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      CHICAGO STORIES – GROWING UP IN THE WINDY CITY

      --------

      THOMAS WALSH

      Copyright 2012 Thomas Walsh,

      All rights reserved.

      Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com

       http://www.eBookIt.com

      ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-0897-2

      No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

      This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are a product of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

      ALSO BY THOMAS WALSH

      NONFICTION

      RAFTING THE RIVER OF NO RETURN WILDERNESS -

      THE MIDDLE FORK OF THE SALMON RIVER

      This book is dedicated to the courageous immigrants who came to the United States of America to make a better life for themselves and their families.

      Prologue

      Tim was born at St. Joseph Hospital just off north Lake Shore Drive on a cold, snowy winter day in 1950. He was the fourth and last child born to Irish immigrants. His parents had met at the Holiday Ballroom, a popular meeting place frequented by north side Irish. Their families had immigrated to America in the 1920’s and 1930’s. They came in stages. A few came and settled, finding jobs and apartments. Others joined them as money and job opportunities permitted. Both families found jobs connected in one way or another with the City and its patronage driven political system dominated by Irish Catholics.

      There was nothing remarkable about Tim’s birth except his size. He was eleven pounds at birth. His head was unusually large with a broad high forehead, a trait that came from his father’s side of the family. Maybe the extra-large head provided room for the grey matter that gave him an exceptional gift for memory. Tim had a remarkable ability to recall the past in vivid detail. It gave him a powerful edge in an elementary and high school system that placed heavy reliance on rote memorization for learning.

      Childhood memories of growing up in Chicago were a favorite topic in Tim’s mind when he had time to day dream and let his thoughts wander. There was never a pattern to his trips down memory lane. Some were triggered by sights, sounds or smells. Others were merely the product of serendipity. Either way, as Tim grew older he found comfort in the journeys back to the Chicago of his boyhood. When he found the luxury of time to open the door in his mind to revisit his childhood friends, schools, neighborhoods and experiences, he smiled and let himself drift back to a simpler place and time.

      Chapter 1

      Paper Routes

      Tim often recalled his experiences as a paperboy. Cold winter days always brought those memories to mind. He had frostbitten several of his fingers rolling papers as he worked his paper route. Temperatures below freezing turned those fingers numb and painful, taking him back…

      Tim was a paperboy for several years. First he had an afternoon paper route after school. He delivered the afternoon newspapers, The Chicago Daily News and Chicago’s American from the paper barn on Clark Street on his bicycle. He delivered to homes and apartments in the Ravenswood neighborhood of Chicago’s north side just west of the Uptown area. It took some time and a number of spills to learn how to steer and balance the bike with dozens of papers stuffed in a large canvas sack balanced on the handlebars. The older boys, like Tim’s brothers before him, became so good at balancing their bikes that they could roll and throw papers from their bikes as they pedaled.

      When boys grew up, usually around age 10-12 depending on their size and maturity, they moved up to morning paper routes. Morning routes were larger with many more papers. Consequently, they paid better and offered better opportunities for Christmas tips. Papers were stacked in large three wheeled push carts, with some routes having over 300 Chicago Sun-Times and Chicago Tribunes to deliver. Boys had to be big and strong to push the carts when they were fully loaded, especially in the winter with snow and slush to plow through.

      The paper barn was a small building where newspaper trucks delivered hundreds of bundles of papers. The paper delivery business, Murphy’s, broke the bundles down and sorted them by paper route in stacks on a waist high shelf along the inside walls of the building. Beside each route’s stack of papers hung a metal ring with small paper cards listing the names and addresses of the delivery customers and the paper(s) they subscribed to. The cards were arranged in the order of the suggested layout of the paper route, which most of the boys followed in their daily deliveries. After a while though, many boys knew their routes by heart and only referred to the cards when there was a change notice attached to the ring. The paperboys were expected to be at the barn to load their bikes or push carts no later than 4:00 pm if it was an afternoon route and 5:00 am for a morning route.

      Tim’s first morning route was along a number of nice streets in the Ravenswood neighborhood like Paulina and Hermitage. In the early 1960’s these were wide streets with spacious lawns and majestic elms that spanned the streets forming a canopy like a massive knave in a cathedral. There was a mixture of elegant old clapboard homes and tidy red brick and yellow brick (or Cream City Brick as it was called), apartment buildings with everything from 2 and 3 flats to 18 or 24 apartments or more.

      One morning in mid-December, Tim pushed his cart through a few inches of freshly fallen snow. It was a cold morning. The snow crunched beneath his feet as he rolled the paper cart along the sidewalk. The streetlights cast broad circles of light on the street, parked cars and part of the sidewalk. Soft puffs of snow floated through the light as it blew off the arm of the streetlight and nearby tree branches. In between the circles of light were stretches of dark pierced by occasional light from the front porch of a house or a lamp at the entrance to an apartment building. A feeling of solitude enveloped Tim like a warm blanket in the cold. He was a quiet kid, introspective for his age, who sometimes found solace in his thoughts.

      Most of the papers delivered to apartment buildings were thrown on porches in the back of the buildings. This often meant walking through dark gangways on the sides of the buildings. These passageways were like tunnels from the front to the back of a building. Gangways were the only way to go from the front to the back when buildings were constructed right up to the lot lines. Tim hated walking through a gangway because he was afraid of what the dark might hold. To get up his courage he hummed or sang softly as he entered and walked through a gangway.

      Tim was big for a preteen, but he still had the pudgy face and body of a boy raised to always clean his plate at mealtime. He had not yet developed muscles and agility like his older brothers, who were three and six years older than him. He was the baby in an Irish family; doted on by his mother. This had made him softer than he should have been. Throwing papers up to the first or second floor was not a problem for Tim, but occasionally there was a third floor porch he couldn’t make; a porch that was either too high, or along the side of a building with no space to get an angle for a good throw. On Sundays, the problem was made worse by the increased size of the papers. For these third floors he had no choice but to walk up to the landing between the second and third floor and toss the paper up to the third floor.

      The week before Tim had distributed Christmas calendars to his customers. This was the traditional way to indirectly solicit holiday tips. Tim had gone around to his customers at dinner time to increase the odds of them being home. A one dollar tip was common, sometimes two, and very rarely five dollars was given. Occasionally there was no tip or thank you, or no answer at the door even though people were home. Tim quickly learned that people who appeared to have less than others

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