This is going to hurt.

 

“And it's knocking heads and talking trash

It's slinging mud and dirt and grass

It's I got your number, I got your back when your back's against the wall

You mess with one man you got us all.”

This year’s going to be a little different. Surprise! Football is going to be taking place in the spring because it was cancelled this past fall.

For the past 11 years I was one of many who would look forward to walking and/or driving to Duchon Field in Glen Ellyn, IL; late August through November, the fans came, they cheered and no matter what the outcome, they loved what football brought to our community. (Okay, they liked it a lot better when they won, and fortunately they did a lot!)  

There is nothing like arriving at the field with a camera bag, a few lenses, and that feeling in your stomach before the game begins. I’m just a photographer, I can only imagine what the players and coaches go through! To give the team the best odds of winning from my personal point of view, I would arrive about the same time each game, through the same gate, and take the same path to get my badge for access to the field. I would like to think I bring luck to the team, however, I assure you I have no connection with anyone way upstairs who is paying attention to my pre-game habits. (Our team is that good without me.)

When I am at a game—I am usually near the end zone following the ball on offense and defense. (By doing this, the team is usually coming at me.)  I have found if you stay in one place, you miss a lot of the shots. I have also learned being on the move can make you miss them too—so there is no sure fire way to get this done. What really irks me is when I read the play correctly, I am lined up with camera in hand, there's clicking— and the photos come out blurry.  If you’re ever at a game, and you see me with my head down after a play, you can guess what happened. The funny thing about lenses, cameras and my shooting—-the camera does all the work, and the photographer blows the shot. 

But sometimes it works. This past year, to celebrate 10 years of photographing our team from the sidelines, I made a book. It took quite a while to look at all of the photos but it also bought back a lot of memories. One of my favorite photos, however, is not one of our team’s favorites; it took place when the football team from the community where I used to live, came to our field to play…and it was a playoff game. This was a great game and one where there really was not a loser, however, one team had more points than the other and when one lost, the season was over.

As the game was well into the 4th quarter, the other team was about ready to score which would have allowed them to go ahead. They did, and they won. But, what my camera captured was not what actually happened. The player’s knee was down before the ball crossed the goal line and there was nothing that could be done to change the decision. When you are a photographer you are neutral—too bad. All I can say is..."at least it wasn’t blurry!"

The photo above was taken at a game a few years ago. In the words of any great photographer—of which I am not—-they’ll say it’s “timing, angles, and luck.” I bet you can guess which word best describes this shot. 

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So many years ago.

 

“And I wish the price of gas was low and cotton was high

I wish honky tonks didn't have no closing time

And I wish grandpas never died

I wish grandpas never died.”

I am going to make an assumption here; I am assuming most of us had grandfathers. If not, you may not want to continue reading, and if so, come along for the ride.

I was fortunate, I had two grandfathers in my life. They both came to this country about the same time of what I recall, and unless I am making this up in my mind, I want to say they both had the same birthday. Not the years, the dates. Again, I am going off my memory but for some reason October 12th sounds about right.

But the similarities don’t stop there. Both of my grandfather’s were in the grocery business. Okay, that’s about all regarding what they had in common.

My grandfather on my Mom’s side was a bit older when he got married and because of this—-when he had children; according to what I read on ancestry.com, he was 32 when my Mom was born and 35 when my Uncle Earl came into this world. My grandfather was much more of a risk taker than my other grandfather….I do know he enjoyed playing cards and for sure he loved betting on horses. I seem to remember a picture on the wall of a winning horse and he was in the photo.

Another difference between my grandparents…money. My Mom grew up in a more affluent neighborhood and I recently mentioned in “Snap. Shot.”—- my Dad was so poor “his parents couldn’t afford to give him a middle name.” That line still cracks me up.

My Dad’s parents had a grocery store in St. Louis; it was in a less-than desirable neighborhood. Let me restate that….it was in a horrible neighborhood. But that didn’t stop them from working hard and providing for their family. I remember a few things about their store. They had cigarettes and rolling papers where you checked out, the floors squeezed like crazy, and I might be wrong about this, but I want to say they had a large pickle jar with my favorite pickles floating in brine. I also remember they had a meat slicer that I think one time it sliced more than meat. (Think finger.)

Both of my grandparents are now gone, as are my parents, but it’s the moments they allowed me to experience as a young child that live within me (and my brother and sister) today. We were raised to work hard, appreciate what we had, and most important---- never forget where we came from. 

The photo above was taken at the American History Museum in Washington D.C. I took the photo because it brought back memories of my Grandparent’s store. So much has changed since those days of eating pickles and squeaky floors, but one thing has not…my Grandparents on both sides of the family made me who I am today and all I can say is “Thank You” for instilling the values you gave me.

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Spring forward.

 

“It's a beautiful morning, ah

Each bird keeps singing his own song

So long

I've got to be on my way now.”

