I was the second child of Lollie and Rich.  My sister, Jane, preceded me by 18 months.  She was born in 1946, at a time when America was breathing a sigh of relief that the war was over.  My dad had been assigned as an administrator of the Selective Service in Rapid City, South Dakota.  Jane became the role model for the rest of us.  Nora, who joined us in 1949, would be alternately Jane’s playmate and mine.  Johnny made us a foursome in 1953.  Sandwiched tightly in between sisters, I was overjoyed to have a little brother.

It was a creative mix.  I was constantly challenged to steal a little attention from my smarter and more capable older sister.  Nora was always my pal; Johnny, always my follower.  How could this interplay not equip me with the social skills that I was able to use effectively for my whole life?  I gained subtle techniques in leading.  I could also be a follower.  From my sisters, I picked up a mind to focus on other people’s feelings.

Jane followed my Dad into law and became the first female judge in Lake County.  Nora is also a lawyer working as an advocate for inmates of the state mental hospitals in New York City.  Johnny is a regional representative for the United Auto Workers based in South Eastern Wisconsin.  He is also the labor representative on the University Of Wisconsin Board Of Regents.  My cousin, Danny, served eight months as mayor of Waukegan before dying of a heart attack in 2002.

We all went to the parish school, taught by the Dominican sisters.  Some of them were fierce; others, angelic.  They weren’t prepared to orient their classes of 40 or more baby boomers.  They had no idea of the challenges we would eventually face.  I remember coming across the word “racial” in a civics book when I was in seventh or eighth grade.  I asked my dad what it meant.  As an advocate and a guy in touch with town goings on, he was probably aware of some gathering storms.  He told me what it meant, then said, “That’s important, son.”  He told me about his defense of Mr. Huley, who had killed another black guy, “At least the prison time was much less than for killing a white.”  Jane and I remember that Mom would take our used clothes to Mrs. Huley and her several kids on Market Street.

 

As president of the altar boys in the 50s, I made out the schedules for serving mass.  My first duplication method was the hectograph, which Father O’Brien showed me how to use.  Boil some special gelatin on the stove.  Let it cool in a pan.  Write the schedule on a master, transferring ink to a negative.  Place the negative onto the gelatin.  Then press down and lift the image off one sheet at a time.

Our school was filled with white working class kids – so industrial was Waukegan in those days.  We were home to a number of lakefront factories including a U.S. Steel wire mill.  Our volunteer basketball coaches, Vince and Jack, came after their shift in the mill.  Vince led us in prayer, always ending with extra Hail Mary “for those poor souls in Purgatory who have no one to pray for them.”

My best friend was Peter Ochoa, a Mexican American jokester.  As grade school students, we always attended the Waukegan High basketball games.  We sat at courtside.  Peter’s enthusiasm for the great tandem of Tony Seals and Jack Young was so contagious.  Both of those guys had a skin color pretty much the same as his.  In those days, I couldn’t figure out why he pronounced his older brother’s name as “Miggy”.   The one we called “Mickey” was “Miguel” at home.  Once, Fr. O’Brien took all of the altar boys on the North Shore Line to the Riverview amusement park in Chicago.   I can’t forget his anger when Mickey, Pete, Tommy, Timmy and I lost track of time.  We didn’t dare try the Parachute Jump but stayed too long on the Bobs Roller Coaster and the Rotor.  Father O had to wait with us for a later train.

Pete and I were constantly hounded by the nuns and by my Aunt Mary.  They said that we should go into the seminary after eighth grade.  This altar boy partner of mine now suffers from post- traumatic stress and alcoholism.  He served two tours in Vietnam. I haven’t seen him since he hugged me at a class reunion in the ‘90s.