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TAYLOR STREET ARCHIVES
www.taylorstreetarchives.com
Historic Scrap Book
A Message from Chickie: “…you would think you guys all had the
same mother.”
November, 2005
When it was apparent that he did not have much longer to live,
Chickie pleaded with me to return to Chicago.
“These are friends that love me and I love them with all my heart. I
have known them all my life. I have a lifetime of memories growing
up with them. We knew each other’s mothers, fathers, sisters and
brothers. My sister Katie once said, ‘You and the guys are so much
alike one would think you all had the same mother.’ Please, please,
let’s live in Chicago once more. It’s important for me to see my
friends again. I can’t move to Chicago on my own. It is up to you.
Do this for me.”
Despite the problems it presented for us, I took Chickie back to
Chicago. The extensive medical care he needed was free to us as long
as we stayed in Arizona. I could not earn a living in Chicago. Not
only had waitressing become too difficult for me, I could not take
chickie with me to work. In Sun City, I could work as a home care
provider at my discretion….whenever and wherever I wanted. This
enabled me to either take Chickie with me or I would book close
enough to home so I could stop back frequently during the day to
check on him. In addition, the degenerative bone disease that
further complicated his health problems required that he avoid harsh
winter climates like Chicago.
Roberta remained Chickie’s constant companion during his
inevitable march toward death. When and how it was destined to
end, she knew not. She was, however, braced for the ordeal. Nothing
would deter her from remaining at his side during this final journey.
Soul mates from the time they first met, she always held close to her
heart his first words…words that captured her heart… her soul…her
very being for all time.
“I remember the first time I saw you at a distance. It was as if
lightening hit me because I knew at that moment I was going to
marry you. I knew you were something special. I had to find a way
to meet you and talk to you. I can’t imagine going through life and
not knowing you…not having you as my soul mate. You are the only
thing that matters. You are my heart.”
She had embraced those first words he had spoken to her, so long
ago. They were her first glimpse of his soul, this man with the heart
of a lion. From that time forward, those words, locked away in her
heart, magnified every blissful moment they had together. And it
was those same words that sustained her during the trials that lay
ahead-- “sustaining me till death do us part.”
Roberta knew this was the beginning of Chickie’s final journey
toward death. She made arrangements to rent a place and they
moved back to Chicago (Berwyn). His physical condition would
dictate when we would have to return to Arizona.
Roberta served as his driver and companion as they revisited places
that held those precious memories…memories of neighborhood
friends. She took him on rides up and down Taylor Street, from
Western Ave to Jefferson. They parked at 1022 Taylor Street where
he was born and 907 S. Loomis where Roberta lived. Each time they
took the pilgrimage from one end of Taylor Street to the other, the
further Chickie was able to reach into the back roads of his
memories… memories he had harbored all these years. He knew the
guys from Taylor and Halsted, the Goodrich School guys from
Sangamon, Peoria and Newberry streets. He also knew the guys who
frequented Sheridan Park, Hull House and the CYO where he trained
as a Golden Gloves boxer along with Richie Guererra and Jackie
Corvino, also of Golden Gloves fame. (The exploits of our Golden
Glovers are noted elsewhere these Archives)
It was at these institutions that they played, trained and socialized.
Where the young men from every segment of Taylor Street’s little
Italy bumped into each other. As close as everyone in Taylor Street’s
Little Italy was, Chickie’s fondest memories, his reveries, were of the
times he spent with the guys from Morgan Street--the Morgan Fads.
There’s mention of them and their club in another story in these
Taylor Street archives. Appropriately, it’s titled, “The Club.” Beans,
Bugsy, Hammer Nose, Steady Eddie, Wacker, Scardone, Tony Paris,
Joe Esposito, Nickie Rabbit, Pete the Bear, Fiore, Mcgurgs, Tarquin,
Wacko Jack, and on and on and on. Chickie recalled every one of
them, nicknames and all.
