The Cubs: A coda

Early April found me back in Chicago. I have embraced the World Series win, but have found it difficult to do my “baseball homework” for the upcoming season. Andrew assures me that the Cubs have gotten even better. I was discussing with Jeff, who grew up in North Carolina, how we became fans of out-of-town sports team. Cable television in the 1980s offered a different world, one that was more local and regional. On his package were WOR-TV and Madison Square Gardens Network, which carried New York Rangers games. I told him about having WGN-TV when I was in high school and being able to see Jack Brickhouse and Harry Caray every day after school. It was a good discussion of East Coast (New York) versus Midwest (Chicago) loyalties.

I made the pilgrimage to Wrigleyville. With all the signage, including the iconic red sign at the entrance to Wrigley Field, pronouncing the Cubs as World Series Champions, I sought a different visual affirmation. My first stop after getting off the L was 3633 North Sheffield, home of a simply blue sign with white letters. There is no explanation, simply EAMUS CATULI on the left side of the building; and AC followed by a series of numbers on the right. For more than two decades, obvious to television cameras along the right field wall, it has kept a running track of the futility of the Cubs in the playoffs. Latin for Let’s Go Cubs and then Anno Catuli (Year of the Cubs) followed by the number of years since a division win, a league pennant win, and a World Series win. The number had grown to great proportion AC 00 71 108. I left the Addison stop walking toward Wrigley and made the right turn down Sheffield, just beyond the recently reconstructed and enlarged right field bleacher, where Andre Dawson and Sammy Sosa, played was the building in question. I looked for the familiar sign and regarded the new numbers. There was a sense of closure and satisfaction as I absorbed the words: Eamus Catuli 00 00 00. Indeed, the Cubs had won the World Series, and the Sisyphean task of a new baseball season was about to begin. 

The Ghost of the Cubs

Marker noting the location of West Side
Grounds (1893-1915)

Early October 2016 found me in the Chicago area. With my commitments finished at a conference, I put on my 1914 Cubs logo t-shirt and went in search of the location of West Side Grounds, the last (and, thus far, only) stadium to host a World Series championship for the Cubs. In the process I toured the city from the perspective of a Cubs fan and relived many of my own nostalgic memories.

Only a small sign indicates where a stadium once stood over a century ago. I sat down for a few minutes in the beautiful courtyard of the UIC medical campus. It was a peaceful place; there were very few people around that late-morning Saturday. It was a perfect blue sky, untouched by clouds, and there was a cool breeze with the temperature in the upper fifties. I imagined a time, almost 108 years to the day, when the Cubs last won the World Series. The 1908 Series between the Cubs and the Detroit Tigers featured five future hall of famers. With an absence of motion pictures, and a Cubs team that is favored to make it deep into the 2016 playoffs, it is tempting to think about what that championship would have looked like. I spent some time trying to recreate in my mind and imagining those October days at West Side Grounds. While sitting there, I jotted a few notes and had a quiet reflection. Three people walked by during the twenty minutes or so that I was there. Each moved from one building to another, and smiled an acknowledgment. Did they know the real reason for my visit, or were they simply engaging in what they thought was a professional courtesy?

Where center field once was...

The Cubs won the series four games to one, splitting the two games played at West Side Grounds on October 11 and 12. During the October 11 game (game 2 of the series), the Cubs broke a scoreless tie on the bottom of the eighth when Joe Tinker hit a two-run homer. The Cubs would go one to score four more runs in the inning and won the game in an hour and a half. The next day, Detroit beat the Cubs by a score 8-3. During the game, future Detroit hall of famer, Ty Cobb hit three singles and a double. He had two stolen bases, and was thrown out trying to steal home in the ninth inning.

I sat on a bench, which I estimated to be somewhere in left-center field based on where the sign indicating the centerfield entrance was located. If my guess was correct, it would have been near where Jimmy Sheckard would have played. Across the field, at first base, player/manager and future Hall of Famer, Frank Chance would play for several seasons. He would go on to coach and play for the Chicago Whales of the Federal League, the first occupants of Weeghman Field, later known as Wrigley Field. But Chance is more famous for anchoring the double play combination with Evers and Tinker. The combination of Tinkers, Ever and Chance was the bedevilment of early twentieth century National League teams. Famously, in 1910 as the Cubs approached yet another World Series appearance, New York columnist Franklin Pierce Adams penned the poem, “Baseball’s Sad Lexicon.” The poem would be published in the New York Evening Mail, 12 July 1910.

“Three Finger” Mordecai Brown did not appear at West Side Grounds during the 1908 World Series. Brown, who had been injured in a farm accident as an adolescent, was the star pitcher of the team. He would go on to play for the Chicago Whales, with Frank Chance during the 1915 season at Weeghman Field.  

