This morning I was treated to what I refer to as Gohere Bay Flashbacks. Today's was courtesy of a cool breeze under clear sunny skies and a good dose of the lake.
As the weather has been warm and muggy lately in Chicago, I dressed in short sleeves for my morning commute. Arriving at Union Station, I walked out into the contrast a morning sun and a stiff breeze blowing off Lake Michigan. The breeze gave a crisp chill that cooled my bare arms almost to the point of wishing I had a jacket, but not quite. Riding the lake breeze was the scent of water and fish and fuel and fresh that signifies a lake that teems with life and energy. Perhaps the only element missing was the fresh tang of evergreen. These are the times when I most miss the Camp. When I recall these mornings, wiping the dew off boat seats, walking cautiously on slick wooden docks, the smell of strong coffee and woodstoves drifting in heavy morning air, I close my eyes and hear the lap of waves on the shore, the gentle glugging sounds of boats rocking back and forth.
This combination of Gohere Bay morning, set off the memory banks as I rode a bus to the west side. I was reminded of a favorite of Willard's stories from the trade show days.
A Bad Neighborhood
The Chicago International Amphitheatre was in a marginal neighborhood on the soutwest side of Chicago adjacent to the Chicago Stock Yards. The Amphitheatre was host to a variety of events including basketball, hockey, concerts etc. For a week in February, it was host to the Chicago Sports Show where John Bromfield hosted a stage show featuring the likes of Victor the Wrestling Bear, log roller extraordinaire from British Columbia Dalton Peck, casting sensation and Garcia cover girl Judy Pachner and other variety acts. The show was a major event and diversion in the depths of Chicago's frigid winter and marked the halfway point between Christmas and Easter.
The show attracted many out-of-towners as well as Chicagoans and the maze of ramps and dead end streets on the southwest side made for confusing navigation. One particular evening, as Willard returned to the amphitheatre with an armload of sandwiches, he encountered an older couple wandering the parking lot, looking a bit lost. Willard typically had a pocketful of passes and was willing to share with folks who looked to be in need, so he approached the couple.
"Can I help you folks?"
"Well," the older man started, "we just had the oddest experience. I'd heard there are some bad areas around here and I think we wandered into one of them." Willard showed his big easy grin and motioned them to follow him.
"So, what happened, do we need to find the police?" Willard asked.
"No, I don't think there's any damage. See, we ended on a dark dead end street when I noticed we had a flat tire. I pulled to the curb and was about to get out of the car when I was blinded by a car's highbeams behind us. I saw the shadows of three men coming toward the car and one of them appeared at my window. He looked huge and dark. He motioned for me to roll down the window and began yelling. I started the car, but the flat tire on the slick street wouldn't move us. I rolled the window down a crack and the man demanded my keys."
The man was visibly shaking and not just from the cold night air as the three approached the pass gate where Willard showed his vendor passes and the three were ushered inside. Inside the hall, they headed for Willard's booth and cups of coffee were poured and the couple sat in chairs at the back of the booth where he continued his story.
"I didn't know what to do so I rolled down the window a crack and handed the keys to him. It sounds so stupid, I mean, I handed him my keys!!" The man leaned forward in his chair, seemingly unable to comprehend what he had done. "Sure the doors were locked, but he had the keys. What was I thinking, right..." His voice trailed off and he shook his head. The woman reached out to touch his shoulder consolingly.
"So there I am, I just handed over the keys and he walks around to the trunk where these other two are standing and all I can think is these three hoodlums are going to do something. The trunk opened and I saw the biggest of the men take out the tire iron and come around the side of the car, spinning it in his hands. The other men, I could hear them, rummaging in the trunk, moving things and metal clanking. Then I felt the car pitch forward then rock back. Then it happened again and again. The men were shouting and laughing, but I couldn't hear what they were saying through the closed windows. All of a sudden I felt the car pitch more than it had before and the back end start to lift. I looked in the outer mirror and I'll be damned, they were changing the tire. The big guy had the lug nuts off and was pulling the tire off, one guy was on the jack, the other had the spare and was slapping it on. I just couldn't believe it. I was reaching for my wallet when I noticed the big guy standing at the window with the tire iron in one hand and my keys in the other. His two partners were standing behind the trunk which they had closed. I grabbed all the cash I had in my wallet and rolled down the window to hand it to him. He raised the tire iron and handed laid it in my lap, then handed me my keys. I reached my hand with the money through the window but he shook his head and smiled, for just a second, before he looked at my wife with a painfully straight face and said 'You all better git outta here, this is a bad neighborhood' and walked back to his car. He waited to make sure our car started, then they were gone."
The man took a deep breath and shook his head. The wife nodded agreement. Finally, the shaking stopped and they shed their coats.
Willard smiled. "Enjoy the show." As the couple wandered off.
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