It’s kind of hard to believe when you look back just a short while back, but it’s starting to get warmer. How do I know? Well, I took a walk today and there was not as much snow as yesterday and…wait for it…in 12 days, daylight saving time starts! That is the sign I need and I suspect others do as well.

Sure it happens every year, but it never gets old; when spring comes, it is like a breath of fresh air. Literally. Suddenly we can be indoors, out-of-doors and one day soon, in any door we want as the pandemic “hopefully” becomes a thing of the past. But let’s go outside and enjoy the spring weather. If you have allergies, you will likely say, “What are you kidding?” Since I don’t have them, at least not in away that truly ruins my day, I look forward to seeing the world to come back to life.

I was reading today about baseball and spring training starting. It will be different again this year, hopefully better than last year, but it will happen! Last year on this date, I was in Phoenix, AZ watching the Chicago Cubs play baseball; it was a sure sign of spring and it felt really good to be in the warmth. Hardly did I realize that the world was about to change. 

But, things are getting better and it might be optimistic thinking, but I really believe we will see a much different spring, summer and fall. My only worry, how do we live free again? I am so used to doing things the new way, and it will be as strange to remove masks, and be amongst people like we were. Don’t get me wrong, I can re-learn being alive again, because I can’t wait.

So, as we move forward to better weather, a more open civilization, and life (in part) as we knew it…I hope everyone will remember what we went through, because should this ever happen again, we are going to need to respond fast. I know we can.

The photo above was taken on the patio of our home. A nest was built right outside our screen door and one morning when “Mama bird” was out getting some choice worms for her babies…my iPhone was taking pictures. Now, I don’t speak “bird” but I feel pretty sure these birds are saying…”I am happy it’s spring!”

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Bringing the world together.

 

“Hello, honey, it's me

What did you think when you heard me back on the radio?

What did the kids say when they knew it was their long-lost daddy-o?”

Years before Instagram, TikTok and Snapchat, we would sit in our rooms, drive in our cars, or lay in the grass with a transistor radio and listen to the radio. There was no Spotify, iTunes, or Amazon music, there were radio stations and we spent hours listening to music, the DJ, and the commercials that filled up time. 

The DJ was what it was really all about. They would actually answer the phone and talk with you. They knew their power but they also knew if the kids didn’t listen, they would be moving on. I remember spending hours listening— and several times a day, dialing as fast as I could with the hope of winning something. It could be a record, t-shirt or a pizza but when you heard the DJ say, “I’m looking for caller number blah, blah and if you’re it, you will win a record!” That’s all I needed to hear and I was dialing like a mad man.

I have written before about the day my Mom brought a push button phone into our home. It gave me such an edge over the old rotary phone. I would say on a good dialing day I could dial 3 or 4 times (yes I still got busy signals)  instead of one time with the old phone. The worst was when you would finally hear the call go through, and your excitement would reach fever pitch, only to hear you were the wrong the caller. It was brutal.

Over the years, the prizes got bigger, the opportunities less frequent, and everyone eventually had a push button phone. Then came automatic re-dial and it all started again. I remember I was driving into the city and was listening to my favorite station. They were giving away tickets to a concert and part of the prize package was a chance to meet the performer back stage. The record was by Vince Gill, a country music performer; sure enough I got through and won the CD. A few days later, I was listening and I heard my name on the air. I had won of the backstage passes with good Ol’ Vince. The problem was, I really had no interest in going to the concert or meeting him; I called the station and explained I was not available to go to the concert and asked if I could offer it to someone else? To my surprise they said, “Yes.”

I knew my assistant loved Vince Gill—-and she went. She had the time of her life and I was glad I didn’t go. It would have been awkward to be there without an interest in meeting him; now if it were Queen, The Eagles, or one of my favorite bands…I would have been there in a heart beat.  (Oh yeah, if it were Heart I would have been there too.)

The photo above was taken outside of a radio station in Nevada. There was no one visible through the window, and it was a local station with a limited radius; one thing I knew however was..there was a DJ inside that darken space who brought the world together—-and it all happened on the radio.

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Six years ago today.

 

“The older I get the more I can see

How much he loved my mother and my brother and me

And he did the best that he could

And I only hope when I have my own family

That everyday I see a little more of my father in me.”

Tonight, it will be six years since my father passed away. If you were to look at his death notice, you would see that tomorrow is the date listed. The reality, my sister was with him as he passed, and I can assure you it was tonight.

I will never forget the night my Dad left us; I was able to speak with him before he passed. It was a one-way conversation, but I know he heard me. This was the second time I have lived through a conversation with my parents when they were about ready to leave. I can say in all honesty I am glad I don’t have to do it again because it totally sucked.

