Thursday, August 20, 2026

Maybe Brad Pitt will be the first. Maybe not.

     Did you see that Brad Pitt told Esquire how, after seven years sobriety, he has returned to drinking. At 62, he "got back off the wagon" and is now drinking "in a more restrained manner."
     Hmm....
     That was surprising. Even more surprising are approving reactions like that of the New York Times: "Brad Pitt’s Return to Drinking Is Not Unsafe, Experts Say, but It’s Not for Everyone."
     Double hmm... Maybe that's a sign of the high esteem he enjoys. The idea being, "If Brad Pitt is doing it, it must be okay."
     Like everyone else in America, I like Brad Pitt — a skilled, versatile actor. And wish him nothing but the best.    
     However ... I don't think that's how it works. And the mumbling experts the Times assembled basically said, "If you need to quit but can't, or don't, then drinking less is better than drinking more." 
     Which doesn't quite add up to "Not Unsafe."
     I would suggest his going back to drinking is not not unsafe. Indeed, it is very unsafe, somewhere between extremely risky and certain disaster.
     I am no expert, of course. The best course is to run your own sobriety, and let others run their sobriety, or lack of same. I do know that my own route has required not drinking anything for ... more than 20 years. But Pitt's announcement reminded me of the words of David Foster Wallace, in his masterpiece "Infinite Jest" which, if you haven't read it, is about semi-pro tennis set against a backdrop of addiction. Wallace writes:
     "That nobody who's ever gotten sufficiently addictively enslaved by a Substance to need to quit the Substance and has successfully quit it for a while and been straight but then has for whatever reason gone back and picked up the Substance against has ever reported being glad that they did it, used the Substance again and gotten re-enslaved; not ever."
     So maybe Brad Pitt will be the first. But I know how drunks and addicts tend to jiggle the locks of their cages, and wonder. So my advice is, if you noticed this story and thought, even for a moment, "Hey ... look at that ... maybe ... reality has changed!" I hope you come to the immediate conclusion, "Nope. It has not. Same old reality. Just because this poor fellow is deluding himself doesn't mean I need to follow him over the cliff." 
    Or if you are determined to give it a go, my sympathy, and I would urge you to wait. Just a year or two. Then check back on Brad Pitt. See how well his plan works out for him.

Wednesday, August 19, 2026

Pumpkins, pensions, and the CTU's 'cooked' books

 
Just like the Illinois Policy Institute says: Illinois grows more pumpkins than any other state.

   Is criticism a crime?
     As fond as I am of teachers, generally, and despite being a good union man myself, I couldn’t help but shake my head in wonder at the Chicago Teachers Union, which I consider a fairly savvy organization, suing a pair of conservative watchdogs, the Illinois Policy Institute and the Liberty Justice Center, for sinking their teeth into CTU finances and accusing the union of using “cooked” books.
     First, way to turn a spotlight on their accusations. Believe it or not, I’m not checking the Illinois Policy Institute website every morning to see what’s in its crosshairs. Doing that, right now, I see their top story is on ... pumpkins.
     “The state produces enough pumpkins to make nearly 8 billion pumpkin spice lattes, the most pumpkins in the U.S.” At first I thought it must be a mistake — the colorful, pumpkin-centric page labeled “Illinois Policy” must be different from “Illinois Policy Institute.”
     Nope. Same folks.
     But is it true? According to the United States Department of Agriculture, the top producer of pumpkins in the country is ... Illinois, head and shoulders above the rest, responsible for 40% of all the big orange squashes grown nationwide.
     Did you know that? I did not. Score one for the Illinois Policy Institute.
     The second story “Chicago Teachers Union Undermines Yet Another Charter School” begins: “The Chicago Teachers Union’s relentless attacks on charter schools has claimed another victim. The Chicago High School for the Arts announced it will not renew its contract with Chicago Public Schools, citing financial struggles. It will stop operations at the end of the current 2025-2026 school year.”
     Is that true? The selective enrollment, privately managed school will stop operations. But the school itself will transition into a public school. You could also say ... as a Sun-Times story suggested last month ... that CPS stepped in and saved the school after its operators decided to abandon it, one of the many downsides of privatizing public education. As a rule, the Chicago Public Schools are not shutting down schools willy-nilly, at least not since Rahm Emanuel left office.


