"Look at this!"

Charlie Bliss

     Some work you can't do at home. For instance, you can't stop by the People's Republic of China Consulate on Erie, to talk to an official from the embassy in Washington, who's in town and asked you to stop by (nor can you decline; the Chinese, they're kinda important).
     Nor can you, in your home office, run into Charlie Bliss — or, rather, have Charlie run over to you at the Northbrook train station, where the retired Chicago firefighter and Maine South legend (Charlie retired as offensive coach in May after 22 seasons leading the highest scoring offense in Illinois) runs the coffee stand. 

     We hadn't seen each other in years, the thousand days that COVID compressed and scattered. He was glad to see me, and I was sure glad to see him. We hugged. He disappeared behind the coffee bar and emerged with the blog poster I'd given him a decade ago — taken down for safekeeping. He put it back up while I watched approvingly, then bought a coffee out of gratitude. So can you, Monday through Thursday. It seems a doable outing for those working at home in Northbrook. Head over to the train station, buy a donut and coffee from Charlie, support local business. I plan to. It's good coffee.
     Another thing you can't do making coffee in your kitchen is walk from Union Station to the Chinese consulate. Or stop in at Atlas Stationers on Lake Street. Where you greet Therese and Don Schmidt, the owners, and their son, Brandon — Brian works here too — and learn about the newest trainee, age 7.

The backing of the frame letters is carpeting 
from before the remodelling.

     "He loved it," said Therese, after we hugged. "The fifth generation."

      You might remember, we met Therese a dozen years ago, running deliveries through the underground streets beneath the Loop. Not much call for that lately. The store has shifted from an office supply store supplying file folders to surrounding businesses to a luxury pen emporium doing huge internet sales. Improvise. Adapt. Overcome.

     "We ship out so much," she said. "So many people come in."

    A thousand people came to their sidewalk sale. Yes, there was a person threatening to jump off building next door and that kind of got in the way for a while It's still Chicago. But the jumper was coaxed back inside and the sale was a great success. 

     We talked about the traditions of Atlas, founded in 1939. She showed me a table built by Don's father in 1948, and the one they had recently constructed — by an 80-year-old carpenter, which makes it kind of an honorary antique. They're covered with interesting notebooks and pens. 

     "I need to buy a pen," I said — not really needing to buy a pen, but wanting to contribute to the cause. She showed me some brawny $10 pens, and, being me, I picked out a promising orange Caran d'Ache pen from some cups holding less pricey pens, tested it to see the ink was indeed blue, paid the $6 or so, and tucked it into my sport coat pocket.

     Therese was so happy to see me, she followed me in the street when I left, talking about how the city seems to her from the perspective of running a business on the corner of Lake and Orleans.
     "People are nice," she said. An 'L' train rumbled by on the tracks directly above our heads, down Lake Street.
     "Look at this!" she said, gesturing toward the train and the tracks and the buildings beyond that and the sky above, the great big frenetic world. I understood what she meant, and headed toward the river and the consulate. I had walked several blocks when it struck me: next time, buy a more expensive pen.
     You can't figure that kind of thing out at home.