...with a couple of friends from the Merc, Kevin and Walter. Since Kevin lives in Flossmoor on the far South Side, we met at Walter's new digs on Austin Boulevard in Oak Park, just north of the Eisenhower and across the street from Columbus Park. We're all a bit older and grayer now (and heavier), but it was good to catch up with some old pals. And after much vigorous handshaking and back-slapping (Shakespeare must have had Walter in mind when he came up with the greeting, "Hail fellow well met..."), we set out for lunch at (where else?) Goldyburgers in Forest Park.
(The trip didn't go off without a hitch, however. While my wife had the van with 127,000 miles on it, I had to choose between the '97 convertible with a dead battery or the Honda Civic with a flat tire. It's a long story, but suffice it to say, I made it.
Kevin had me beat, though. He told us that the gauges in his van have this mysterious tendency to stop working abruptly for no apparent reason. For example, he may be driving along on the highway when all of a sudden the gauges on his dashboard--speed limit, gas, etc.-- fall to zero. This can last for three minutes or three days, Kevin said, and then--just as inexplicably--turn back on again. He'll have no idea how fast he's going or how much gas is left in the tank. He just keeps up with the traffic and hopes there's enough fuel left to get where he's going.
I can just imagine a cop stopping him and saying, "Do you know how fast you were going?"
"No, I don't!" Kevin could answer truthfully. "Tell me.")
Goldyburgers is only a short distance from Walter's and is a typical Chicago tavern, dating back to 1926. (I couldn't believe my mother had never heard of it.) It's dark, dank and has that tell-tale subterranean odor of stale beer and urine. Perfect!
We sat in front where food is served and since all of the tables were equally sticky, we chose one in close proximity to the restroom. We knew it was the restroom because it had an ancient sign on the door that said MEN'S TOILET. Charming. And it was just as Spartan on the inside as you would expect. Over the sink (cold water only), someone had slapped a tiny mirror on the empty paper towel dispenser. This, I gathered, was so that male patrons could quickly check to make sure their hair was combed properly before returning to their bar stool. (Good thing I don't have that problem.) Oh, and needless to say, there was no soap, either.
From my seat in our booth I could see a huge Irish flag hanging over the bar in the back and a photo of the Dooley brothers, whom I assume are the proprietors of the establishment. (It made me wonder how much money was funneled through this place to the IRA back in the day.)
Our waitress, Karen, emerged from the shadows to take our order. (I knew her name was Karen because Walter is the kind of guy who always asks the waitress what her name is; you never know...) She had on a plaid flannel shirt, jeans and Timberland boots and looked like she had just gotten out of the shower; her hair was still air-drying. My guess was that she'd been up late the night before drinking and watching the Blackhawks on TV. "Menus?" she asked, in a voice that sounded like she'd been smoking a pack of cigarettes a day for the last two decades. She brought us bottles of beer with those little glasses that you find only in shot-and-beer joints like this one.
For lunch, Walter and I ordered cheeseburgers on rye with grilled onions while Kevin opted for the Bleu cheeseburger (he always was the fancy-shmancy one). The burgers were thick and served with fries on paper plates. We ate, brought each other up on our families (Kevin's daughter is graduating from college next weekend!) and exchanged some Merc gossip. Before we knew it, it was time to go home.
We shook hands heartily (again) outside of Walter's apartment (I don't know which, but one of those guys hurt my arm), and promised to get together again "real soon," which means "not in the foreseeable future."
Just as I was about to drive off, Kevin leaned down to the passenger side window and asked me what ever happened to that "Song of the Day" feature on my blog. I stopped doing it around the time my father died, I told him, and since no one said anything about it, I just never started it back up again. He said he missed it, so I decided to include a song that always reminded me of my early days in the city.
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