The intrepid Chuck Gullett and his trusted steed. Er, scooter.

Hey y’all, I ran into old pal and real estate agent extraordinaire Chuck Gullett a few days ago. Chuck’s guest posted here before, and when he told me this story I encouraged him to share it with our blog readers. So I get the day off and you get Chuck’s heartwarming work of staggering genius. See you next week.

Summertime barbecues are my favorite! I love getting together with family and friends, enjoying great food and reconnecting. When my aunt invited me to her backyard BBQ in Arlington Heights, I couldn’t wait.

The only problem… it’s in Arlington Heights… on a Friday afternoon. Sitting on the Kennedy for 2 hours in Friday rush hour traffic isn’t really my idea of fun. But, problem solved. Zipping by the gridlocked drivers on my new electric scooter while heading to the train station is definitely the way to go. The train ride to Arlington Heights was great! For six bucks, you get a smooth air-conditioned ride with office dwellers starting their hard earned weekends by cracking open a beer on their trek back to the burbs. I folded up my scooter and tucked it as far under the seat as I could so the conductor wouldn’t ask about it.

Glancing out the window in-between rounds of Words with Friends on my phone made for a very quick trip. Upon arrival, the station in downtown Arlington Heights is outdoors and adjacent to the downtown area. I just unfolded my scooter, figured out which direction to go and zipped off. Wow! With these smooth suburban roads, the scooter will hit 16mph! It is only supposed to go 15.5 mph, so I feel very proud of this bonus one half mph.

It is a really pleasant experience cruising down treelined streets flanked by perfectly manicured lawns and cute houses versus dodging cabs, Ubers and busses in video game fashion when riding in Chicago. Helmet on, I made it to my aunt’s house just fine. She popped out to welcome me and check out my new toy. These scooters are pretty new and kind of a novelty right now (although, I’m convinced that scooters are the wave of the future and will forever change the face of transportation. Plus people stare at you when you are riding it, and I kind of like that). Anyway, my uncle took it for a spin down the block as did my cousin. Riding the scooter makes you feel like a kid, so they both had big grins when they came back.

My aunt’s back yard is as serene as it gets. A cute patio of alternating pavers locked tightly together topped with a group dining table under the cool cover of an umbrella swaying with the breeze. There are two wicker chairs with bright red cushions in the corner under a tree and a rustic bar cart complete with Irish whiskies, a bright green Tanqueray bottle and assorted glass wear. A lattice archway leads into the backyard with a lawn of neatly crisscrossed mower tracks and surrounded by greenery and blooming flowers. Apparently retirement affords you time to hone some impressive gardening skills.

My uncle took me over to a spot in the garden to show me the lamb’s ear plants that were transplanted from my neglected garden in Peoria over a dozen years ago. Then he pointed to a neighbor’s yard that also used some of the same plantings. Those lamb’s ears are thriving. With some loving care, they took on a whole new life after moving up north. Sounds oddly familiar.

The evening was really great. I got to sit down with my cousin, Fr. Chuck. He is a retired 80-year old Catholic priest sporting a flat brimmed White Sox hat, sipping on an Irish Whiskey and relaxing in one of the red cushioned chairs. Since he is surrounded by Cubs fans at this party, the big question came up… how did you ever become a Sox fan? It was a 1948 game that his father took him to at Comiskey Park. They drove all the way from Rantoul to see that game. He quickly rattled off Sox stats and highlights from the years since. A true lifetime fan.

He scoffs at my Cubs affiliation, although he did once admit to me that Wrigley is a pretty good outdoor bar. Great conversations, reconnecting, catching up with the cousins, their significant others, new careers, a new baby, a baby on the way, the president, the mayor, taxes, food, dessert, and then its time to rush back to the train station. Great nights go too quickly. I did some quick hugs and hopped on the scooter to retrace my path back to the train station. I got to the platform with 4 minutes to spare.

As I’m folding the scooter to prep for the train, I see a flat brimmed Sox hat at the far end of the platform. I heard “Chuuuck??” Sure enough, Fr. Chuck was driving by the train station and wanted to make sure I got home  OK. Twenty minutes passed as we chatted. No train yet. Someone else on the platform checked the schedule and the next two trains were canceled. Last train is 12:44 a.m. Ugh. A brief thought of riding the scooter back to the city went through my head. A quick calculation, 10 miles of battery left, that could get me to the Blue Line at O’Hare. Or I could just take a cab. That’s a better plan. Then Fr. Chuck blurted out, “I’m driving you back, let’s go.”