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Tuesday, August 18, 2026

The Tide goes out


 
      The internet is considered a constant distraction from the "real world" — the solid, fleshy, non-virtual realm of tangible existence.
     And I suppose that's mainly true.
     But online can also birddog you toward aspects of living existence that you might otherwise miss.
     Consider the bottle of Dreft, above.
     I was writing Monday morning, wanted to take a break, and thought I'd do some laundry, something I haven't done since my surgery. I filled a laundry basket, dragged it downstairs with my good arm, stuffed the clothing into the washing machine. But when I went to pour in some Tide, there just wasn't quite enough for a full load.
      I looked around the little laundry room for fresh bottle, went into the basement where my wife stores her supplies. Nothing, which is odd for her. She normally stocks up at Costco. But she's been real busy attending to my needs, so no criticism implied or overt.
     Looking down, I noticed the bottle of Dreft above, on the floor next to the dryer. Left over from when Grandkid #1 was staying with us. I figured, sure it's for babies, but it'll wash grown-up clothes, too, in a pinch. Right? I was about to add it to the Tide already poured when I looked closely at the label, wanting to confirm it was detergent and not, oh, lye or bleach or something else unsuitable in a detergent-like bottle. 
     Nothing. Which struck me as odd. So I took my phone and plugged in "What is Dreft?" and was informed that, yes, it is detergent, for baby clothes.
      But curiosity lingered. Why nothing on the label? I asked the Internet again, and was told that brand awareness is so strong they don't want to waste space stating the obvious. So that yes, the word "detergent" is there. But in very tiny type. I looked again, scanning every square inch of the label, and finally found it.  
    Can you? Probably not in the photo above. It's right above the numeral "64."  Then I looked at the Tide bottle. At first glance, it didn't seem to be there either. But careful study found it, in two languages, just left of the "CAUTION." 
     Odd, right? I began looking at packages for other kinds of products. Oreo gives up the game by boldly declaring "MILK'S FAVORITE COOKIE." Band-Aid practically is a noun itself, but maintains its trademark status by adding "Brand Adhesive Bandages" in small, but locatable letters. 
     Odd with detergents. Maybe the word doesn't test well. 



Monday, August 17, 2026

Government keeps close tabs on delis, on funeral parlors not so much

 

   Burying a loved one is much harder than buying a corned beef sandwich. More expensive, too.
     Trust me, I've done both.
     When my mother died last year, my brother and I were immediately faced with a series of difficult decisions. She had bought burial plots in Colorado. Bury her there? I pictured the two of us standing in some windy nowhere in Boulder County, at a funeral attended by nobody else. No. We'd bury her here and put mountains on her grave marker — you can get those, for an additional charge.
     Speaking of money. I floated an idea: donate the body to science? It would save, oh, $20,000 of our father's dwindling savings. That would pay for his care for, gee, almost three months.
     "A funeral is part of doing the right thing," my brother said, invoking our mantra for handling our parents' affairs. So we had a funeral.
     With a corned beef sandwich, there are also choices: Fatty or lean? Rye or a kaiser roll? Hot or cold? Don't forget condiments. But those are easier: fatty, rye, hot, yellow mustard. Far less expensive, too. At Kaufman's Bagel and Delicatessen in Skokie, it'll set you back $14.75.
     Given the two experiences — the heart-rending, hugely expensive funeral, and the pleasant, not-that-costly sandwich — why is it the state of Illinois so thoroughly inspects delis while so being so lax about monitoring funeral homes?
     "I have so many inspections I can't see straight," said Bette Dworkin, owner of Kaufman's. "The Skokie Health Department, three times a year, a thorough inspection, inside and out. Weights and measures comes in. A whole list of backflow devices need to be tested."
     Meanwhile, Illinois funeral directors are licensed but not the funeral homes that they operate, which are inspected when they open or change hands, and never inspected again, unless there is a complaint, and sometimes not even then. Which leads to periodic stomach-churning horrors, such as the 56 decomposing bodies found at a funeral home in South Deering, documented in the Sun-Times this past week.
     Across the border is a much different situation.
     "In the state of Wisconsin, there is licensing of the actual physical plant of the funeral home," said Michael D. Sharkey, a funeral director in Wisconsin for 30 years. "They do not do that in Illinois. When something goes wrong, nobody notices. That comes as a surprise to some people."
     Sharkey is uniquely situated to compare the two states, being the legal representative of both the Wisconsin Funeral Directors Association and the Illinois Funeral Directors Association, as well as the associations in South Dakota and Minnesota, where he lives.
     "The other big difference is that in Wisconsin, all regulatory actions are taken by the DSPS — the Department of Safety and Professional Services, all under one roof," he said. "In Illinois, the comptroller regulates crematories and the [Illinois Department of Financial and Professional Regulation] regulates funeral directors, two separate agencies."
     Which leads to buck-passing.