We often forget how much baseball has shaped our language. “Hitting a home run,” or to do really well, is not an idiom known outside of North America. It is also used as a euphemism for sexual intercourse as well. The idiom, “out in left field,” a term which means “crazy” or completely unexpected and one that was often used by my father, originated at West Side Grounds. By today’s standards, the West Side was oddly shaped with an exaggerated outfield wall. Beyond the left field wall, a home for the mentally ill patients once stood. One account noted that the patients would often yell at the fans causing much consternation.

Ron Santo outside Wrigley

I am increasingly ambivalent about my feelings toward major league baseball. Much of the joy of the game has given way to marketing and hype. The changes in the Cubs, the organization and even beloved Wrigley have contributed to my ambivalence. Some of these changes are and were unavoidable. The death of Ron Santo, famous third baseman and later beloved radio announcer, was difficult. His life-long battle with diabetes was an inspiration to many and hits close to my family. It is difficult to replace him for loyal listeners like myself. His enthusiasm, optimism and exasperation are sorely missed. As the Cubs continue to do well, I think how he would have been in the booth and on the field with the guys. There is my own sense of nostalgia as well. When I see a game these days I note that Kris Bryant is wearing Mark Grace’s number; Jon Lester is wearing Kerry Wood’s. As the Cubs creep inevitably closer to ending the long drought of World Series Championships, after all “anyone can have a bad century,” I remember many of the players I wish had had an opportunity to play for the team in the World Series.

Harry outside the bleacher entrance at
Sheffield and Waveland

I think back to the death of Harry Caray and his closing words on his final broadcast on WGN: “Next year maybe will be the year we all have been waiting for forever.” Caray was a primary reason for becoming a Cubs fan. I would often tune into Cubs broadcast in the afternoon after coming home from school, just to hear what he had to say. Harry was famous for leading the Wrigley Field faithful in his rendition of “Take Me Out to the Ballpark,” seemingly inevitably, followed up with him shouting: “Let’s get some runs!” Even today, every once in a while, I find a clip of Harry singing just to give myself a lift. One of the most memorable renditions did not occur at Wrigley, but across town when Harry was announcing for the White Sox in 1979. He tried to calm a rowdy crowd who had stormed the field in the aftermath of the Disco Demolition Night promotion. In vain, Harry sang while the crowd started fires and began to tear the stadium apart. Watching replays of the event, Harry’s effort never fails to make me laugh, albeit with a little embarrassment for him.

After all these years, it is still a thrill to see Wrigley from the Addison L station, even as the area becomes increasingly gentrified. One of the great things about Wrigley was that it was in the midst of a neighborhood. I remember watching Cubs games in high school and college wishing I could stand out on Waveland Avenue to shag home run balls as they left the park. Yes, I too would have thrown balls from opposing players back. Many of the buildings on Addison, across the street from the stadium, have been demolished to make way for luxury apartments. The changes seem too much. I wanted the Cubs to win the World Series based on the city that prided itself on hard work. Increasingly baseball seems more willing to sell anything to make a buck. History and identity is lost. Yet, my love of the game’s history and the social impact of the game remains. While there is a temptation to look away, I just can’t.

Two weeks to the day after my visit to West Side Grounds (and Wrigley), the Cubs met the Los Angeles Dodgers in the decisive game 6 of the National League Championship Series. The game was never in doubt, but watching there was a worry that the Cubs could implode at any minute. They did not. As the game moved to the ninth inning, it became increasingly clear that North Siders would appear in the first World Series in seventy-one years.

As the game ended, I received texts and phone calls from friends. I pictured myself with a rueful smile on my face as I watched the celebration, thankful that no one was pointlessly talking over the traditional playing of Steve Goodwin’s, “Go, Cubs, Go.” I held my composure, thinking about Goodwin who died in 1984, sitting alone surveying the stadium and its fans. Then, Joe Buck noted that there were probably a lot of Cubs fans who were thinking about their parents, grandparents, and loved ones who were no longer here to witness this. I broke down and cried.

For me there is a great irony to this season: 2016 was the first summer in thirty years that I did not attend a major league game. As I was contemplating this, what little superstition I do have surfaced: If that was all it took for the Cubs to make it to the World Series…  

Where Journeys Begin (and/or End)

For any traveler familiar with the United States, the iconic Route 66 instinctively draws us to exploration. The legendary “Mother Road,” which runs from Chicago to Santa Monica, winds its way through eight states and beckons us west. Its legendary status has inspired song, television and more important travelers. Its 2448 miles contains some of the most famous Americana sites that grace postcards and magazine articles.

Historical marker on
East Adams Street 

Although officially decommissioned in 1985, people and legend keep the memory of the road alive. On East Adams Street in Chicago, not far from Michigan Avenue, there is a marker that denotes the place where Route 66 began on its journey westward. With the better part of a day to kill in the city, I took a trip for which the route was not designed: I decided to walk the first part, or last depending on geographic persuasion (I note that several guides have a west-to-east orientation). I had limited expectations but decided that it might be the start of a new adventure and a goal.