So, I stowed the scooter in his trunk and proceeded to clear off the passenger seat, which was covered with CDs. I heard him say, “Oh geez” when he got in the driver side. There was an empty shopping bag on his seat. Apparently, someone broke into the car and went through his stuff. Being a very trusting soul, he had left his window down and door unlocked at the train station. Somebody got in and went through the bag looking for something valuable and dumping out the contents on the passenger seat. We got a big laugh when the contents of the bag were all still in the car. How disappointed were these casual thieves when all they found was a 24 CD set about the Resurrection. I had to laugh out loud. Sorry suckers!

The ride back was traffic free and relaxing with Brahms playing on the radio. I appreciated the rescue and I’ll definitely have to pay it forward to the next Sox fan I run into.

I have one fake eye.

Eye surgeons did all they could to restore my vision when retinopathy set in 35 years ago. One of my eyes is still intact, but the other one shrunk so much from all the surgeries that I can’t hold that eyelid open.

I wear a prosthesis in that eye. Every once in a while it needs a polish, and over these past two years appointments were not possible.

But now they are, so this Monday I’m off to the ocularist.

Way back ten years ago, after my Seeing Eye Dog Harper had to retire early, our friend Chuck Gullett was kind enough to accompany me to my regularly scheduled ocularist visit. Chuck wrote a guest post afterwards, and I reread that post this morning to remind myself what to expect at Monday’s appointment. Know what? That post is so good I’m publishing it here again.

That’s a whole lotta eyeballs right there. (Photo By Chuck Gullett.)

A trip to the ocularist

by Chuck Gullett

Between Harper’s retirement and Whitney’s training, I had the great opportunity to accompany Beth as her “Seeing Eye Chuck” for a visit to the ocularist. The ocularist, as I learned, is the place to go when you need a new glass eye or just a little glass eye maintenance. The ocularist’s office, on the 16th floor of the Garland Building in Chicago, has a spectacular view of Lake Michigan, Millennium Park and Navy Pier. Ironically, the hundreds of eyes in the office are all neatly arranged in drawers and never able to enjoy the view.

On this visit, Beth was going in for a routine cleaning. As an observer, the process is fairly straightforward…

1) Remove glass eye with a device that looks like a miniature Nerf suction cup dart.

2) Try not to make an immature sucking sound as the eye is being removed.

3) Sit back and chat until the eye returns from the onsite laboratory, which I pictured to be somewhat like Grandpa’s lab from the “Munsters.”

When the ocularist returned with the beautifully polished eye, I asked a few questions and Beth talked him into showing me the lab and explaining the cleaning process. What I got was an enthusiastic lesson in the history, making and care of the good ol’ ocular prosthesis, or what we commonly refer to as a glass eye. First off, the eye is not even made of glass. Modern glass eyes are actually made of acrylic, which is extremely durable and more cost effective to manufacture.

The guys in the lab area told me about the heroic GI’s returning from WWII having a large demand for glass eyes. The glass eyes would tend to break by accident or “accidentally” around the time a GI wanted to visit the big city. A shortage in high quality imported glass and the cost of replacement eyes prompted the government to find a better material to make artificial eyes. Now, we have the modern version in durable acrylic.

So, what’s your guess? (Photo By Chuck Gullett)

To give you an idea of how durable the eyes are, Beth has had the same peeper for 25 years and the last time she had it polished was 4 years ago. Each eye is hand crafted for its owner and is a true piece of art. I looked through the drawers of sample eyes and the level of detail is really stunning. The blood vessels are recreated with silk threads while the pupil and iris take laborious hours to hand paint so they look realistic. The ocularist had notes from Beth’s last two visits where they recommended that she get fitted for a new eye, but Beth just smiled and said, “Yeah, I kinda like this one.” I like that one, too. I had no idea that Beth even had a glass eye. One eye is real and one is not. You can try to guess which is which, but good luck.

Anyway, I also learned that the cleaning/ polishing process is much like polishing jewelry. There is a buffing wheel and several different compounds to remove build-up and leave a nice smooth surface. The ocularist works the eye until it is just right, then rinses it off and you are ready to go. I associate the feeling of a freshly polished glass eye like the smoothness your teeth have after a visit to the dentist.

All in all, it was a great afternoon. I got to spend some quality time with a friend, feed my odd curiosity with something out of the ordinary and learn something new.

Bonus: besides being a terrific photographer and friend, Chuck’s also a solid, honest real estate agent. So if you’re in the market…

We like to look at other peoples’ jobs as easy. If they don’t meet our standards? They’re lazy or incompetent. Sure, we bow to brain surgeons, airline pilots, elite athletes and the like. But waiters, bartenders, construction workers who have the nerve to be taking a break—we freely disparage them when they fall short. We’re a bunch of Yelpers.