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Sunday, August 16, 2026

Flashback 1992: Dated books tell tale of schools' fiscal woes

From "The World is Round," by  Rose Wyler (Grosset & Dunlap: 1937)

 
    You need to keep your eyes open in this job. Because one story leads to another. When I reposted the 1988 investigation into the bad shape many students were in when they presented themselves to kindergarten at Chicago Public Schools, another memory stirred. Don Hayner and I had to go around to schools and collect — or drop off, I don't recall — questionnaires. Sometimes we had to wait, and we'd do our waiting in the school libraries. Naturally, I browsed the books, in those pre-Internet years. And perhaps unsurprisingly, was aghast at just how out-of-date and shabby they were. Four years later, I dropped this. This isn't a column — I wouldn't get one for almost another four years. What surprises me, reading it now, is how I downplayed the rather significant news — that schools were holding onto outdated books and loaning books to each other to fool federal regulators, and that companies were reluctant to deal with CPS because they were so slow to pay. To me, that wasn't as interesting as the musty information being forced on children. Say what you will about the Internet, at least the reading isn't generally 20 or 30 years out-of-date.
     Of course, this story could not be written today because there wouldn't be librarians to talk to. Over the past three decades, investment in libraries at CPS has cratered, and only about 15 percent of Chicago's public schools employ a librarian. Though now that I think of it, talking to the remnant might yield interesting results. One story leads to another.

