Mondays with Mike: Social media? No substitute for the real thing.

The crew, from left to right: Moi, Carlos, Tom, Clarence, Willie, and Pat. We had fun

A few days ago, three bottles of wine arrived from Oregon. We haven’t sampled them yet—they deserve a special occasion, equal to the story of how we got them.

It all started at a White Sox game a few weeks ago … no, that’s not true. It all started at Hackney’s, a local bar/restaurant that closed back in 2016. For years it was a social hub here in our Printers Row neighborhood, and to this day, we can trace many of our friendships back to that place.

One of those friendships was with Tom, a native of St. Louis who ran a hotel just a block away from our condo. Tom lived in the hotel, while his family remained in St. Louis. He visited home and his family visited him here, but in between, he frequented Hackney’s, where he developed his Chicago family of friends.

Fast forward: Tom’s work has since moved him to Milwaukee, back to St. Louis, and now, Savannah, Georgia. The hotel business isn’t for the faint of heart.

He and his partners in crime here in Printers Row have stayed in loose touch over the years. We visited him at the St. Louis hotel he was running a few years back. That’s when we met Tom’s friend Willie. Tom and Willie are like brothers—they were schoolmates back in St. Louis. Willie is retired, having worked decades for Anheuser Busch.

Goodness awaits.

Now to the White Sox game. Willie treated Tom and his Chicago friends to a Saturday night White Sox game a few weeks ago—I was lucky enough to be invited. Tom flew in from Savannah, Willie from his home in Kansas City, and we all met at Half Sour—our new Hackney’s.

We were a motley crew of 60-somethings and we had a blast. At one point during the game, I thanked Willie for his generosity. “No, thank you for coming,” he said. “This is my gift to Tom. I’m glad you could be here.”

After the game, back at Half Sour (we sorta forgot we’re 60-somethings) I got to talk to Willie for a good long while. Turns out that since I’d met him in St. Louis, he’d been diagnosed with throat cancer. The good news was, he said, “The doctor said it’s one of the most treatable types of cancer.” The bad news: The treatment was miserable. But he’d made it. And it was clear—to me, anyway—that he was deeply grateful and determined to make the most of his bonus time.

I also learned that he’d recently started to learn a little about wine. And in so doing, he’d come across a highly rated wine from a small producer in Oregon called Lujon Wine Cellars—this was during lockdown times. When he called the producer to order a case, the guy on the other end of the call turned out to be the winemaker. Who also grows and crushes the grapes. And bottles the wine. And answers the phone. His name is John Derthick.

Willie, who seems not to know a stranger, struck up a conversation. After serving in the Navy, Derthick had gone to UC-Davis—renowned for its wine program.  Willie also learned that Lujon was hurting. The business relied heavily on restaurant sales, and during the lockdown, well, you know the story.

Check out the Lujon site.

Since then, Willie has taken on a hobby/crusade to help out Lujon. He connected Derthick with former co-workers in the beverage business. He’s bought wine for himself and as gifts. And he talks up Lujon whenever he gets a chance.

And so, last week, we received a Fedex delivery that included a Chardonnay, a Pinot Noir, and a Cabernet Sauvignon. It also included a signed, personal message from Derthick—and a personal note from Willie.

We’re waiting for just the right time to start on them.

We’ll drink a toast to Willie and John. And to Tom. And to Pat and Carlos and Clarence, all  partners in crime at the White Sox game.

Humans can be pretty great sometimes, you know?

P.S.  Willie says the wines are as good as others that are triple the price. Check out Lujon’s offerings at Lujon Wine Cellars.