Benny Jay: Drinking With Nelson Algren

Flipping through the pages of the Sun-Times, I see a story that says Johnny Depp’s making a movie about Nelson Algren.

Perfect. First of all, I love Johnny Depp – seen a bunch of his movies. Sometimes twice.

Second of all, it’s about time Algren got his due. He’s one of Chicago’s great writers. He tells it like it is. His prose poem, City on the Make, is all about how Chicago’s run by hustlers and con men. Nothing’s changed since he wrote it back in 1951.

As talented as he was, Algren made a mess out of his life. He lost most of the money he made and he drank too much.

He used to hang out in seedy Wicker Park dives, back in the day when Wicker Park was a really seedy place.

He felt the local literary elite didn’t appreciate him. So he moved to New Jersey.

That’s the part of his story that always gets me. You figure Algren would go somewhere warm – the Florida Keys maybe, or Mexico — once he leaves his hometown. I know I would.

But, no, he went to Jersey and never came back. Wound up in Long Island. Died in 1981.

I’d like to tell you I hung out with Algren at those seedy Wicker Park dives, but we never met — he moved out of town just as I was moving in.

Besides I hardly ever hang out in taverns.  I don’t like to drink. Oh, I’ll nurse a beer or too, but basically alcohol makes me dizzy. Especially white wine. I can’t stand white wine. Just the smell of it makes me want to throw up. Not that I’d be drinking white wine in a seedy Wicker Park dive with Algren. I’m just saying….

The point is you can’t be much of a drinker if you don’t like to drink.

The closest I came to drinking with a famous writer happened on St. Patrick’s Day 1978. I was at O’Rourke’s, the old pub on North Avenue, looking at Roger Ebert, who was sitting at another table. I was too in awe to say a word to him. I just watched him talking to his friends.

Oh, wait, one day in about 1978 I was walking down Lincoln Avenue and I saw Tom Fitzpatrick stumble out of a bar. Well, that doesn’t count as drinking with him. I wasn’t in the bar. And he wasn’t even drinking, at least not when I saw him. But still….

You probably never heard of Fitz – he died years ago. He used to write a column for the Sun-Times. When I was a kid, I idolized him. Not as much as I idolized Mike Royko, but close. I still own All Together Now, a compilation of Fitz’s columns.

In particular, I like his column about the Days of Rage. That’s when dozens of radicals went on a rampage through the Gold Coast, smashing windows, throwing bottles and overturning cars. Happened in 1969.

Reading that column puts you in the middle of the riot — like you were there. As a matter of fact, one time I told someone I had been there. It wasn’t true. I made it up. Probably using information I remember from the column. Just trying to make an impression.  In my defense, I had a few beers. If you’re out there, sorry.

As a rule of thumb, I suggest you not believe anything anyone tells you over drinks in a bar. Especially if he says he was at the Days of Rage, or Woodstock for that matter. Yes, I know someone must have been there, but it’s probably not the dude you’re drinking with.

Another time, I did a late-night radio show with a couple of newspaper guys. Afterward, we went to the Billy Goat tavern and I watched them knock back beer after beer. Never seen two guys drink so much.

They were swapping tales about the girls they’d screwed and the guys they’d beat up. The more they drank the more girls they screwed and the more guys they beat up. They were probably making half of it up, like me with the Days of Rage.

Now that I think about it – maybe so many writers drink to cover up the fact that they’re afraid to give powerful people the bashing they deserve. Conversely, maybe I bash so many powerful people to cover up my fear of drinking.

Well, it’s a theory anyway.

The thing about Algren – he drank like a fish and he beat up on the big boys.

That’s why he’s one of the greatest. Like Royko. And Fitz.

I can’t wait to see the movie….