Benny Jay: Mr. Cub « The Third City

Benny Jay: Mr. Cub

December 17th, 2009

My younger daughter’s sitting at the desk in my bedroom, studying for a psychology test; my wife’s on the bed, writing Christmas cards; I’m in the chair, reading a book….

Or trying to.

My daughter decides it would be better for her if she tells me all about her material, like we’re having a conversation about the five senses – taste, smell, touch, sight and the other one. Can’t think of it right now.

I’m nodding along, pretending I’m paying attention, when actually my mind’s wandering from here to there and I wind up wondering: When was the last time I got high?

I’ve been wondering about this a lot lately — probably cause so many years are passing and I want to keep from losing memory of things that happened in my life.

I can tell you when I started getting high – freshman year of college. I can tell you when I basically quit, sophomore year of college. But since I didn’t quit cold turkey — for a few years after that I’d have a joint every now and then — I can’t precisely tell you when I had my last joint….

And this isn’t easy — we’re talking about things that happened almost thirty years ago….

I momentarily zap back to earth to hear my daughter say something about the “sense of smell” and then I drift back in time….

Was it with Milo? That would have been spring, 1982. It was a warm night. We were sitting on the front porch of the two-flat on Roscoe street. Me and Milo – and Roger. Milo’s old buddy. We were talking about baseball. The Chicago Tribune Company had recently bought the Cubs, and had hired some hard-ass named Dallas Green to run them. Green had announced that he wasn’t going to pay Ernie Banks to come to spring training.

And Milo was pissed. I mean, really pissed. As he vented, he passed a joint. There had to be joint. Back then there were always joints.

But was I smoking it?

Milo was ripping into the Tribune and Dallas Green. Said he was never gonna buy their worthless rag of a newspaper or watch Channel 9 or listen to WGN radio either. Said Ernie Banks hit five-hundred-something home runs for the Cubs. Said how many did Dallas Green hit for the Cubs. Mother fucker never even played for the Cubs….

I tried to interject a point or two, but Milo was on a roll.

He said Ernie Banks is Mr. Cub! And if Mr. Cub wants wants to come to spring training and do nothing but shake a few hands, he’s earned that right. Cause he’s Mr. Cub — as in Mr. Mother Fucking Cub! So fuck the Tribune. Fuck Dallas Green — and fuck the Cubs!

And the joint was going around — there had to be a joint going around….

And then Roger said: Well, the Tribune does have a fiduciary responsibility to its stockholders….

When he said that, we just about died laughing cause 1.) his voice came out of nowhere — `til then he’d been sitting there so quietly we’d forgotten he was even on the porch and 2.) fiduciary sounds very funny, especially when you’re high. You say it: fi-doo-she-airy. See what I mean? It’s a big concept, too. Who knew Roger had such a sophisticated vocabulary. Hell, I’m not sure Milo or I could have come up with fiduciary – and we’re the writers and all. Okay, now we know it. In fact, every now and then Milo will slips the word into a blog bit he’s writing — like a tip of the hat to Roger. But back then? We didn’t know about fiduciary….

But was I stoned?

“Are you listening, dad?” asks my daughter.

“Yeah,” I say, snapping out of the past and returning to the present.

“I’m talking about kinesiology.”

“I know….”

“Oh, I have that,” says my wife, looking up from her card writing.

“Everyone has it, mom,” says my daughter.

“I know, but I have it too….”

Pause. I’m thinking – the woman’s been married to me for a mighty long time cause, whoa, that sounds like something I’d say.

My daughter leaves the room to brush her teeth. My wife goes back to writing her Christmas cards.

“You ever hear from Roger?” I ask her.

“Roger?”