They visited Greek town, where, while growing up, Chickie had
helped his father deliver ice. They also drove to Rush Street. That’s
where Chickie took Roberta on their first date. “I remember that
Radio was the bar tender at that lounge and Joe Esposito was the
police officer who was assigned the Rush Street beat at that time.”
They also revisited the Off Track Betting (OTB) parlor. Chickie: “I
loved the meeting of friends there…the action, the smell of cigars,
the call of the races.” IT WAS A GLORIOUS TIME FOR CHICKIE.
So many beautiful memories were resurrected.
I don’t know if growing up in any other neighborhood was as special
as growing up in Chicago’s Taylor Street. For Chickie, it was a special
place that produced special friends and a camaraderie that was
reflected by Chickie’s sister, Katie, which deserves repeating here,
“You and the guys are so much alike one would think you all had the
same mother.”
In the inevitable march towards death, he revisited Taylor Street, his
boyhood home. He relived his life and touched, for the final time,
the friendships made there. Chickie and Roberta also revisited the
scene where they once pledged their undying love for each other.
Their trip to Mt Caramel Cemetery, where Chickie’s parents, brothers
and sisters are buried, signaled the end of his farewell tour. They
returned to Arizona.
Friday, March 24, 2006
I arrived at the rehab center at 7am. John is lying on the floor on
front of his wheel chair. I rang for the nurse. Chickie: “I know that I
am dying. I’m not afraid of death. I am afraid, though, to leave you
alone.” Roberta: “I’ll be OK, Chickie.” We embraced and held on to
each other. No words were spoken. A lifetime of memories passed
between us.
Saturday, March 25, 2006
I pressed my body to his in order to keep him in the chair. The
strength of the spasms is causing the wheelchair to bounce. Talking
to John, I said, “it will be over soon…I’ve got you…I won’t let you
go.” The spasms ceased. He was exhausted. I stood up to catch my
breath. He beckoned me to come closer, kissing me twice on the
lips. “I love you Roberta; I’ve always loved you.” I replied, “I love
you too, Chickie. I’ve always been so proud of you.” He gave me a
Mona Lisa smile and nodded that he wanted to go to bed. This was
the last conversation between us.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Serious complications had set in and Chickie was transferred from
the Boswell Rehabilitation center to the hospital. Father Joe of St.
Clement of Rome gave Chickie the Last Sacraments. I stayed
overnight in his room.
I should not dare to leave my friend, my husband.
Because…because, if he should die
While I was gone and I…too late…
Should reach the heart that wanted me;
If I should disappoint the eyes
That hunted, hunted so to see,
And could not bear to shut until
They noticed me…
Monday, March 27, 2006
Lying on his left side, he was staring at me. I could tell he was
cognizant, but he could not speak. I said, “Ti amo; cora mi…cora
mi.” He made a throaty sound; his eyes glazed once. The nurse came
into the room, “I have John’s (Chickie’s) morphine.” “He died,” I
said…and asked that she close the door behind her.
Chickie died at 4:45 p.m. Cause of death: internal hemorrhaging.
Something broke inside of him and it wasn’t his heart, although
functioning at only 15% of its former strength. Chickie had the heart
of a lion. He was so brave…so courageous.
I closed Chickie’s eyes and laid down beside side him. Placing his
right arm round me, I held him in my arms and sobbed. Two nurses
came into the room to verify that Chickie was dead. (Confirmation of
death requires 2 nurses or a doctor. The doctor never came.)
Another nurse entered the room and said she was required to clean
the body before the driver from the funeral home comes to take the
body. I told her I would bathe him. After I had bathed Chickie, I put
his arm around me, held him in my arms and wept. It was three
hours since Chickie passed away. I felt a hand on my shoulder and I
was told that the driver from the funeral home had arrived. I
watched as Chickie was put on a gurney. I ran through the hallways
and took the elevator to the ground floor, ran through the parking lot
to my car and drove to the hospital receiving dock in time to follow
the hearse to the funeral home.
www.taylorstreetarchives.com
Historic Scrap Book
A Message from Chickie: “…you would think you guys all had the
same mother.”
