When I answered a craigslist ad to write blurbs for Not For Tourists – Chicago, I didn’t have my heart set on writing for a guidebook. I was just curious to find out if
1. Not For Tourists would hire me if they knew I was blind, and
2. readers would notice my travel writing doesn’t describe the way things LOOK.
The answer to the first question is yes. Not For Tourists rocks. As for question #2, the jury is still out.
I already blogged about my travel essay in Dog Fancy this month.
As far as I know, Dog Fancy editors haven’t received any letters from disappointed readers. The 2008 version of Not For Tourists – Chicago is out now, too. No word on any letters complaining about my “visually clueless” blurbs. Not yet, at least.
If you’re curious how a person might write about sightseeing without having…well…sight, here’s the excerpt I wrote for NFT about US Cellular Field:
Both of Chicago’s major league ballparks are named for corporations (one famous for gum, the other famous for cell phones) but the similarities end there. Any White Sox fan will tell you: tourists pay big bucks to watch ivy grow in the little place on the North Side, real baseball fans head to see the White Sox play at U.S. Cellular Field.
Straddled by the Bridgeport and Bronzeville neighborhoods on Chicago’s south side, US Cellular Field opened in 1991 to replace the old Comiskey Park. The new park was built for $167 million–a relative bargain even in 1991. Cost-cutting meant altering the original design, though, and not for the better. What the park lacks in beauty, it makes up for with its friendly staff and fabulous food—perennially rated among the best in Major League Baseball. Meat-eaters: Follow your nose to the grilled onions and say “Polish with.” Better yet, say “Polish witt.” You’ll get a sublimely good Polish sausage smothered in caramelized onions. Come hungry on Thursdays: Ball Park Franks are $1 and Best’s kosher hot dogs are $2.50 each at select concession stands during all Thursday home games.

And if you’re hoping to hear about fashion, or business deals, or coffee shops, this ain’t the place. Fans here talk about baseball. They love the game, and they love the team that FINALLY brought a World Series trophy to Chicago in 2005.

Nancy Faust, the hardest-working (and most creative) organist in baseball, has been the official White Sox organist since 1970 and still plays day games. And Roger Bossard—an obsessive-compulsive turf guru who consults to sports franchises around the world—maintains one of the most beautiful, truest playing real-grass surfaces in all of sports. Bill Veeck’s scoreboard explodes with fireworks at each home run, and street musicians serenade fans as they head to the red line or the parking lot after games.

Back to me: If you’re wondering how I know the real-grass playing field is beautiful, it’s because I am one of the few civilians ever allowed to step on it. Back in 2004, I toured US Cellular with a bunch of blind high school students. But that’s fodder for another blog. For now, I’m heading to the kitchen. Writing about those carmelized onions made me hungry.

I am pleased to introduce Lola Hotchkis as our Saturdays with Seniors guest blogger today. Lola’s cousin Nancy is a friend of mine and describes Lola as “the writer in the family.” Retired after a successful career in business, Lola lives in the Chicago suburbs with her husband and joined our class once I started teaching via Zoom. This week’s assignment (in honor of COVID-19 vaccines) was “Shots” and prompted Lola to write this sweet slice of Americana.

Editor’s note: I am fortunate to have a few dear friends named “Nancy” — read closely and you’ll discover which one of them is Lola’s cousin.

Fred Gaier’s Shots

The hand cream recipe.

by Lola Hotchkis

My father Fred earned his pharmacy degree at the University of Illinois Chicago in 1940 and worked in a neighborhood drug store until drafted by the U.S. Army in 1942. Safely stationed in a Skagway, Alaska, hospital pharmacy, his memories of war time were good ones.

After the war, all Dad wanted was his own drug store. He found a store for sale, borrowed money from his uncle, and Gaier Drug Company, Inc., was established in 1947 at the southwest corner of Rockwell and Leland in Chicago’s Lincoln Square neighborhood.

Young Mary Faust’s uncle Bill sold insurance to the Gaier family. Knowing that Fred was single and a good catch, he brought his niece Mary to the store for a soda. The rest is history: Fred and Mary got hitched in September 1948. The drug store became the family business and the family fun.

Mom’s sister Jackie also had a family business. Uncle Eric rented organs and Jackie would play for events. Aunt Jackie recognized the talent in their daughter Nancy and trained her in the profession. To attract Christmas business, Eric would move an organ into the drug store window and grade-school-aged Nancy would play.

One of Dad’s friends dressed as Santa to entertain neighborhood children. He was positioned in a back corner in front of the public telephone booth and close to Dad’s domain in the back. Dad kept a bottle of bourbon conveniently located among the medicine bottles.

When he saw winter on the horizon, Dad brought home flu vaccine to his family. He would boil needles, carefully fill a syringe, and each of us received an annual flu shot. That’s why I’m not shot adverse.

Dad also made his own hand cream to sell in the store. The family helped produce it in our kitchen. Dad boiled the ingredients on the stove, then poured the hot liquid into thick white jars. Each family member was assigned a share of jars at the kitchen table. Our mission: Stir the liquid in each jar with a wooden tongue depressor until it solidified. We’d keep asking Dad, “Is it solid enough yet?” When the answer was affirmative, he’d give us new jars of liquid to stir while he capped and labeled the finished product.

Dad’s health suffered over the years with that bottle of bourbon in the back. His friends loved to come and visit. Each was offered a shot of bourbon. Each had one shot, but Dad had one shot with each friend.

Dad loved his store but the competition from Walgreens and Osco won out. No one would buy a corner drug store in 1968, but Osco came calling with a job offer. The district manager was smart. He helped clean out the store, bought the inventory that could be used, and placed Dad in the Osco closest to Rockwell and Leland. His customers followed, but I’ll never forget the day Dad put the key in the door for the last time.

He cried.