Category Archives: Listening

Did you see Jackie Robinson hit that ball?

Sixty-four years ago today, Jackie Robinson made his debut, the first black man to play baseball in the major league, prompting among many other things this catchy little song:

Did you see Jackie Robinson hit that ball?
It went zoomin’ cross the left field wall.
Yeah boy, yes, yes. Jackie hit that ball.

And when he swung his bat,
the crowd went wild,
because he knocked that ball a solid mile.
Yeah boy, yes, yes. Jackie hit that ball.

Satchel Paige is mellow,
so is Campanella,
Newcombe and Doby, too.
But it’s a natural fact,
when Jackie comes to bat,
the other team is through.

Did you see Jackie Robinson hit that ball?
Did he hit it? Yeah, and that ain’t all.
He stole home.
Yes, yes, Jackie’s real gone.

Did you see Jackie Robinson hit that ball?
Did he hit it? Yeah, and that ain’t all.
He stole home.

Yes, yes, Jackie’s real gone.

Jackie is a real gone guy.

By Woodrow Buddy Johnson & Count Basie (1949)

“Jackie’s real gone. Jackie is a real gone guy.”

Noone says that anymore, “real gone.”


No room for this dialogue

Ack, ran out of space in this story. No, it just didn’t fit, good as the dialogue is, much as it set off my radar when I heard it.

Witness Jennifer Tartt, friend of Cecil Conner, took a phone call from him shortly after his designated driver was pulled over and arrested. He ended up driving the car, which had his girlfriend Kathie LaFond’s little son sleeping in the back. He called back to the party where he’d been drinking.

Tartt only could testify about her part of the conversation, which, in my mind, was even more effective than if she’d been allowed to do her part and his part both.

Her phone rings and she picks up, she tells the jury. Cecil spoke first. Then she responded:

“Who arrested Kathie?”

Then Cecil. Then her again:

“Do they know you’re drunk?”

Cecil again, then she responds:

“Pull off to the side of the road and me and my fiancee will bring the baby back.”

Cecil tells her something else. She explains her next part of the conversation:

“I told him he was slurring his words, he was extremely drunk.”

And Cecil’s demeanor? the defense attorney asked her.

“Very upset, panicky, drunk up, choked up.”

“I’m sorry,” Tartt said and she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “I had told him to look for stop signs to let us know where he was so we could go find him.”

And then?

“The phone cut off.”

And then?

“I tried to call him back numerous times.”

And why?

“Because I knew he was driving with a 5-year-old in the car. I was worried. I was also worried because we didn’t know where he was with the baby and we didn’t know he was.”

Michael Langford Jr., 5, died that night after Conner crashed the car into a tree.

Listen to the six-minute power transfer

I didn’t record this for publishing purposes. Just wanted a taped back-up of the public meeting in case I couldn’t keep up with the notes.

Then the meeting, the whole thing, took just under six minutes.

Have a listen. The sound is unedited from the time Mike Madigan starts to speak (“Good Morning”) until he’s done.

six minutes

Full disclosure: I did cut off the noise room at the start of my tape. Hit record about 10 seconds before the meeting began. I also faded out the end, after Madigan sends everyone off, to end the applause.

And Steve Landek’s acceptance speech afterwards, too.

‘Bridgeview mayor tapped for state senate’ or six-minute power transfer

Local Democrats have tapped Bridgeview Mayor Steve Landek to replace retiring state Sen. Lou Viverito, who just voted for a controversial state income tax hike.

Democratic committeemen met Saturday at Toyota Park in Bridgeview and gave the nod to Landek, who also is head of the Lyons Township Democratic Committee.

Here’s how it happened.

The conference room, where Landek was approved and applauded, was set up for a public meeting. At the head of the room, long tables flanked by flags had microphones resting on them. Committeemen took their seats.

Facing them was a small table for public comments. Residents, local politicians, police officers and business owners filled the rows behind it.

