A spot for summer
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Everybody has a spot.
This summer my spot became Lake Park Beach in the Edgewater neighborhood of Chicago. It is a neighborhood beach where African-Americans, Jamaicans, Hispanics, whites, gays and straights all mingle in a coarse sand along Lake Michigan.
A mound of jagged rocks define the north end of the small beach while the city skyline curves like a boomerang on the south end. I’ve been told the young lifeguards don’t like folks climbing those rocks. I like taking risks.
I was tired and needed to retreat. My day began at 5:30 a.m. as I scurried to WGN-AM radio studios in the Tribune Tower to talk about my minor league baseball book with the wonderfully empathetic journalist Rick Kogan. Next up was the Iowa Cubs-Las Vegas ’51s minor league baseball game at Wrigley Field where a bunch of young men were playing for their spots in 95 degree heat.
I wanted to cool off. I took the short drive up from Wrigley to Edgewater. I have lived in the city for nearly 30 years and have spent little time at the Lake Michigan beaches. I either get out of town, swim at a WPA-era quarry in Naperville or bike to the Humboldt Park lagoon.
But in just a few visits this summer, the Edgewater spot took on meaning. There were one or two picnics. There was a wish made.
I realized that in 1950 my parents spent their first night as husband and wife just west of this spot in the since-razed Edgewater Beach Hotel. The hotel was billed as the “Site of America’s Most Successful Meetings.” When my mother opened the door to her hotel room she found a surprise from my father—a bouquet of a dozen red roses. A couple Sundays ago there was as much wonder as watching children misbehave on the beach as there was today when I saw the pretty blond lifeguard wreck her deal by wearing light blue Crocs.
I went to my spot for clarity and purpose. Kogan and I were talking about the kind of underbelly writing we do. He called them “The Quiet Stories.” I liked that. Sometimes I think I go to minor league baseball games alone and visit beaches by myself because I am my own Quiet Story. Sometimes that’s sad.
Just as I arrived at my spot the skies darkened. People began leaving and the beach became very serene. The lake waves whispered secrets to my soul. I sat on a white rock—not part of the forbidden mound—and thought about my spot in the world. I try to inch it forward with dignity, love and understanding. All you can do is try.
There was a flash of lightning and bit more thunder. I was one of the last people on the beach. The lifeguard with the Crocs asked me to leave my spot. She was clearing the beach because of the lightning. I understood.
The storms will pass.
My spot for this summer will always remain.
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