Thoughts of Chicago

            Lori Lightfoot has been elected mayor of Chicago, a city with historic violence, public corruption, and crushing debt. I don’t understand why a black and openly gay woman would want to assume an office with such intractable problems, especially when she has to know that racist, homophobic, and sexist detractors are surely predisposed to reminding her that she shouldn’t have gotten into a tough game with a losing hand. For her sake, and for Chicago’s, I hope she proves them wrong.

            Speaking of Chicago, the city really didn’t need the embarrassment of Jussie Smollett’s phony claim of having been the victim of a racist attack and of the district attorney’s subsequent decision not to prosecute him. Celebrity justice slapped him on the wrist but did not exonerate him. Now, the classic definition of chutzpah is when a man who had murdered his parents asked for leniency because he was an orphan. But when Smollett had the gall to insist he had told the truth and then demanded an apology from the Chicago police, that raised chutzpah to a new level.

            I have many fond memories of Chicago, a city I visited often on business. I loved its restaurants, its piano bars, its museums, its shops. I still have two pairs of shoes I bought there many years ago.  I also remember the snow and the wind. Mostly, when I think of Chicago, I remember my now-deceased brother Arthur who lived there for a short time.

            Arthur loved Chicago’s architecture, and on one of my visits he took me for a stroll down Michigan Avenue after dinner to point out some of his favorite buildings. It was very windy, and we had probably had too much to drink. That combination turned out to be fateful. Arthur was pointing to the features of a tall building across the street when a strong gust of wind came up and blew him bodily over a low hedge. We roared hilariously as he climbed back over the bush and regained his composure.

            I much prefer thoughts of Chicago that make me smile.