I’ve come to realize that everybody’s job is actually harder than it looks. I had a discussion with a bartender a few days ago and after trading stories, we agreed: The United States should adopt a military draft with a national service option. Don’t want to go into the military? Then national service, with an emphasis on service. Waiter. Customer service agent. Gate agent at the airport. No one gets out of it, regardless of family wealth or education.

I got to thinking about all this after getting the chance to do a ride-along of sorts with our friend, Chuck Gullett, who’s a successful real estate agent. (We’re not moving, so sorry Printers Row, you don’t get rid of us.)

Chuck was one of Whitney’s walkers while Beth was incapacitated by her heart issue a few years ago. You may remember he guest posted about a visit to the eye prosthetic studio with Beth, too.

Now, I’ve groused about real estate agents in the past—but really, it’s more about the whole process—which a good agent like Chuck helps one negotiate.

There are the requirements of the clients, which aren’t realistic. And not always consistent between both parties of a couple.

Then there are the descriptions, which make pretty much every cozy cottage seem ideal. So you don’t know anything until you visit a place.

Let’s play guess the lockbox!

That’s when Chuck becomes chauffeur. And he drives, and drives. North Side, Lincoln Park, South Side, West Loop, and back again, and sometimes during rush hour.

Chuck has a dash cam.

I asked him about it. Seems he got clobbered awhile back and while the car is back in one piece and he was uninjured, the settling of things remains messy. He doesn’t want that to happen again, so he wants video.

He’s already caught one accident—a scooter in front of him getting put down by a car. He stopped to get the scooter rider’s email, and he later sent the video for insurance purposes.

Then, finding parking. You think we can get away with doubling up here? Can we be done in 15 minutes? Take a shot.

Sometimes there’s a building with a doorman that has a key. Many, many other times, there are lockboxes. Plural emphasis. Sometimes a dozen, lined up on wrought iron fences, or low-lying pipes. As in low enough to be left-dogleg level.

Directions can go something like this: It’s the lockbox to the left of the water meter right next to the hydrangea bush.

Eventually, it’s found. If it’s one of the low lying ones and liquid comes out when you open the box, you hope it was from a recent rain.

Sometimes, there is a not a key, but a ring of say, a half dozen unlabeled keys. After trial and error and jiggling, you finally get in and…

…it’s a dump, not a fantastic cozy cottage.

The client’s face droops. Chuck goes into his best therapy routine.

Off to the next one, it’ll be better.

Then, once a property is found, there are inspections, closing agents and lawyers.

Thank goodness it’s not my job! And thank goodness there are the Chucks of the world, who can do it with aplomb.

That’s a whole lotta eyeballs there looking for a home. (photo by Chuck Gullett.)

Now, here’s a new one for you.

A waiter in Mississippi was fired for refusing to wear his fake eye at work. Discrimination? I dunno. But this story strikes close to home.

Eye surgeons did all they could to restore my vision when retinopathy set in thirty years ago. One of my eyes is still intact, but the other one shrunk so much from the trauma of all those surgeries that I can’t hold that eyelid open. I wear a prosthesis in that eye.

Jared Ellis, a married father of two children, lost an eye five years ago in an accident. He told a reporter at news station WREG in Mississippi that he wore a prosthetic eye for a while, but it was so uncomfortable that it gave him headaches. Eventually he decided not to wear it at all.

I still remember the first time an oclularist (that’s what specialists who make fake eyes are called) spread open the lids to my poor shrunken eye and plopped the prosthesis in. “Okay,” she said. I could hear her wiping her hands on a paper towel. “It’s in.”

Intellectually I knew all along that the prosthesis was not meant to improve my eyesight. It was meant to improve my looks. But it felt so much like the contact lenses I used to wear. For one split-second, I expected to open my eyes, look in a mirror and see what I looked like with this new eye. I was disappointed.

“It looks great!” the ocularist exclaimed with pride. I faked a smile. The eyepiece felt weird at first, as if, well, as if there was something in my eye. I’ve become used to it now. It only bothers me when dust or grit gets in there. If that happens, I take it out, clean it with regular hand soap and water, and plop it back in. I try not to do this in public restrooms, though!

Last month Ellis told reporters he didn’t wear a prosthetic eye or eye patch when he interviewed for the restaurant job or at any time he worked there. He said there’d been no mention of complaints from customers about him, and that he enjoyed his work.

A month into the job, however, a manager took Ellis aside and told him the restaurant owners wanted him either to wear a prosthetic or an eyepatch. Ellis quit on the spot.

