Spending a water-logged White Sox weekend

  • Written by Joe Boyle

In some ways, it was just perfect. I guess you could say it was a perfect storm.

I had purchased some tickets to a couple of White Sox games earlier this year. On this occasion I asked my friend Bob Ward to go with me. I go a long way back with Bob. I’ve known him since we attended St. Margaret of Scotland Elementary School at 99th and Throop in Chicago.

But the real reason why I asked him is that he is a White Sox fan. We both played baseball for the Longwood Manor Athletic Association. So, we have that common thread. I may have mentioned to him that I have not seen the Sox win since 2013. You would think I would have seen a victory in the past three years but the reality is that the White Sox have not been that good. This year they have been all over the board, a .500 team up to this point.

James Shields, who was acquired earlier this summer from San Diego, was on the hill for the White Sox. Most Sox fans know that Shields was shelled in his first four starts. He was a launching pad for opposing hitters. Since then, he has resembled the old James Shields, going late into games. He has been outstanding in his last four starts. But in keeping with this strange season, Shields has no victories, losing games by the scores of 1-0 and 2-0.

He was outstanding last Thursday night against the Detroit Tigers. Bob and I were having fun on a warm, humid night at the ballpark. The Sox had a 1-0 lead that was wiped out on two solo home runs by the Tigers.

And then the rain came down in the seventh inning. And it just kept coming. We waited until about 10:10 p.m. and decided to leave. Fortunately, the rain had briefly stopped as we went back to our car. On the way home, we turned on the radio station but instead of hearing an update, it was none other than Donald Trump at the microphone. The GOP presidential candidate was just winding up his hour-long speech at the convention’s conclusion.

It was not until I got home that I learned that Sox lost 2-1 in a rain-shortened contest. Oh well, another loss and this time it did not go nine innings. On Saturday, I was considering some other plans that evening. However, my son, Sean, wanted to attend a Sox game. Feeling sorry for me, he wanted me to come. My son is also a huge White Sox fan played playing baseball in high school and in college. He purchased some great seats behind home plate.

He wanted to get a good look at Chris Sale’s pitches, the scheduled starter that evening. He believed, and I had no reason to doubt him, that I would break that losing streak. We arrived at the park and got situated in our seats. They were indeed great seats. We left briefly for some concessions and as we came back, the rain began to fall. The look in my son’s face was priceless. I mean it has to stop, right? Well, it did about 10 minutes later. The game started about 15 minutes late.

But as we were going over the lineups on the scoreboard, we were confused. Sale’s name was originally on there. Then his name disappeared and was replaced by Matt Albers, who has not started a game since 2008.

Rumors began circulating in the stands that the Sox ace had been traded. I felt myself becoming angry. My son buys these great seats and Sale is not on the mound? I was beginning to wonder if I was cursed. Then my son looks at his cellphone and informs me that Sale is not pitching because he reportedly cut up the uniforms the Sox were supposed to wear that night.

The Sox gave out replica 1976 jersey tops from that year. Those were the pajama top shirts that hung over the pants. They were comfortable but they looked ridiculous. They still look ridiculous. Apparently, Sale thought so, too. We just wished he could have controlled his rage.

Well, I still felt there was more to this story than Sale cutting up a jersey. But I eventually got over it and decided to focus on the game. The Sox once led but the Tigers came back to tie the game at 3-3. And as we entered the ninth inning, the rain came again. We were now in another rain delay. My son and I strolled around the park as the wind whipped up followed by thunder and lightning. We were not going to stroll outside even if the game did not resume.

Then about 11:15 p.m., the game was called. Just like last Thursday, we were able to leave with just a mist falling. The rain returned but we were on our way home at that point.

Needless to say, we did not want to return to the ballpark the next day, although we could have. The Sox, of course, won the suspended game the next day in their last at bat. They won the next game that day in walk-off fashion. They even won the opener against the Cubs Monday night in the bottom of the ninth. Three straight walk-off wins for the Sox. Perhaps their luck is changing.