As I turned the corner from Michigan Avenue onto East Adams Street. I saw a three-generation Asian family posing for photographs at the sign. The grandparents were taking turns holding the granddaughter while posing on an otherwise nondescript downtown street. The mother had a selfie stick, but I am not exactly sure what she was trying to accomplish with it. I waited for them to finish their various poses before snapping a photo myself and beginning my trip west.

Wearing my 1914 replica Cubs hat, which I calculate to be about 17 years old, and my hiking boots, I knew my journey would not be arduous. Yet I was trying to beat the threat of impending rain showers. I had gone no more than a block when a guy wearing a Cubs sweatshirt, talking on his cell phone and walking toward me pointed directly at me. He interrupted his conversation, and said emphatically, “Go Cubs!” It took me a moment to process what was going on, but chuckled afterwards when I thought to myself if this guy did that to every Cubs fan in downtown Chicago he would never finish his conversation.

Within the first quarter of a mile or so, there are a several classic Chicago business. At the corner of State Street the Palmer House Hotel and the Berghoff Restaurant hearken to an earlier time. The Berghoff is a classic German restaurant that rose to prominence during the Chicago Exposition of 1893. The bar/restaurant opened in 1898 and sandwiches were given away when patrons bought a mug of beer. The owner was advertising his brothers’ Dortmund-style beer which made in Indiana. Of course during Prohibition Berghoff was not allowed to sell its beer, but focused instead sold near-beer and root beer, which is still available today. After prohibition was repealed, the restaurant resumed the serving of beer and had liquor permit number 1 for the city of Chicago. These days the food and ambiance are the primary draws rather than the beer. Nevertheless, the place oozes nostalgia and history.

There are many people, more so than in years past, asking for spare change these days. A symptom of Chicago’s economic plight. As with many cities in the eastern half of the United States, the melted snow has revealed a great deal of trash and debris that has yet to be cleaned.

St Patrick Church with the statue "Grainne" in the foreground

Chicago is obviously a much newer than many cities on the east coast. The Great Fire of 1871 brings that point home more readily. Very few buildings survived the fire. One building that did survive is St. Patrick’s Church at 700 West Adams, at the corner of South DesPlaines. Built between 1852 and 1856, the church is closely associated with the Irish community in Chicago. Across DesPlaines, in Heritage Green Park, there is a statue of “Grainne” a gift from Chicago’s sister city Galway, Ireland.

As you near Ogden there are several small parks, where pick-up games of softball are still played on Sunday morning. Row houses, both new and old, occupy tree-lined blocks as you walk west out of the downtown section of Chicago. Epiphany Church, a congregation that appears to have fallen on hard times, is at the corner of Ashland and Adams. At Ogden Avenue within sight of the United Center (home of the Chicago Bulls and Blackhawks), Route 66 took a left to head southwest out of the city and toward Springfield and points west. I, instead, made my way over the West Jackson Boulevard, which is one-way, heading east to return to the city. Turning back to the city, the Sears Tower, arguably the tallest building in the United States, becomes much more noticeable than when you are standing next to it.

I walked by the Bays English Muffin faculty and, even though it was closed on Sunday morning, there was a residual, pleasant smell of yeast in the air.

Neon sign at Athenian Candle Co. 

It is hard to observe classic Americana this near to Chicago; however, as you near downtown more odd and interesting places begin to pop up. One such place, at the corner of Halstead, is the Athenian Candle Company in Greek Town. The business opened in 1922 and served the liturgical needs of the Orthodox community throughout the United States. What makes the business noticeable to the traveler is the great signage and neon light that hangs on the corner.

The most iconic place along Jackson is Lou Mitchell’s, a restaurant and coffee shop that has been open since 1923. Located near Union Station, I got to the restaurant just as the Sunday brunch rush was starting. I got there just in time, after I was seated a substantial line formed to wait for tables. Because it was so busy, and I was by myself, I was seated at a communal counter with seven other people. It was a frenetic pace in the restaurant; I nursed a cup of coffee, advertised as the finest in town, while I waited to order. Waiting afforded me an opportunity to watch and observe. I was curious about several boxes lining the front window until I realized that they contained oranges for fresh-squeezed juice. I watched several orders of fresh doughnut holes go by. My server, who seemed befuddled by the rush, took my order and I had a leisurely lunch despite about chaos.

Lou Mitchell's on West Jackson

After lunch, I completed the walk ending, once again, at Michigan Avenue. My trip consisted of a total of 2.3 miles each way. I was a little disappointed that I did not even cover 0.1% of the entirety of Route 66. Nevertheless, as I walked along the streets of Chicago I thought about walking other portions of the fabled highway. The pleasures of trips considered.