probably reached the same shiny spot I touched along with 10-million others, though I couldn’t exactly know the number of nose patters.
I sense a special fondness for Abraham Lincoln in the people of Illinois. The number of people visiting his Springfield home, the Lincoln Museum, the Old Capital, and other sites impresses even the most skeptical of tourist directors. We have such a fascination with everything Lincoln. Maybe for people living further away from the states Lincoln lived in, there’s not the same kind of worship, I don’t know for sure because the 16th President’s legacy affects everyone in this country, that being the outcome of the Civil War and the removal of the chains that enslaved so many.
The 200th birthday celebration of Abraham Lincoln in February provides us an opportunity to use history as a tool to experience those things Lincoln stood for as truth, patriotism, freedom, and a dedication to God. A committee, headed by Tina Hill, a McHenry County board member and assistant to State Representative Mike Tryon of Crystal Lake, is working on a very ambitious series of programs and events, dedicated to all things Lincoln. The committee has a web site at www.alincoln200.com where you’ll see a beautifully crafted site showing all the upcoming Lincoln events in McHenry County. I’m personally attending as many as I can and hopefully my son will join as he is completely inspired by the work of Lincoln. Check out the Lincoln Birthday dinner at the Dole Mansion in Crystal Lake, probably the highlight of the whole McHenry County involvement. You’ll find the information on the web site as well as dates for special events such as a public reading of Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, and Lincoln readings at various libraries.
Don’t miss this opportunity to learn for yourself and if you have children, then get them involved in at least seeing some of the Lincoln events. There’s a reason after all we spend the time on Abe’s life. He represented the best of the human spirit in the toughest of times. We may never face the kind of pressures he endured, but we need to know we have the capacity to do what’s right and good and we can stand up and show people that our civilization has enough good people in it……to survive any crisis…whether it be the current economic crisis or some other type that tests our strength.
AMERICAN IDOL
So long to all the activities I’ve been doing in the evening and hello to AMERICAN IDOL. Life as I know it stands still every night that host Ryan Seacrest and judges Simon Cowell, Paula Abdul and Randy Jackson sit down and stare at singing wannabes. Been fun these past few months since David Cook won American Idol’s seventh season. I’ve had quality evenings with my sons, I’ve made great dinners for my wife, and I’ve played computer games, and worked on fixing things in the house, and fixing them again cause they weren’t fixed right the first time. BEEN fun….yes, but my craving for all things IDOL must be satisfied and in January I’m finally sitting again in front of my television set watching the horrid singers performing songs I can’t identify. I’m watching the good singers elicit smiles from Simon and I’m watching Paula being non committal on most of the performers. Except for a few tweaks here and there, every season follows a pattern of auditions, embarrassments, group performances, embarrassments, eliminations, embarrassments, and the crowning of a new AMERICAN IDOL. Not this year, changes are more than brewing….changes are in the wind in Phoenix, Arizona, where Tuesday night, January 13, I met a new judge for Idol. She’s Kara DioGuardi, a very successful songwriter, and a woman I found to express opinions and can find time between the long winded Simon, put upon Paula, and vocabulary challenged Randy to say what she thinks…even to the point of getting into a cat fight with a bikini clad contestant she felt wasn’t filling out the voice part as well as she filled out her two piece. I will join Jim Shea, morning host of Y 103.9 a couple mornings a week in a brief discussion of Idol and we’ll run through what we thought stood out from the Idol show that night. On the first night in Phoenix, Arizona, amid the cactus and unrelenting heat, the singers put themselves out there for Simon, Kara, Paula, and Randy to like or dislike or find strange. Not all were alien like characters, talentless and clueless, some singers made Kara and Paula sway to the music, some brought smiles to Simon’s face, and a few made Randy sit up and give his 110 percent to Hollywood directive. This reality show gives a glimpse of American life that can’t be found on other reality shows. We learned about Scott, a 23-year-old nearly blind singer songwriter pianist from Scottsdale, Arizona. Scott narrated his story from the living room of his family home where he played piano and talked of inspiring sight challenged people to accomplish their dreams. Deana Brown of Louisville, Kentucky performed Sitting on the Dock of the Bay and told of how her family could not accompany her to Arizona, but they were home anticipating her call with the golden ticket to Hollywood. The tattoo girl, 21-year-old Emily Wynne Hughes of Los Angeles, was a member of an all girls band and they were preparing for performances in Europe, but Emily thought this was her chance to appear on American Idol and Simon asked where was her loyalty. She pointed to Chris Daughtry, a finalist on American Idol a few years ago and noted he got the notoriety and reformed his band and they’ve been busy ever since. The American Dream…..American Idol……only in America Where we dream as big as we want to…We all get a chance, Everybody gets to dance, Only in America… Brooks and Dunn.
Cartoonist and Humorous Illustrator Terry Sirrell lives in the Chicago area. He is a personal friend and high school classmate of mine. Terry read GPS TERROR on Stew's Page and had a cartoon in his portfolio he felt added to my observations.