But no one came forward to speak. There were no ad hoc nominations for the 11th District state Senate seat, no discussion about Landek’s willingness to assume the position.

The meeting was over in just less than six minutes, with House Speaker Michael Madigan (D-Chicago) doing most of the talking, and the voting. An attorney stood by to ensure correct procedure.

Set up a committee to nominate a candidate? Appoint a committee chair? Nominate Landek?

“Those in favor of that motion will say, ‘Aye,’ those opposed, say, ‘No.’ The ‘Ayes’ have it. The motion is adopted,” Madigan said in a single breath.

“Is there any discussion on the question? OK, no discussion,” he said in another.

No ayes or nays were uttered. None of the committee members actually cast a voice vote.

“For those who go to our meetings, they’re pretty fast. But if you listen to the speaker, we voted in our minds, he read our minds, it was perfect,” Landek said over laughter in the room. “For those that serve on the board with me, we might do that to speed up our meetings.”

Landek said his swearing-in will take place before he gets to Springfield on Tuesday. It will be a private ceremony, he told the crowd during his acceptance speech.

“When I run and get elected as the full senator, then we’ll have a party,” he said.

Landek, who’s been mayor of Bridgeview for the past decade, said he’ll continue in both roles.

“I work a lot of hours, there’s no problem for me,” he said. “I have a huge capacity to be able to work, so I’ll do both jobs.”

Afterward, Viverito, of Burbank, applauded efforts to keep the Senate seat in the southwest suburbs.

“The emphasis had to be on the fact of trying to keep it in the suburbs rather than bringing it into the city of Chicago,” he said.

Appointed in a similar process in 1995, Viverito said he wanted to retire with two years left in his term because of his commitments as supervisor of Stickney Township and chairman of the public health district.

“I’ve almost had 16 years here,” he said of his Senate tenure. “I just got tired. I’m getting older now.”

Madigan shook a few hands, then left.

The speaker’s presence accounted for heavy security at Toyota Park, with police photographing the license plates of cars that entered the parking lot.

As published in the SouthtownStar, Feb. 6, 2011.

Snowbaby: the slideshow

Photos by Brett Roseman.

I did the sound, all in one day, after the story was written.

Agonized over the pacing on this one: Snowbaby

How to set the scene? How to pace the drama? Pacing is most what I thought about here to nail the tension as best I could.

One day’s work, reporting and writing and editing.

The well-wishers were right. “Snow’s coming? So’s your baby,” the friends and relatives teased a very pregnant Libby Whitney.

Bet you’ll go into labor during the storm, they told her on her Facebook page.

But Libby had been though birth before with her 4-year-old, Ben.

The Whitneys wanted to be parents from the time they met, in college singing a cappella at the University of Illinois. At 31, he still leads a choir in Arlington Heights. She, 30, stays home with Ben.

She went to bed Tuesday night in her Oak Lawn home feeling just fine, and optimistic her baby would stay put as wind and snow swirled furiously outside.

Just in case, she sent Ben for a sleepover at her mother’s house. And at 10:30, Libby nodded off.

At midnight, some little pains began, minor contractions. Could it be? At 1 a.m., her husband, Ken, headed outside to shovel. Already, 4-foot drifts rested against the house and drive thanks to a wide-open park across the street. He couldn’t see the street. He couldn’t see anything.

They started praying: Please, let a snowplow come down our street.

At 2 a.m., she knew Ken couldn’t move all that snow. He didn’t even have a snowblower. She called police on the nonemergency line: “I’m very pregnant. I might be starting labor. Any chance you could plow our street?” Libby’s contractions kicked in hard. They hastened to eight minutes apart. Time to roll.

She dialed 911, then hollered out to Ken: Get in here. Don’t kill yourself shoveling. I’m going to need you tonight.

Oak Lawn paramedics got another call Wednesday night from some neighbor of the Whitneys.