Maybe it will be my turn next. I will be going to another Sox game soon with my son. But before I go, I will take my son’s advice. I will get a weather report before I venture outdoors.

Joe Boyle is the editor of The Reporter. He can be reached at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. .

Grateful for accommodations during family trip to Las Vegas

  • Written by Claudia Parker


When my husband, Don, agreed to speak at the Staff Development for Educators (SDE) 2016 National Conference held at the Venetian in Las Vegas, I strolled into my closet and pulled out suitcases for me and the kids. “We’re coming with you,” I told him.

As a speaker, Don was told by an SDE event planner we would receive two of our three-night reservations, complimentary.

Upon entering the room I expected to see two double beds, a fridge and microwave. Nope. What I got was an eye of wonder. A luxurious suite, with Egyptian linens, separate living and dining area, a marble bath accented with gold fixtures, a fireplace, whirlpool tub and a fully stocked refrigerator with drinks and boxed snacks. I only learned after my daughter, Donae, drank a $6 bottle of FUJI water that there’s a weighted sensor on those items and once you pick them up, your credit card is automatically billed.

“Soooo, this isn’t complimentary,” I inquired. I took my tail straight to the local Walmart after that.

The entire hotel is stunning and apparently a magnet for celebrity guests. LeBron James was staying there while we stayed there. A constant conversation atop the pool deck was who had seen him walking through the casino and, of them, who had been lucky enough to score a selfie. I wasn’t one of either.

We were basking in the life of being high rollers, that is until the front desk called. We presume there was a miscommunication between the Venetian and SDE event planners. Our third night was never booked in their system. We were told they were completely full and asked to kindly vacate the room.


Yep, we were homeless in Vegas, for about four hours.

Our saving grace was being timeshare owners. After explaining our desperate situation to the Holiday Inn Vacation Club they were able to accommodate us with a room using vacation points at the Jockey Club Resort through RCI, which is a resort exchange company. It was only a mile from the Venetian and also located on the Vegas strip. A downgrade in décor but top-notch service.

Guests of the Jockey Club get to access some of the amenities of the adjoined Cosmopolitan. Their lobby is incredible. The varying contrasts of metallic silver and glass with columns of moving photo graphics makes you feel like you’re on the set of a science fiction movie. We spent the entire morning on their swanky 14th floor rooftop pool deck. A large portion of the pool is just one foot deep. Sunbathers stay cool in their sophisticated submerged lawn chairs. With a bar and grill on opposite ends of the pool, we could've easily stayed all day. It was like a beach party in the sky without sand. My kids loved the music pumping their latest pop chart hits.

Before we arrived they had just eaten a Burger King breakfast and still had their beverages in hand. The Cosmo staff didn’t give us a spiel about bringing in outside food or beverages. They discretely requested we transfer our drinks into their glasses and discarded the evidence of not having purchased theirs.

Tastefully done Cosmopolitan. Way to keep the clientele happy, especially the ones who don’t know the lay of the land.


We left the Jockey Club grateful for an experience we wouldn’t have had had we stayed at the Venetian. Then, we went home. Not Chicago, but our vacation club home at the Holiday Inn where we’re owners. Our reservation with them was always for the weekend. When they learned of our homeless mishap they upgraded our villa siting. “Maybe this will help you forget the trauma of being uprooted.”

Sure did help. It was a newly renovated villa with all of the luxuries of being in a full residence. Yet, we didn’t spend much time in the unit. We explored the Vegas shows, shopping and dining. Don and I were also celebrating our 14th wedding anniversary. We spared no expense to indulge in having a great time. If only I’d read our return flight reservation properly, perhaps then we would’ve remained in our happy place.

“You’ve missed your flight. The next one out is Monday at 5:45 p.m.,” said Susan, a Southwest Airline attendant.”

