For the better part of the next 15 years, our lives were almost a mirror parallel of each other.  Rudy got married, I got married, Phyllis & I had a baby girl, Rudy & Audrey had a baby girl, Rudy bought a house, I bought a house, Phyllis & I adopted a son, so did the Glovers, Randy, etc. etc. etc.  We celebrated birthdays, holidays and we were at each others homes on a regular basis.  My kids and their kids saw each other more often then many of their cousins.  I got so I could drive to their home at 8000 South Euclid on automatic pilot and my family and I were as comfortable there as at our own home.  I think the same was true for them.

Early in April of 1968 Rudy was on business for his company in Detroit.  On the 4th, Audrey brought Coco to the far north side where we lived for a visit.  We were enjoying a very pleasant visit when the news came that Dr. King had been assassinated.  Chicago, Detroit and cities across America erupted.  We spoke with Rudy, he was in his hotel and was not leaving.  At that time I did not have a car, so in Rudy’s absence I became Audrey’s escort home.  We went to the elevated station near our apartment and took the train all the way to the far south side where they lived.  Audrey was smart, when we passed through the center of the city she passed Coco over to me and said she was getting heavy.  I carried her from that point.  Later Rudy told me that was her way of showing anyone that might take offence to me that I was okay.  We got off of the train and walked the nearly 3 blocks to their apartment where she promptly called several neighborhood young men we had met at their home before.  Larry, Michael and Shell came and accompanied me back to the el station and made sure I was safely on the train back home.

In 1970 Phyllis & I adopted a son of mixed ancestry, Jason.  For the lily white suburb we lived in this was a shock and we had crosses burnt on our lawn.  When Rudy heard this, he brought his entire family including all of the young men we knew.  They and my two wonderful neighbors played catch football out on the front lawn all afternoon in a show of solidarity.  These also neighbors walked the entire circle of 30 homes where we lived and told everyone there of the burnt crosses and that they would be watching and protecting us from any further incidents.  We were never bothered there again.

In the early 70’s Phyllis & I divorced.  I still continued to see Rudy and his family on a regular basis.  In !978 I married Anita and Rudy came to my wedding. Here are Rudy, Anita’s father Vince, My brother Max and I at our house in Skokie following the ceremony. 

A year later I moved to southern California.  In the years following whenever I was in or passing through Chicago I would meet with Rudy.  Sometime I had time and drove to his house and got to see the family, but that happened less and less as my visits became short and sporadic.  Rudy came to Los Angeles several times and I also got to see him there.  By this time although our affection for each other had not changed, we seemed to only share the surface details of work and family.  The intimate details of feelings, emotions, problems and issues were glossed over.  I missed that part of our relationship.

In the 80’s Rudy and Audrey went to Las Vegas several times for New Year’s.  Anita & I joined them and had a great time.

Here are Rudy & Audrey at the party!

In the 1993 my son Jason was murdered.  I returned to Chicago for the funeral and again for the subsequent trial of his murderer.  Each time I got to visit with with Rudy & Audrey.  I think the last time I saw Audrey was at the funeral, but I was so traumatized that I really can’t remember much.

Years later, I was in Mesa, visiting mom when she was in the hospital.  Checking my phone messages at home, I had a message from two days earlier from Rudy, he wanted me to call back because he had a favor to ask.  When I called the next morning, I found out he had committed suicide. I still have enormous guilt from that.  I feel that had I been there at that time he would still be with us.  I sill bawl like a baby when I recall all that.

Rudy will always be in my heart.   He was a brother in life and a dear and cherished friend.

On the field the batter would hit a high popup which an infielder would drift back on and slowly under, thumping his glove with his fist and make an easy catch. Meanwhile Bert would be screaming "a well hit ball high – it’s high -the wind is catching it – Jeffcoat is racing in to catch it – but – wait – Roy Smalley beats him to it and makes a wonderful diving catch."

For the folks at home his broadcast style certainly made the game far more enjoyable and he carried the excitement and joy of being at the park into the home. It also made for a lot of fun at the ball park.

Dear Dustin:

Thank you for the nice letter.

So you want to know what Christmas was like when I was in first grade?   Well that’s a lot of remembering to do.  I think that I was about seven years old when I was in first grade.  Holy cow Dustin, that is over fifty years ago. I sure hope you don’t expect me to remember EVERYTHING!

When I was In first grade my family lived in Chicago.  We lived on the North side of the city on Oakdale Street near Wolcott.  I went to the Jahn School.  I don’t think it is there any more.  I remember that the school yard was fenced in with huge concrete posts that held long metal poles.  One day just before Christmas I ran into one of the concrete posts and cut my head real bad.  The school nurse put a band-aid on the cut and sent me home.  When I got home the band-aid was gone and the cut was bleeding.  When my mother came to the door to let me in and saw this she almost fainted because I looked so bad. I still have the scar.

My mom always liked to put up the Christmas tree soon after Thanksgiving and sometimes didn’t take it down until February.  We were real poor and I would take my red wagon and go up on the train tracks and pick coal.  The trains all used coal for fuel, so there was always pieces and chunks of coal that would fall off the train.  I remember that sometimes the firemen on the trains would scoop big shovels-full of coal and give them to me.