The primary reason I was not in St. Louis that night was due to an impending snowstorm taking place along the 300 miles that separated Chicago from St. Louis. Also on that night I had a date with one of my daughters at the High School Father Daughter Dance. She gave me permission to leave for home, but there was no way I was going to miss this “important date” with her. 

For a couple of reasons: First, this was not just a daughter, this was one of my non-biological daughters; it was so important that she knew I was so proud to be her Dad and be there on this special night with her. Plus, I knew my Dad, and I was pretty darn sure he would have been just fine with my making this decision. He was a great family man, and we all knew how he felt about us.

I miss my Dad as would any child who has lost someone so important to them. But it’s what he instilled in me that I treasure most. He showed me the way to be a human being; it might sound strange to say that, but with the way he treated others and the way he loved his family, it confirms the reason why I used to call him, “Nice Guy Si.” (His name was Simon Rosenbaum.) Why no middle name? He used to say he was so poor the family couldn’t afford one—-that’s my Dad!

Dad, thank you for what you gave me—-a life that I would not change at all. Thanks to you, you showed me what a real man/great Dad was all about.

The photo above was obviously not one I took. This is a photo of my Father with his family. My Dad is the one on the right; as you can see by his smile he was happy to be there—-I am happy he was too or I wouldn’t be here today.

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The first one.

 

“Well, it was true love- right from the start

True love, straight from my heart

True love, ain't no doubt about it, baby

True love, now I can't live without it.”

We have all experienced it, even if we are not sure we have. Falling in love is something that is not explainable—it just happens and when it does, we have changed. For ever.

Our first experience with love is when we’re born. Our families welcome us into their world, and hopefully—-as long as you don’t have a jealous sibling—-they actually want you. In my world, it was my Mom and Dad, but I am happy to report I do believe my sister and brother wanted me. My brother and I had a lot of good fights (I always lost) but I know he has always looked out for me. 

As we move through the years, love comes calling in a number of different ways. 

When we are in the early years of school, at least in my case, I wanted to be “in like” with someone, but even if I was it was "in like”— it always was a one-way street. I was, as they say, “husky” and I am not asking anyone to feel sorry for me, but I was not on any girls list of being desirable. It’s okay, I made it through.

The first time I was really introduced to the concept of having a girlfriend was when I was in a youth group. I was “dragged” into joining by my parents (the same ones who loved me from the moment I was born) and when I got to the building that night I knew I was in the right place. I met friends for life and am still in contact with some of them— and let’s face it, that was a long time ago. 

Probably what I received most from being with these new found friends, was the acceptance that I was one of them. When you are an outsider, and suddenly you have found many people who welcome you, it’s not only a good feeling, it’s a bond. 

I had my “first love” in this youth group; I won’t be specific of course, because I have certainly moved on (and I assure you she has as well) but it’s that first trust in telling someone how you really feel about them that you can never forget—-even if the other person has!

The photo above was taken at Brookfield Zoo many years ago. I used to “drag my youngest daughters” to the zoo because no other family member who could say “no” went with me—-but these two would. One day we went and a younger calf was near their mother—-I saw this shot happen, and when I thought I snapped the photo, I realized I missed it. But, if you wait long enough funny things happen. This is the true sign of love—and I didn’t miss it this time.

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11:04 AM.

 

“Wanna run, I want to hide

"I wanna tear down the walls

That hold me inside.

I wanna reach out

And touch the flame

Where the streets have no name.”

If you have been to a large city recently, you may find something missing. People. 

It’s been nearly a year since I left my office, walked to the train, and thought…”I guess I’ll be back in two weeks when this is all over.”  I was wrong. 

Chicago, like other cities around the country has been rocked by the pandemic. When I went downtown today, I took the train, wore a mask, and knew it was going to be different; I knew something was up when they didn’t take my train ticket, and all I had to do was show it when I got off the train. In other words, it’s still good and I can use it next time. That next time was the ride back home where once again no one wanted it, so it’s still good.

But my gain in a ticket is being felt by the loss of what so many people who live on the streets have had to deal with. I went to the branch of the bank that only a short while ago I would go to nearly twice a week. Today, it is temporarily closed, however I believe if things don’t get better, the word “temporarily” will change to “permanently.” Sitting outside was a homeless man with a cup. There was nothing in it because there was no one around. There was something in it when I left.

As I walked along, I saw empty stores, restaurants, and boarded-up buildings. It was like I was in the “Twilight Zone”—-but in this case, I wasn’t and to think this is how a city I have lived in for so long has ended up, it’s depressing. I do believe a year from now it will be different, but I also believe a lot of damage has been done. We have always been resilient in Chicago, I certainly hope we can pull through because of what I witnessed today, we have a lot of making up to do.

The photo above was taken at 11:04 AM this morning. It was not a Sunday, it was a Friday. Usually at this time the streets are packed, the sidewalks full, and if you stand in the middle of the street you get honked at. Today was a reality check, let’s check this year off and move forward.

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