“Oh my God. Oh my God…” I just kept repeating that over and over. It was 10 a.m. on Sunday and she was telling me we’d be there for another day and a half. An attendant named Faye stepped over, “We’re going to see what we can do.” There were obstacles on every side. Every flight to Chicago was sold out. Having a child with special needs can be difficult in an unpredictable environment. Once they learned that, they worked some kind of magic and got Rhonda-Rene and I confirmed on a Sunday flight at 5:45 p.m.

However, immediately after two standby seats opened up for an 11:30 a.m. flight. It was 11:07 a.m., not enough time to change our tickets, get us through security and to the gate before departure. But, Don and Donae didn’t have confirmed tickets so they were able to make that flight. Faye, whose shift was ending, was on her way to church. She stayed to help expedite Don and Donae through security and to their gate. They only had 23 minutes. They made it.

Southwest Airlines has a policy. You can’t check luggage more than four hours prior to your flight. At that moment, Rhonda-Rene and I had seven hours to go. To accommodate me, they checked my bags on an earlier standby flight so I didn’t have to haul them around while tending to Rhonda-Rene. Luckily, she and I made it as standby passengers on that flight as well. Typically, standby passengers board last.

However, we were allowed to board first because of her disability. I hugged those Southwest attendants before I left. I was so grateful.

Our entire Vegas experience taught me to be more sensitive about meeting the needs of others. The seeds we plant are what will grow. If you want to be accommodated, look for ways to accommodate.

Claudia Parker is an Evergreen Park mother, author and runner whose columns appear in The Reporter the second and fourth Thursdays of each month.          

Youth baseball should be fun first before worrying about wins

  • Written by Joe Boyle

When I was a kid, we were still playing baseball at this time of year. I recall that youngsters who excelled on the diamond were selected to all-star tournament teams usually late in June or early July. I was fortunate to be on some of those teams in the major division (ages 11-12) pony division (ages 13-15) and the traveling league (ages 16-18).

I recall regular season games went right through July. All-star games would continue in July until we were eliminated. We would play 20 to 22 regular season games or so during the summer. Teammates would leave for a while due to family vacations.

I played in the Longwood Manor Athletic Association in Chicago's Washington Heights neighborhood. Games were once played at Oakdale Park at 95th and Genoa and later moved to Mount Vernon Park at 105th and Morgan, which is now Jackie Robinson Park. I spent a lot of time at those fields and later at Brainerd Park at 91st and Throop.

Summers were dedicated to playing baseball with football practice beginning in late August. But there is a difference in our baseball seasons back in the 1960s and early 1970s in relation to today. Many more kids are now playing for traveling teams as well as playing in their own leagues. These kids are now playing with more skilled players on a team that competes against other suburban communities and clubs throughout the state and elsewhere.

In some instances, some of these kids are playing solely on traveling teams and skipping competing in local leagues entirely. And I have to admit that concerns me.

I don’t begrudge anyone who wants the best for their son or daughter. If parents believe their children can play at a higher level, that’s great. However, too many kids are playing in these traveling leagues exclusively and that eventually waters down the talent in local baseball organizations. I think kids should play with kids from their neighborhoods and local schools. They should have fun while learning about the importance of teamwork.

When I was growing up, you had star players alongside kids who struggled. But I think it is a good learning lesson for everyone. Baseball is unique that way. In our league, managers were encouraged to play everyone so that they can learn about the game and improve. Some of these kids would eventually develop into good ballplayers through hard work and the fact some managers took time to work with them.

It seems today at some levels there is too much of an emphasis on winning. That’s why we now have these specialized traveling league teams. That can be great but what does that mean for kids of average talent who do not get the chance to play with some of these gifted players?

Love goes a long way; serving up food and dignity is a big step

  • Written by Claudia Parker


“What makes an upper-middle class white couple want to serve food in an underprivileged crime-ridden neighborhood on the South Side of Chicago,” I asked myself?