November, 2005
When it was apparent that he did not have much longer to live,
Chickie pleaded with me to return to Chicago.
“These are friends that love me and I love them with all my heart. I
have known them all my life. I have a lifetime of memories growing
up with them. We knew each other’s mothers, fathers, sisters and
brothers. My sister Katie once said, ‘You and the guys are so much
alike one would think you all had the same mother.’ Please, please,
let’s live in Chicago once more. It’s important for me to see my
friends again. I can’t move to Chicago on my own. It is up to you.
Do this for me.”
Despite the problems it presented for us, I took Chickie back to
Chicago. The extensive medical care he needed was free to us as long
as we stayed in Arizona. I could not earn a living in Chicago. Not
only had waitressing become too difficult for me, I could not take
chickie with me to work. In Sun City, I could work as a home care
provider at my discretion….whenever and wherever I wanted. This
enabled me to either take Chickie with me or I would book close
enough to home so I could stop back frequently during the day to
check on him. In addition, the degenerative bone disease that
further complicated his health problems required that he avoid harsh
winter climates like Chicago.
Roberta remained Chickie’s constant companion during his
inevitable march toward death. When and how it was destined to
end, she knew not. She was, however, braced for the ordeal. Nothing
would deter her from remaining at his side during this final journey.
Soul mates from the time they first met, she always held close to her
heart his first words…words that captured her heart… her soul…her
very being for all time.
“I remember the first time I saw you at a distance. It was as if
lightening hit me because I knew at that moment I was going to
marry you. I knew you were something special. I had to find a way
to meet you and talk to you. I can’t imagine going through life and
not knowing you…not having you as my soul mate. You are the only
thing that matters. You are my heart.”
She had embraced those first words he had spoken to her, so long
ago. They were her first glimpse of his soul, this man with the heart
of a lion. From that time forward, those words, locked away in her
heart, magnified every blissful moment they had together. And it
was those same words that sustained her during the trials that lay
ahead-- “sustaining me till death do us part.”
Roberta knew this was the beginning of Chickie’s final journey
toward death. She made arrangements to rent a place and they
moved back to Chicago (Berwyn). His physical condition would
dictate when we would have to return to Arizona.
Roberta served as his driver and companion as they revisited places
that held those precious memories…memories of neighborhood
friends. She took him on rides up and down Taylor Street, from
Western Ave to Jefferson. They parked at 1022 Taylor Street where
he was born and 907 S. Loomis where Roberta lived. Each time they
took the pilgrimage from one end of Taylor Street to the other, the
further Chickie was able to reach into the back roads of his
memories… memories he had harbored all these years. He knew the
guys from Taylor and Halsted, the Goodrich School guys from
Sangamon, Peoria and Newberry streets. He also knew the guys who
frequented Sheridan Park, Hull House and the CYO where he trained
as a Golden Gloves boxer along with Richie Guererra and Jackie
Corvino, also of Golden Gloves fame. (The exploits of our Golden
Glovers are noted elsewhere these Archives)
It was at these institutions that they played, trained and socialized.
Where the young men from every segment of Taylor Street’s little
Italy bumped into each other. As close as everyone in Taylor Street’s
Little Italy was, Chickie’s fondest memories, his reveries, were of the
times he spent with the guys from Morgan Street--the Morgan Fads.
There’s mention of them and their club in another story in these
Taylor Street archives. Appropriately, it’s titled, “The Club.” Beans,
Bugsy, Hammer Nose, Steady Eddie, Wacker, Scardone, Tony Paris,
Joe Esposito, Nickie Rabbit, Pete the Bear, Fiore, Mcgurgs, Tarquin,
Wacko Jack, and on and on and on. Chickie recalled every one of
them, nicknames and all.