My favorite poem from first grade went like this:

A snowman stood outside of the door
and thought he’d like to come in and live upon the floor
So the North Wind blew him through the door
Now there’s nothing but a puddle on the floor

I remember that I got a train set for Christmas.  My dad, my brother and I set it up in front of the Christmas tree and I would sit there and run it around in circles for hours.  I really liked that train set a lot.  I would use pieces of wood and cardboard to build bridges and buildings and use my toy soldiers to pretend that the train was being attacked and they had to save it from the train robbers. I had a lot of fun.

Well Dustin, that’s all I can remember.  I hope this helps you.  I love you and hope we can go fishing with each other this summer.

It was the summer of 1961.  I was a computer programmer in downtown Chicago.  I had just worked a 36 hour day fixing a bug in the computer system.  It was a typical summer day in Chicago.  Hot, muggy and very uncomfortable. 

I had left work, got on a crowded elevated train and stood hanging on to a strap dangling from the ceiling for more than half way to my station. As I rode, I was feeling pretty sorry for my self.  The previous November my wife had left me and our three children.  She had met the man of her dreams.  He was a short order cook at a local restaurant.  Times were tough for me.  I was making under $100 a week and had already gone through a succession of baby sitters.  They would start watching the kids and shortly thereafter, disappear.  Most left for better paying work. 

Consequently, my work schedule was severely affected.  My boss was understanding and allowed me flexible hours but made sure I delivered results.  Hot, tired, and not looking forward to all the chores waiting for me at home I was depressed. I left the elevated station and began slowly walking to my bus stop.

Everyone was rushing ahead to get to their buses, etc.  As they flowed past me, ahead I could see them swerving either left or right past a man I estimated to be in his mid 40′s.  Pushing a bicycle, he was just stepping off the curb onto the street.  Perhaps he really was using the bicycle as a support because he was severely disabled.  His feet were pointed at each other instead of straight ahead and he could not raise them more than an inch or so off the ground. Each step he took was a huge effort.

He had on shoes that looked like heavy duty work boots.  He would struggle to lift a foot a bit and forcefully drag that foot over the top of the other foot.  Each step required great physical effort.  His entire body would shudder with the effort required. The light changed as I reached the curb and I watched as traffic stopped to allow him to finish crossing the street.  I noticed several people on the opposite side of the street do the same. 

When he reached that sidewalk, he stopped and took a few deep breaths.  There was a water fountain on that corner and he took a few more steps to it, took a drink, reached into a pocket, pulled out a handkerchief and soaked it in the fountain.  He took the wet handkerchief, wiped his face and neck several times, wet it a last time, wrung it out and carefully laid it in the basket of his bike.

A man on that corner, who also had been watching this, came over to him and said something.  I assume he was asking if there was anything he could do to help.  The disabled man said something and shook his head in response and began pushing his bike down the street.  About this time I had crossed over also and I stood and watched him for several minutes as he continued his weary way. 

Then I felt a wave of embarrassment as I recalled my earlier depression.  I realized I really had very small problems in comparison. That wonderful man showed me how to live.  I will always remember the determination, bravery and heroism he displayed that day. 

Life presents each of us with all sorts of obstacles, how we respond to them is a key factor in our lives.  We can lie around and fell sorry for ourselves or we can put one foot in front of the other and move forward.  He was doing exactly that. From this remarkable experience I also learned that how you live your life will influence other people in ways you can not anticipate or imagine.  This hero of mine has absolutely no idea how his actions have affected me and probably others that he passed during his life.  I wish I could tell him how important of a person he was.

The entire county of Forest to this day only has a population of about 10,000 people.  Housing, however, was considerably cheaper than Chicago.  We paid $7 a month rent for the huge 4 bedroom house in Soperton.  But we pumped our own water, had an outhouse and the streets were gravel.  And to the dismay of my older brother and me, we had a huge wood burning stove in the living room to heat the house.

About 10 miles north of us was the largest hardwood mill in the U.S., the Connor Lumber and Land Company.  About 3 times each winter, Mom would buy enough wood to fill a giant dump truck full of flooring ends and pieces.  Each piece was no larger than 8 inches long and many were just an inch or so.  We would come home from school and find a huge pile of this wood in the alley in front of the wood shed.  My brother, being seven years older than I, understood immediately what this meant and tears would stream down his face. 

He and I would throw all this wood, piece by piece into the wood shed.  Well, the truth is, he would do the vast majority of it and I would more or less get in his way.   Over sixty years later he still complains about how little help I was.

There was no getting out of it, regardless of what plans we had for our young lives.  After hours of work over several days time, we filled the wood shed and cleared the alley.  But we were not yet done with our task.  The wood shed was out in back of the house.  “Do you think the wood will find its way into the house all by itself”, said our mother.  “Stack as much as you can on the back porch”. 

So now we (again mostly my brother, in tears) would make trip after trip carrying armfuls of wood into the house and pile it on the back porch.  We could get enough wood for a week or two on the porch at one time, but that would disappear very quickly.  A short time later, we would have to do it all over again.  We got to the point that every time we went to the outhouse we would bring an armload of wood back with us.  It helped, but the work was always there. 

And, in two to four feet of snow it was not a lot of fun.  The tears came easy in below zero temperatures.