It was 7 a.m. this past Sunday when my husband Don and I ditched our Sunday morning worship service to prepare and serve breakfast at Roseland Christian Ministries’ (RCM) soup kitchen, located at 10858 S. Michigan Ave.

A soup kitchen is a place where free food is served to those who are homeless or destitute. It was our first time; a spontaneous decision prompted by an invitation of a married couple from Beverly, who happen to be our dear friends and former Evergreen Park next-door neighbors.

This missionary couple, too humble to be named, are members of Palos Heights Christian Reformed Church (CRC) under the leadership of Senior Pastor Greg Janke. Our friends serve on one of their auxiliaries that has been sending its members to aid the RCM soup kitchen for years. When we agreed to go, we didn’t know the name of the church or its location. I, being naïve, felt based on who was inviting us that we’d be in a “safe” area of Roseland.

Yeah, not-so-much!

According to several news media outlets, Roseland ranks 15 among Chicago's 77 community areas for drugs, violent crimes and gang activity. Not that I needed statistics to tell me that, I heard it straight from RCM member, Carolyn Zeigler. “I had two nieces killed while jumping rope two blocks from here in August of 2010,” said Carolyn. “The boy that shot them down while they were playing double-dutch had been initiated into a gang to get 10 kills, so he shot into a crowd of kids playing outside.”

There’s a kill quota?

As disturbing as that was, her horrifying stories continued. “These streets took my son too. He was 19 years old, a basketball scholar bound for the NBA before they killed him.”

Just when I didn’t think I could handle another tragic tale, she pointed to a handsome young man’s picture taped to the wall among several RCM member photos. “You see this boy here?” It was 16-year-old Andre Taylor of the Rosemoor neighborhood. “He was one of our members, an innocent kid recently killed after being mistaken for another family member.”

Andre was murdered by suspected gang members while in his front yard, March 14, 2016.

It pained Carolyn to share and she teared up. It was a lot for me to hear as well. I broke the tension with a divergent question, “Where shall I begin?”

There was a lot to be done. People had already begun gathering outside.

Carolyn said she’s been a member of RCM for 34 years and serves in several capacities. This post in particular has her six days a week as an unpaid volunteer. She said sometime she works alone but on this day she has me, Don, the couple that invited us along with one additional white couple from Palos Heights CRC.

This isn’t a light-weight ministry where you hand out a muffin or two. This is a roll-up-your-sleeves-and-get-busy ministry. We hauled pots, pans and ingredients to their location. We scrambled eggs, fried sausage, flipped flapjacks and sliced fruit. We poured juice, coffee, and served each patron firsts, seconds and thirds until their bellies were full or the food was gone.

Did I mention cleanup?

We didn’t leave until the place was spic and span. It was three hours of hard labor and our friends told us they and various members of Palos Heights CRC have been serving Sunday breakfast at RCM over 10 years.

Before access to the food was granted, Carolyn orchestrated something that stuck with me. Every person present was asked to introduce themselves and share one thing they were grateful for. Learning each of their names humanized them, made them more than homeless or disenfranchised. It gave them dignity and value. I held a connection with them as I placed sausage links on their plates. That was my role when the assembly line of serving began. Making sure to give eye contact, I greeted each person with, “Good morning, how are you?”

Many people are terrified by the current state of our nation. Between terror attacks, hate crimes, black-on-black crime, blue-on-black crime and black-on-blue retaliation -- what has become of our great land of the free?

What can we do to heal this pain and injustice so we can regain trust in one another?

I’ll tell you exactly how we heal. We accept an invitation into a place unlike ourselves and serve them with love. We allow ourselves to learn from people who’re different. We force fear aside so we can have meaningful interactions with people who have names with desires and aspirations just as worthy as ours.

People want to be acknowledged with respect and dignity regardless of their education, race or social economic class. Every human being deserves the simple liberty of being treated as equal.