Spotted: A guy shoveling his driveway. His wife’s pregnant. We think they need help.

Soon, an Oak Lawn ambulance and two fire department plow trucks appeared and two guys got out and started shoveling. Three paramedics helped Libby into the back of the ambulance, ready to birth the fourth Whitney themselves if they had to.

Don’t worry, they told her. This is no big deal.

They drove out to Kostner Avenue at 108th Place, where the Whitneys live, and beelined for the hospital. Ken rode up front.

“When we got on 95th Street, we were fishtailing in the paramedics’ truck,” he said.

“The guys were saying we never would have made it even if we did get out of our driveway. Our street was so bad we wouldn’t have made it to the cross street.”

The ambulance arrived just before 4 a.m. Their doctor arrived just in time, right before Libby was ready to push. He had shoveled out his Orland Park driveway and drove in.

Libby managed to stick to her natural birth plan. And Lucy Elizabeth was born, 9 pounds, 211/2 inches, at 6:25 a.m.

“People are calling her the blizzard baby,” Libby said.

Her blood type’s different from her mom’s, which led to some complications after she was born. She needs an IV, some light therapy and a few more days under the hospital’s watchful eye. Her parents won’t take any more pictures until her tubes are all out. Her mother will be sent home before her.

It’s a bittersweet tinge to this otherwise happy ending.

“But given the way we got in here,” Ken said, “this is nothing.”

As published in the SouthtownStar, Feb. 5, 2011

‘The snow’s over — bring on the routine’

The signs of morning all were there: Steaming paper cups. Hats in fur and wool framing faces slapped awake by the cold. Totes and lunch bags dangling from shoulders.

A steady stream of foot traffic through a notch in a snowbank between the Starbucks and the Oak Lawn train station.

And a canned announcement from Metra SouthWest Service announcing delays of eight to 15 minutes Thursday morning.

“That’s normal,” said Kelly Doyle, of Oak Lawn, pulling off a fur-lined hat as she awaited her train. “They should hand out notes when it is on time.”

Normal is back for workers who don’t save lives, birth babies or plow streets, but whose jobs keep us going: Accountants, bankers, designers, insurance agents.

They enjoyed a snow day — or at least spent it home uncovering driveways — but had to return to the commute Thursday morning when SouthWest trains resumed service.

It’s not that graphic design is exactly essential work, so Karen Barth’s employer closed its office Wednesday in Chicago’s Loop when 20 inches of snow buried the city.

But the usual deadlines still loom.

“I should have brought work home,” Barth said. “I have to go in.”

So she bundled into her black fur-rimmed parka and boots early Thursday morning to stand on the Metra platform and board her train, the 7:17 that left the Oak Lawn station closer to 7:28 a.m.

She probably wouldn’t have accomplished much work at home in Burbank, though, having spent most of Wednesday like everyone else, digging and shoveling and snowblowing.

As published on www.southtownstar.com, Feb. 3, 2011.

Gooney birds, or what I learned today

Fact-checking some stuff a guy told me in a story I’m trying to finish today. Among them: He saw the gooney birds on Midway Island, he said.

The what?

The gooney birds. Big birds that live on Midway Island in the South Pacific.

Real birds?

Yes.

Oh, I say, vowing to look them up.

Here. No wonder they merited a mention. Now I want to go see this silly too.

 

Old guy voice

I’ve got one, an old guy voice.

Usually I pick up the phone in a low tone: “Newsroom.” Sometimes I add my name.

Then it’s clear who’s calling.

Everything in my voice changes. The tone brightens. The pace slows. The politesse intensifies.

An oldster’s on the line.

It happened again this afternoon with a kindly octogenarian who must have forgotten we already spoke this morning. The detail he recalled was a good one. I was glad to take the call.

I apologize again to all who sit around me.

Happy New Year!

From Broad Street in Philadelphia, the best place in the world to be on New Year’s Day.