"Meanwhile the savages — or Indians, as Columbus miscalled them — were gathering rapidly in the protective jungle; a thousand or more . . . the savages chattered like sea-fowl, offering to barter their cotton for any trinkets, however cheap; but the admiral would accept only gold."
      — From The Voyages of Christopher Columbus, by Armstrong Sperry (1950)
     You can actually see the high-water mark of Chicago education: the line where a surge of money and students pushed schools to their zenith, flushing them with resources and promise, before breaking and rolling back.
     Just step into any public school's library and look at the books.
     The collections are filled with volumes bought during those heady times: science books stockpiled in the post-Sputnik rush to embrace technology; sports books purchased with plentiful federal dollars in the 1960s.
     They are old now, worn and out-of-date. Those that deal with any sort of technical subject are woefully behind the times.
     "If you live in a large city, you have probably seen big buildings with computers in them," speculates a 1972 volume on the shelves of one elementary school.
     Those that deal with history, like the Columbus volume, often view it through an outmoded lens, blurry with bias: "The largest number of today's newcomers has been the blacks," muses Chicago and Its People, a 1972 volume that lumps together blacks, Appalachians and Latin American immigrants.
     Yet schools are forced to keep antiquated books on the shelves because there is no money to buy new ones.
     "If you start pulling all those (outdated) books off the shelf, you are not going to have anything," said Ann Tanner, a librarian at Lane Technical High School, 2501 W. Addison.
     "I'd love to get more books," said Caroline Whalen, librarian at Louisa May Alcott Elementary School, 2526 N. Orchard. She estimates she would need double her budget to replace books such as Baseball's Greatest Pitchers, whose "Heroes of Today" section lauds Don Drysdale, Bob Gibson and Denny McLain.
     "Kids love new books," said librarian Glenish W. Gillespie, of Michele Clark Middle School, 5101 W. Harrison. "Some of them won't look at an old book unless they are highly motivated."
     But at Michele Clark, the biography of Henry Aaron stops with the slugger hitting his 504th home run. A book titled Desert War refers not to the one in the Persian Gulf, but the one in North Africa against Rommel. The two copies of Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm looked unused.
     It is no different at other schools. The volumes of the Best Plays series on the shelves at Amundsen High School, 5110 N. Damen, begin in 1899 and end, abruptly, in 1961.
     A look on the sports shelves at one school is a step into not only another era but another city: It's Good to be Alive, by Roy Campanella, Koufax, by Sandy Koufax, and a history of Walt Alston and his Dodgers crowd one shelf.
     Five different books about space can be pulled off the shelves at Lane Tech without finding one recent enough to include any of the Apollo moon landings.
   "But to go to the moon with a manned ship is something that cannot be done unless we have the space station first." 
     — From Rockets, Satellites and Space Flight, edited by Willy Ley (1958).
     Despite the problems they cause — librarians must routinely steer students toward newer reference books and caution them to always check copyright dates — outdated books are a valuable commodity.
     To keep certification, vital for its students applying to colleges, a school library needs a certain number of books per student.
     After Kelvyn Park High School "got rid of the junk" in its collection several years ago, the librarian had no new books to replace them. She found herself forced to put in a desperate call to nearby schools, begging them to quickly send over any obsolete books in storage to line Kelvyn's shelves before a certification inspection.
      Kelvyn got the books.
     The reason Kelvyn weeded out its surplus had less to do with keeping an up-to-date collection than with another common library problem.
     "Our library is totally inadequate in terms of space," said Patricia Hanlon, Kelvyn librarian. "It's so crowded that, every time we get a new book, we have to decide what we are going to throw out."
     At least one librarian keeps old books because they have a certain weight — literally. At one end of the Michele Clark library, scores of identical copies of beat-up textbooks are used to weigh down the freestanding metal shelves, which the librarian fears might otherwise topple over.
   "The company did not employ negroes in the factory. But they were hired to clean the streets, to work around the mill yard, and for other menial tasks." 
     — From The Way Our People Lived: An Intimate American History, by W. E. Woodward (1945)
     This isn't to say old books are necessarily bad. Librarians point out that most classic fiction does not go out of date, and some older biographies are superior to their newer counterparts.
     "Sometimes they're very good," said Frances Szymanski, librarian at Amundsen. "I have found many of the newer books are not well-written but are geared for a lower-level of reading. When you want an in-depth study of a person, what you want is an older book."
     Szymanski proudly points to recent additions — a beautiful 16-volume Spanish atlas, Gran Atlas Salvat; the Reference Library of Black America; the Encyclopedia of the Holocaust. But they are not enough.
     "I would greatly increase the number of duplicates in fiction," she said, when asked how she would improve her library if given more funds.
     If anything, the problem will get worse before it gets better. The book budget is often the first thing to get axed — most high schools had their library budgets cut by a third this year.
     "Don't be taken in," said Tanner, gesturing around the three-story library at Lane Tech, with its wood carvings and murals of Native Americans. "Yes, it is a lovely room, very beautifully appointed. But for a school this size, the library is woefully small."
     Tanner said her library has so many pressing needs that new books aren't even the same priority as, for instance, improved security.
     "Maybe my focus isn't on new books because so many of our good books walk that it gets depressing," said Tanner.
     Even when schools have the appropriations to buy new books, they often are held up because of the school system's budgetary procedures, she said.
     "Companies do not want the business of the Chicago public schools because payment is so slow," said Tanner, adding that companies hold books back every year because of board debts. "I call them and they say, `Yes, Mrs. Tanner, we've got your order, but we're waiting for the board to pay its bills.' "
     Sometimes just finding time to order books is a challenge.
     "School librarians have virtually no time to prepare book orders," said Hanlon.
     And Szymanski added: "We would like to remove, perhaps, more old books, if we had the staff and if we had replacements. But we're just not getting the kinds of funds we need. So we just keep taping them."
        — Originally published in the Sun-Times, March 29, 1992



Saturday, August 15, 2026

MY world is oh-so special....