As for me, of course it was crazy for me to ever think the fake eye would restore my vision. Not so crazy to think the fake eye would help restore my confidence. My fake eye is pretty realistic. It helps people feel more comfortable talking with me and listening to what I’m saying. With my fake eye in, it can appear I’m looking at people as they talk. They open themselves up, rather than pre-occupy themselves with my blindness. In turn, so do I.

So, what’s your guess? Which one is fake? (photo by Chuck Gullett)

Forgive the blind puns here, but it’s pretty interesting to look at this from two different points of view. I think this waiter’s customers might feel more comfortable and less pre-occupied with his missing eye if he wore a prosthesis, but Ellis says he’d like to use his restaurant experience to send a message to others in his shoes. “It’s about everybody who’s ever looked in the mirror or had somebody tell them there’s something wrong with the way they look,” he says in the WREG report. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You are beautiful. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”

December 21 is our great-niece Floey’s tenth birthday, and I’m giving her the gift of a lifetime: on Monday she’ll come along to watch an ocularist polish her Great Aunt Beth’s fake eye.

Eye surgeons did all they could to restore my vision when retinopathy set in thirty years ago. One of my eyes is still intact, but the other one shrunk so much from all the surgeries that I can’t hold that eyelid open.

I wear a prosthesis in that eye, every once in a while it needs a polish, and Floey is the lucky girl who gets to come along with me Monday and see how its done.

The best way I could think of to prepare Floey for what she’s in for on her birthday was to send her the link to a guest post our friend Charlie Gullett wrote four years ago when he accompanied me on a visit to the ocularist. I reread his post before sending it Floey’s way. It was so good that I thought it worth publishing here again. With any luck we can get Floey to write a guest post with her impressions once her birthday is over, but for now…here’s Charlie.

That’s a whole lotta eyeballs right there. (By Chuck Gullett.)

A trip to the ocularist

Between Harper’s retirement and Whitney’s training, I had the great opportunity to accompany Beth as her “Seeing Eye Chuck” for a visit to the ocularist. The ocularist, as I learned, is the place to go when you need a new glass eye or just a little glass eye maintenance. The ocularist’s office, on the 16th floor of the Garland Building in Chicago, has a spectacular view of Lake Michigan, Millennium Park and Navy Pier. Ironically, the hundreds of eyes in the office are all neatly arranged in drawers and never able to enjoy the view.

On this visit, Beth was going in for a routine cleaning. As an observer, the process is fairly straightforward…

1) Remove glass eye with a device that looks like a miniature Nerf suction cup dart.

2) Try not to make an immature sucking sound as the eye is being removed.

3) Sit back and chat until the eye returns from the onsite laboratory, which I pictured to be somewhat like Grandpa’s lab from the “Munsters.”

When the ocularist returned with the beautifully polished eye, I asked a few questions and Beth talked him into showing me the lab and explaining the cleaning process. What I got was an enthusiastic lesson in the history, making and care of the good ol’ ocular prosthesis, or what we commonly refer to as a glass eye. First off, the eye is not even made of glass. Modern glass eyes are actually made of acrylic, which is extremely durable and more cost effective to manufacture.

The guys in the lab area told me about the heroic GI’s returning from WWII having a large demand for glass eyes. The glass eyes would tend to break by accident or “accidentally” around the time a GI wanted to visit the big city. A shortage in high quality imported glass and the cost of replacement eyes prompted the government to find a better material to make artificial eyes. Now, we have the modern version in durable acrylic.

So, what’s your guess? (By Chuck Gullett)

To give you an idea of how durable the eyes are, Beth has had the same peeper for 25 years and the last time she had it polished was 4 years ago. Each eye is hand crafted for its owner and is a true piece of art. I looked through the drawers of sample eyes and the level of detail is really stunning. The blood vessels are recreated with silk threads while the pupil and iris take laborious hours to hand paint so they look realistic. The ocularist had notes from Beth’s last two visits where they recommended that she get fitted for a new eye, but Beth just smiled and said, “Yeah, I kinda like this one.” I like that one, too. I had no idea that Beth even had a glass eye. One eye is real and one is not. You can try to guess which is which, but good luck.

Anyway, I also learned that the cleaning/ polishing process is much like polishing jewelry. There is a buffing wheel and several different compounds to remove build-up and leave a nice smooth surface. The ocularist works the eye until it is just right, then rinses it off and you are ready to go. I associate the feeling of a freshly polished glass eye like the smoothness your teeth have after a visit to the dentist.

All in all, it was a great afternoon. I got to spend some quality time with a friend, feed my odd curiosity with something out of the ordinary and learn something new. Anytime Whitney needs a day off, I’ll be happy to help out.