I encountered several police officers running errands this past week. I made a point to address each of them, “Officer, thank you for your service,” I’d say. It was received with such appreciation. “Thank YOU!” I’d hear in return. It was as if they were relieved to hear something kind.

There are flaws in our legal system that must be repaired. The egregious crimes being committed on all aforementioned fronts will buckle our nation to its knees if WE as a people do not seek to understand one another. Allow me to challenge YOU to show an act of love to someone you perceive to be different than yourself.

Thank you Palos Heights CRC and RCM for setting a great example. Continue to take the church into the streets.

Let LOVE win!      

Enjoying fireworks from a distance

  • Written by Joe Boyle


I hope everyone had a happy and safe Fourth of July. It was a nice long weekend for me and included a barbecue, a round of miniature golf and some relaxation.

Taking photos at the annual Oak Lawn Fourth of July Parade on Monday morning is work but it is mostly fun for me. I get to see a lot of people I know along the parade route.

My wife and I usually attend the Richards High School fireworks show on Fourth of July night. But time got away from us. I suppose it didn’t really matter because there were fireworks going off most of the night around our neighborhood. All you had to do was step outside and you can see an impressive show.

Before I go any further, this is the time to remind readers that fireworks are illegal. However, for people who like to blow off fireworks, a quick trip to Indiana solves that problem. Police have their hands full preventing other crimes. They tend to look away for the most part on Independence Day.

Unless people become unruly or obnoxious, police will leave you alone. However, there is always a group that blow off bottle rockets, firecrackers and other devices throughout the day and night. What angers some neighbors and irritates police who receive calls is that some people will leave debris in the middle of the street, making it difficult for cars to veer around as more fireworks are being blown off.

Fortunately, that was not the case on our block. People were blowing off fireworks throughout the evening but they cleaned up when they were done. I could still hear some fireworks a few blocks away as I turned in, but it did not go on much longer.

As for me, I can take or leave fireworks. I like watching home displays from a distance. I’ve lit a few bottle rockets over the years but I leave the fireworks show to people who enjoy doing it. I like to watch. I enjoy going to shows and there are many impressive ones in the southwest suburbs. Residents could have also gone to Navy Pier on the city’s lakefront this past Monday night. That is if you did not mind dealing with the traffic and the overflowing transit lines crowds afterward.

But there are reminders that fireworks can be dangerous. The incident in Bridgeview on Sunday is one example. The fireworks, due to some sort of malfunction, went off prematurely before the show was supposed to take place and resulted in one man receiving injuries. Fortunately, nobody else was hurt.

I think my father liked fireworks as well. But I don’t recall him running out to Indiana and stocking up on explosives. When we were young, our fireworks show was not much more than some flares my father must have got from the railroad. We would watch them slowing burn into ashes from the steps of our Roseland residence at 100th and Michigan.

We got a little more “wild” a couple of years later when we purchased some “punks,” which we would use to light snakes that would twist around on the ground in a brief fire display. We would also use the punks to light sparklers and smoke bombs. That was high tech for us. We would roll our arms in a circular motion for our own little sparklers fireworks show.

My mother would consistently remind us that we had to be careful. She would have a small bucket with water for us to put the sparklers in when we were done. While were doing that, we would look in the sky to view more sophisticated fireworks shows for us all to see.

We later moved to the city’s Washington Heights neighborhood and the impromptu fireworks shows became more elaborate. By the time I was in eighth grade, many of my friends enjoyed blowing off M80s and cherry bombs as well as firecrackers. I tended to watch from afar but when asked if I wanted to blow some off, I complied. I didn’t want to come off like I was afraid. It was fun but I was not obsessed with the idea of blowing off fireworks all day.

But now, I would prefer to watch other people’s personal shows or go to a local fireworks show. But I must admit that it is more impressive to watch someone light a Roman candle than watching a flare slowly disintegrate.

Joe Boyle is the editor of The Reporter. He can be reached at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. .