September 10, 2011
“Are dey anti-American or what?” (Part II of a remembery)
Almost home from the memorial service and luncheon. At the last controlled intersection.
WHOO-OOP! BOOM!
We had a green light. We collided with a speeding ambulance. I’m still convinced the siren only kicked in at the very last instant.
I was in the Death Seat. Had a driver less skilled than Jon been at the wheel, I might have been toast. Or at least a disjointed fowl. I still wonder about the person in the ambulance and about the effect of the impact.
Medical personnel. We refused medical assistance. Next: a pair of cops. A man and a woman. The woman was nice. She clearly felt bad when she learned we were driving home from a funeral. At last we were let to go home. Jon took to bed, as you might, too.
A knock at the door. The nice woman cop. She’d stopped by to return Jon’s insurance card, which she’d tucked into the sun visor of her cop car.
She was a true-blue Chicago type. Southwest-side accent.
“Dat’s nice ya got da flag out. Nobody on my block’s got da flag out. I’m thinkin’, Are dey anti-American or what?
“Tell your husband again. I’m sorry about his mother.”
I didn’t tell her that it was our landlord who’d hoisted the flag.
A couple of weeks later: We’re heading to Dallas to visit my mother, and we call for a cab to haul us to Midway Airport.
The Sikh driver who picks us up has the red, white, and blue all over his cab. A defensive tactic.
At the airport. Jon has no government-issued photo ID. The nice cop had seized his driver’s license in exchange for a receipt guaranteeing his appearance in court. The receipt is back at home, and we reschedule our flight for the next day.
Ten days later: We’re at DFW (Dallas-Fort Worth) International Airport, ready to check in for our return flight to Chicago. The receipt that got Jon onto his flight from Chicago to Dallas does not pass muster with the clerk at our airline’s check-in counter in Dallas.
A co-worker’s shift is ending, and she intervenes. “I lived in Chicago. That’s what they do. If he has that slip, it means a cop already verified his ID. He’s legit. They hold his license to make sure he meets his court date. You can call and confirm his ID is good.”
We nearly weren’t allowed onto the return flight. How we were to get back to Chicago — well, that was our problem. But the boss of someone’s boss relented, and we made our flight. Just barely. They sure did search Jon’s luggage thoroughly.
I was glad we’d packed the pot in my bag.
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Thank you, Sheila, for both parts.
Also, I think you’re spot on with your Southwest side accent. I have cousins who grew up in Calumet City. Wait, is that Southwest? Or just South?
Wait, Calumet City is Indiana, isn’t it? So Southeast of the city. Still something of the accent.
It’s the accent of the steelyards and the stockyards. The South Side, be it east or west.
Amen, dear, best as I remember.
loved both parts of your story. thank you.
hassle at the airport because of no “satisfactory ID” sounds like the German Reich.. “vere are your papers herr Jon?? Step to one side!!”
What happened to the US to permit paranoids and delusionally suspicious people call the tunes and shots?
The sky is not falling, has not fell and will not fall. Be brave America. Turn your back on this “fear industry”. Then again it could be a modern version of the protection racket run by … somebody?
Hmmm wait a minute how do I get in on this profit center ;D