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 Random Thoughts Of A Tired Old Man. 

At times, sitting in my Lazy Boy recliner and pondering on my life the thought crossed my mind that the current generation of young people know nothing about the lives of their parents and especially their grandparents. In the pages that will follow this opening draft I will try to recall the stories of my life in particular and that of my parents and grandparents. Their will be no particular order to these thoughts but they will just appear as they appear to me. Let’s call it a PROLOGUE
Random thought for today. I started life in the days of Norman Rockwell. The street I lived on was typical of the times. Almost every block on the south side of Chicago had a candy store on one corner, a bar on another corner and either a butcher shop or bakery on another corner. From our address on 3511 So Wallace I could turn right and walk one half block. On the corner of my block was George B McClellan elementary school. More on this to come later. Across the street was a bakery where my parent would send me or my brother almost every morning to get fresh baked Kaiser rolls which were still warm. We would take them home and cut them in half and slather them with butter. The bakery was owned by german immigrants from WWI and they knew how to bake. None of this Gluten free tastelss stuff they sell at Walmart in the bakery section. A Kaiser roll with a hard french bread crust and a fluffy white interior sopping with melted salted butter made from real cows milk was a delight to the taste buds. I
f I crossed the street from the elementary school there was a candy store on the corner where one could buy all the stuff that is bad for you, rots out your teeth, leads to diabetes and heart attacks, etc. We didn’t know any of that stuff back then so we indulged ourselves with the money we made parking cars for the Chicago White Sox games. We lived a couple of blocks from Comisky Park home the the White Sox and whenever they had a home game the parking lot would fill up quick and the overlow would park on our street. We would go up to the driver as they got out of their car and offer to “ Park Your Car Mister “ which meant we would watch it so that it wouldn’t get vandalized or stolen during the game. The drivers knew it was bogus but they usually gave us a quarter which was a princely sum back then. To finish out our block we had the elementary school on one corner a candy store on another corner, a butcher shop on another corner and, of course, the ubiquitous corner bar on the 4th corner. This was my neighborhood. More to come.