I am looking at a hat that I like very much and that I wear
whenever it is cold. I have had it for more than twenty years. It is a wool tweed cap that is a bit ragged
but that I love nonetheless. It is kind
of like the friend who gave it to me. He
gave it to me when he returned from visiting his parents in Ireland. He said he
thought it suited me and so he bought it for me.
My “gal pal,” of over 26 years, Julie, stopped by this
afternoon to share some ale and pleasant conversation with me and the wife. I love that she lives so close to us now that
we can get together whenever we want. Somehow
the conversation turned to our old friend, Niall Murphy. There was at time when
he was an integral part of all our young lives, especially mine. Niall and I were close and about as reckless
as reckless can be when we were in our late twenties.
I met Niall when I was a young editor at a small publishing
company. My pal, Julie, worked first in
facilities and then became the executive assistant to the president of the company. After work Julie and I would run around the
city together. My wife, Karen, was
getting her MBA in the evenings so I had a lot of free time on my hands. Many times we went out just the two of us,
and also many times we went out with a larger crowd of people from the HR and
IT departments of the firm. One of our
friends was named Patti. She ran a portion of IT. One night she came into Harry Caray’s with
this hulking giant of a man in a glen plaid suit. He was younger than most of us but had an air
of confidence about him. I wasn’t sure what to make of him. You could see that through
his façade he was nervous. The first thing he did was to fish into his pocket
for a pack of cigarettes. He popped one out of the pack and extended it to me. “May
offer you one, mate,” he asked. That was
the beginning of Niall’s and my reckless adventure together.
Niall had literally just moved to Chicago when he started to
work with us. He didn’t even have all of his papers in order yet. He later told me that he bullshitted his way
into the job, didn’t know the program he was supposed to work with and had
basically read a book the night before his interview, because he needed a job
to stay in the country. I asked him once
why he came to Chicago to begin with. He said, in that brilliant lilting accent
of his, “I failed at school in Dublin and went to London where I failed again.
One day I was walking by a tour agent’s and saw a poster of the Water Tower in
the window along with other snaps of Chicago. I thought to myself, now, that looks like an
interesting city to live in. The more I
looked into it the more I liked the idea. I figgered if I’m going to fail again
I might as well do it in Chicago as London, and who knows maybe I will succeed
there , so I moved .” One of the things
I like about Niall is that he firmly believes that you have to have at least
one, as he called it, “epic failure” in your life in order to succeed. I don’t know if I agree with that, but I do appreciate how he also used to say, “I
got that all behind me now, so nothing but up from here on out.”
When I introduced Niall to Karen it took her about fifteen
minutes before she started treating him like he was some sort of large
puppy. For the most part Niall lived alone
and she was always checking in on him, making sure he didn’t need
anything. It was a mutual admiration society. Niall grew very fond of her too. One time when I had to go on an extended business
trip, Niall asked me, “Do you want me to drop round once in awhile and knock
Karen up?” I thought for a minute and I
said, “No, I would prefer you didn’t. We’re still young and I don’t have the
money to support your bastard child.” He smacked me on the head. “You know what I meant. I can’t help it that you people don’t know
how to talk.”
Through the years as Niall and I got closer as friends, a
typical weekend evening would look like this.
Karen, Niall and I would go to a party someone from work was having. Sometimes
Julie would be there, or Patti, or Bill or the rest of the crowd, other times
not because some of them lived in the suburbs. In either case, at some point Karen would say
that she had reached her limit, and so Niall and I would take her home in a cab
so she could sleep. We would let her out
at our two-flat, she would kiss me, stick a certain something in my pocket and
say, “Be careful, boys.” Niall and I would
then work our way back up Lincoln Avenue stopping at the Elbo Room, or the
Lincoln Tap or head to Schuba’s. Sometimes we would go to Duffy’s, which was by
Niall’s apartment. A lot of nights we
went to Neo and danced with any girl stupid enough to be willing. We would get
hot dogs at the Wiener Circle and then go the Exit which was at that time one
of the few nearby bars in Chicago with a four o’ clock license.
The Exit was a kind
of rowdy punk place. Ladies drank for free if they agreed to be handcuffed to
the bar. Maybe they still do that…I don’t
know. One night when we rolled in,
already three sheets to the wind, I handcuffed myself to the bar. Max, the bartender, said, “T.S., what are you
doing?” I said, “Please don’t hate me
just because I’m not as pretty as them.” He rolled his eyes, brought me a beer and said
“Four bucks.” It wasn’t a proud moment but it was worth a try. It also wasn’t as bad as Niall who insisted
on untucking his shirt and throwing himself into the mosh pit during the
nightly bouncer bash. As I said, we
were reckless…Or not so much. One summer
night, walking home to Niall’s apartment, he asked me what Karen always stuck
in my pocket when we dropped her off. I reached in and pulled the item out. It
was a toothbrush. It was her way of
saying, “I would rather you sleep on Niall’s couch than try to get home, because
I know how you two get when you’re together.”
About the same time Karen and I bought our first house,
Niall moved to Marina Towers. He lived on a high floor. We went there once for
a small gathering. His balcony had the
most spectacular view of the Loop across the river. I had never seen Chicago that way before and
I was entranced. Then I looked down and
the magic ended. I went back inside looking
for the most center of the room. Niall
came to me and said, “Tom, are you afraid of heights?” I said, “No, I just need to find the middle of
the building.” He laughed, “These
apartments are like cheese wedges. You want that, you’re going to have to go
out in the hall.”” I tried to brush it off.
“No, in here will be fine.” He put his bearlike hand on my shoulder and
said, “You really are afraid of heights, aren’t you, mate?” I shook my head, “No, Niall, I’m not afraid
heights, I am afraid of falling. Once I look down and imagine myself falling, I
am done.” He laughed. “We’re all afraid
of falling, brother.”
The last time I saw Niall was in San Francisco. He had moved there not long after Karen and I
bought our first house. He came back to
Chicago a couple of times for weddings of our friends and we all went out, but
it was very tame. After that there was a
long gap between when we talked or saw each other. I moved up in my career, we moved to the
suburbs and then had three children to care for. A conference I was attending on behalf of my
firm gave me an opportunity to go west and see Niall again. We had dinner in North Beach. I showed him
pictures of where we lived and the children.
With each picture he shook his head. When he had seen them all he looked
at me and said, “Christ, man, you’ve done and become a grown-up on me, haven’t
you?” I shrugged. “These things happen,
Niall.” He was silent for a couple of
minutes and then he said, “I know some Alsatians that hang out near here at a
good place with a patio and pool tables.
I think you would enjoy them.” I
said “OK. That sounds fun.” He smiled his wicked grin. I did not get back my
hotel until the sun was getting ready to rise, fell into my bed fully clothed,
smelling of cigarettes, grappa and beer. Some things never change.
I haven’t seen Niall in more than 15 years. He might be a
grown-up now too. Who knows? I looked for him the last time I was in San
Francisco a couple of years ago but couldn’t find him. Maybe that is a good thing, or maybe next time.
No comments:
Post a Comment