They visited Greek town, where, while growing up, Chickie had
helped his father deliver ice. They also drove to Rush Street. That’s
where Chickie took Roberta on their first date. “I remember that
Radio was the bar tender at that lounge and Joe Esposito was the
police officer who was assigned the Rush Street beat at that time.”
They also revisited the Off Track Betting (OTB) parlor. Chickie: “I
loved the meeting of friends there…the action, the smell of cigars,
the call of the races.” IT WAS A GLORIOUS TIME FOR CHICKIE.
So many beautiful memories were resurrected.
I don’t know if growing up in any other neighborhood was as special
as growing up in Chicago’s Taylor Street. For Chickie, it was a special
place that produced special friends and a camaraderie that was
reflected by Chickie’s sister, Katie, which deserves repeating here,
“You and the guys are so much alike one would think you all had the
same mother.”
In the inevitable march towards death, he revisited Taylor Street, his
boyhood home. He relived his life and touched, for the final time,
the friendships made there. Chickie and Roberta also revisited the
scene where they once pledged their undying love for each other.
Their trip to Mt Caramel Cemetery, where Chickie’s parents, brothers
and sisters are buried, signaled the end of his farewell tour. They
returned to Arizona.
Friday, March 24, 2006
I arrived at the rehab center at 7am. John is lying on the floor on
front of his wheel chair. I rang for the nurse. Chickie: “I know that I
am dying. I’m not afraid of death. I am afraid, though, to leave you
alone.” Roberta: “I’ll be OK, Chickie.” We embraced and held on to
each other. No words were spoken. A lifetime of memories passed
between us.
Saturday, March 25, 2006
I pressed my body to his in order to keep him in the chair. The
strength of the spasms is causing the wheelchair to bounce. Talking
to John, I said, “it will be over soon…I’ve got you…I won’t let you
go.” The spasms ceased. He was exhausted. I stood up to catch my
breath. He beckoned me to come closer, kissing me twice on the
lips. “I love you Roberta; I’ve always loved you.” I replied, “I love
you too, Chickie. I’ve always been so proud of you.” He gave me a
Mona Lisa smile and nodded that he wanted to go to bed. This was
the last conversation between us.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Serious complications had set in and Chickie was transferred from
the Boswell Rehabilitation center to the hospital. Father Joe of St.
Clement of Rome gave Chickie the Last Sacraments. I stayed
overnight in his room.
I should not dare to leave my friend, my husband.
Because…because, if he should die
While I was gone and I…too late…
Should reach the heart that wanted me;
If I should disappoint the eyes
That hunted, hunted so to see,
And could not bear to shut until
They noticed me…
Monday, March 27, 2006
Lying on his left side, he was staring at me. I could tell he was
cognizant, but he could not speak. I said, “Ti amo; cora mi…cora
mi.” He made a throaty sound; his eyes glazed once. The nurse came
into the room, “I have John’s (Chickie’s) morphine.” “He died,” I
said…and asked that she close the door behind her.
Chickie died at 4:45 p.m. Cause of death: internal hemorrhaging.
Something broke inside of him and it wasn’t his heart, although
functioning at only 15% of its former strength. Chickie had the heart
of a lion. He was so brave…so courageous.
I closed Chickie’s eyes and laid down beside side him. Placing his
right arm round me, I held him in my arms and sobbed. Two nurses
came into the room to verify that Chickie was dead. (Confirmation of
death requires 2 nurses or a doctor. The doctor never came.)
Another nurse entered the room and said she was required to clean
the body before the driver from the funeral home comes to take the
body. I told her I would bathe him. After I had bathed Chickie, I put
his arm around me, held him in my arms and wept. It was three
hours since Chickie passed away. I felt a hand on my shoulder and I
was told that the driver from the funeral home had arrived. I
watched as Chickie was put on a gurney. I ran through the hallways
and took the elevator to the ground floor, ran through the parking lot
to my car and drove to the hospital receiving dock in time to follow
the hearse to the funeral home.