     Lunch Saturday was at Dolce Arte, a bright and airy Italian restaurant at 3622 S. Morgan in Bridgeport, attached to an enormous art gallery space. My meatball sandwich was just so-so, but the pastries we shared were first rate. Afterward, we poked around, looking at the enormous photographs of David Yarrow — I liked his shots of animals; less so, the staged tableaus of Wild West models and wolves on LaSalle Street. The prints cost over $40,000 apiece, so somebody must covet them.
     Above one door was the sign at top. Not sure if it was an artwork or mere decoration. Moreover, I'm curious as to whether what stopped me, reading it, will also stop you. "My world is full of possibilities."
     What's your reaction to that? I instantly, well, not took offense, but found fault. It seemed needlessly reductive. I'd have gone with "The world is full of possibilities." There is a stench of ego to "My world is full of possibilities." My immediate reaction was along the lines of, "Fuck you, buddy, everybody's world is full of possibilities. Whether they act on them or not is another matter...."
     Am I wrong here? Maybe I was feeling unusually touchy. I'm still sleeping in a chair in the TV room. But it reminded me of the taint of ego, how it can poison an otherwise positive thought. Of course, there's a lot of that going around.

Friday, August 14, 2026

Maybe adults should follow students in setting down our phones

 

     My high school had a smoking lounge. But don't let the term "lounge" fool you. There were no comfy chairs, no billiard table, not even any walls. It was outside, behind the school, a weedy area where students would gather before, after, and I imagine, during class to get their nicotine fix.
     This was in the late ’70s. And if today it seems wildly inappropriate that a public school would facilitate smoking among teenagers, remember, back then smoking was considered nearly a human right, and there was a problem they were trying to address: smoke-filled restrooms. At least the lounge got smokers outside where they wouldn't impose their vice upon others.
     Memories of the smoking lounge wafted into mind while I was on medical leave, when Illinois joined 38 states allowing cellphones to be banned during school next year.
     When Illinois first contemplated the ban, I was against it. Phones are part of our lives now, like auxiliary limbs. Schools would do better teaching kids restraint regarding their phones since they will be constant companions after graduation. The focus should be on harm reduction.
     Then I thought about the situation some more, and through a superpower of mine called "changing my mind," decided that the ban is right. It helps that social media has degraded into an odious AI slop sink. Facebook imagines that my being Jewish means I want to view an endless loop of every antisemitic incident anywhere on earth, interspersed with agitprop about Israel, plus trite little tales about the Holocaust, which is being retrofitted into a feel-good story of heroism, resistance and survival.
     Spoiler alert: It wasn't.
     Meanwhile, Instagram served up so many snippets of "The West Wing" that I finally realized I could just watch "The West Wing" on Netflix and cut out the middleman. That's when I thought of smoking in school. We are biased toward the present, and it's hard to imagine things changing. But change they do, and today's necessity becomes tomorrow's puzzling affliction. Someday people gaping at their phones could be viewed with the same disapproval extended toward the miserable knot of co-workers puffing around the office entrance.
     Social media is so harmful to teens, so toxic, schools are right to teach youth there is life outside their screens. And the smoking lounge made me wonder whether high schools might not only be right regarding phones, but a vanguard, pointing society toward where we should all be going, as they were with cigarettes.
     In 1978, when I graduated from high school, the smoking rate among American adults was 36%. Today it is 10%, a triumph over damaging addiction, with countless years of life saved. (Though that might change now that the federal government is getting out of the "help people stay healthy" business.)
     Illinois banned smoking in high schools in 1990. Eighteen years passed before the state got around to banning smoking in restaurants. At the time, it was unimaginable — to not light up after a meal? Calamity. The restaurant industry would die. We journalists were dead set against it — what would a newsroom be if you couldn't grind out your cigarette on the tile floor? (The Sun-Times had its own smoking lounge, a truly repulsive little room that did have chairs, plus an enormous air purifier. I would go there sometimes to smoke a cigar and listen to Art Petacque reminisce about the mob.)

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