Discussing the book "Sez Who? Sez Me!" with Mike Royko

Studs Terkel You know it's common knowledge in Chicago but the rest of the country finds out a little more slowly but finding out quickly now, now just about the best all-around columnist in town, any town, is Mike Royko. And Mike's new collection, Mike as you know, is on page two of the Chicago Sun Times-

Mike Royko Chicago Sun Times,

Studs Terkel Once, page three of the now long-mourned and lamented Chicago Daily News. And his influence on the town is overwhelming. But more than that, his change of pace. Mike, as you know, is a good investigative journalist but is funny, writes about Slats Grobnik, memories of past, from deeply moving columns, sometimes exposing a phony as on the day of this particular conversation. [chuckles] There's a guy named Ira [laughs] who's a con-artist at work, [laughs] and Mike has a column about 'im. Says oh, there's always either a humor or an indignation, but mostly he is there. A flesh and blood figure, not-- some of the automatic young men we have 'round and about these days. Now there's his recent collection is called, Sez who? Sez me, published by E.P. Dutton. And it's a collection of some of his best columns of the past several years. And he's here-- we'll do some reading and commenting and there'll be some musical interpolations as well. [microphone cuts out] So Mike, we gotta begin with Boilermakers and Bar Stools. There's a certain world for which Chicago is very well known, has been through the years. It's not a legal world but nor, nor is it outrageously illegal. How would you describe that world?

Mike Royko Well th-that section is, it's about saloons, mainly and the things that go on in saloons. As you know, I kinda grew up in saloons. My father was in the saloon business and I've always had a fondness for them as kind of the poor man's country club. And so it's, it's kind of a collection of things that I've seen happen in bars. The kinda, it's kinda little theater, you know?

Studs Terkel It

Mike Royko Almost every bar, if you sit in it long enough, is like a theater.

Studs Terkel Well didn't you have a feeling as a small boy that you thought every boy's father ran a saloon?

Mike Royko Yeah I, I didn't know that, gee, I must have been 22 years old [laughs] before I found out there were regular jobs. I just thought that this is the way people lived. You opened the door and a bunch of people came in and sat at the bar.

Studs Terkel But there was one place, it was a delicatessen, although there was a bar there. It was near City Hall on LaSalle Street. Now no longer there. The M and M Lounge.

Mike Royko Yeah we used to go in there,

Studs Terkel And there was a man by the name of Maesh who ran it, Maeshe

Mike Royko Maeshe Baer.

Studs Terkel Now perhaps-- this might be an opening that sets the Chicago scene.

Mike Royko It's called Maeshe's Café Menu. "I just read that Arnie Morton has spent about a million dollars to give his newest restaurant a spectacular atmosphere. That's the trend in the restaurant business. The glittery surroundings are considered even more important than the chow. Today's restaurant critics write more about the interior designer than they do about the chef. In a way that makes Morris Saletko, better known as 'Maeshe Baer,' a pioneer in the restaurant field, although you will not read it in 'Panorama' or 'Chicago Magazine.' Maeshe, who passed on last week in the trunk of his car, used to run a restaurant called the H & H on LaSalle Street, a couple of blocks north of City Hall. Maeshe didn't go in for fancy decorations. His tables were an understated Formica, the only colors in the place were the varicose veins on the legs of his harried waitresses. The cuisine was acceptable if you fancy corned beef on rye, pickles, a bowl of borscht, and potato pancakes. What made it popular was the atmosphere and the magnetic personality of Maeshe. The distinctive atmosphere was provided by the lunchtime clientele, which included lawyers, judges, traffic court fixers, bondsmen, bailiffs, bagmen, aldermen, and other Loop wildlife. Nobody ever talked above a whisper for fear of being overheard and indicted. Many of the customers seem to communicate solely by winking, nodding, and passing unmarked envelopes. One day a waitress reached to pick up what she thought was a remarkably large tip. A judge gave her a karate chop on the wrist". [laughs] Shall I go on? "M-many of Maeshe's business associates frequented the place, although it wasn't clear what business they were in. They spent most of their time sitting around in dark glasses, golf shirts, and fedoras. They were shy. If you stared at one of them too long, he'd take off his fedora and hold it over his face. Maeshe's magnetic personality was subtle. He was not a backslapper. Anybody he slapped on the back would probably scream and flee. He seldom said much, except when he answered the phone and whispered: 'Which race?' Most of the time he sat behind the cashier's counter glowering at anybody he suspected of being honest. Yet people flocked to him. It was probably because he was known to be an easy touch. If you needed a few dollars, Maeshe always had it. Of course if you were 30 seconds late in making your interest payment, your friends would wind up autographing your cast. [laughs] That was one of the reasons people flocked to him. For every person who came into the H & H to eat, another dozen would walk in, hand Maeshe something, and scurry away. One man came in to Maeshe empty-handed. Right in front of the lunch crowd, Maeshe used the empty hand for an ashtray. [laughs] When the man yelled, Maeshe threw him out for being unruly. Maeshe was at the H & H for years before his customers learned that his real name was Morris Saletko. They learned this when his picture was in the paper saying that Morris Saletko had been indicted with some syndicate activists who had been hijacking trucks carrying millions of dollars in merchandise. Maeshe didn't steal the trucks, he was supposed to have helped them hide them. He had a plausible explanation in court. He said a customer came to him and asked if he knew a good garage where he could park a truck with some film in it. Maeshe recommended the garage where he parked his own car. 'Then,' Maeshe said, 'I went to the club to get some steam and sun.' That was all there was to it, he said until the FBI woke him up one night and said he was under arrest. 'You must be silly,' he told the agents. 'I never took no hot film.' After that Maesh drifted out of the restaurant business, although they let him run a soda fountain at the Sandstone Federal Prison. When he came back, he said he was going into the vegetable business. Sometimes he would be seen standing around places like Caesars Palace in Las Vegas waiting for a radish to grow. A couple of years ago Maesh and a friend were standing at Halsted and Jackson waiting for the corn harvest when a big car pulled up and two men started shooting. Maeshe was wounded in a fingertip. A reporter asked Maeshe, 'Who tried to bump you off?' Maeshe said, 'I think it was gypsies.' Nobody is sure who put Maeshe in the trunk of his car last week, or even why. One detective said: 'I'm really surprised.' Why are you surprised? 'Maeshe was pretty big. I didn't think an Oldsmobile had that much trunk space.'

Studs Terkel [music playing] Somehow there could be only one musical coda to the story of Maeshe Baer and that's that particular song. There's one-- before you read 'em -- another kinda bar, Billy Goats was run by Sam Sianis. And a, a certain marriage of Sam that, you know, was very important to the customers. A quick Maeshe Baer story. It was near where WFMT was, our former studios on LaSalle and Wacker--

Mike Royko Mhmm.

Studs Terkel When Maeshe was in charge. And apparently he was sent up, as you say, before Sandstone, here, he was in Joliet. But for some reason he was out. No one knows quite why-- and there he is behind the counter, so I'm saying out loud innocently, "Hey Maesh! I-I'm delighted to see you back." And as a [unintelligible] he just went "What's your bill? Let's see 5.50." "Aye Maesh." And everybody's staring at me. Not a word spoken, but he's not there, ya see? [laughs] There's nobody there. So I say to the waitress, Dorothy, I was sayin', and she's givin' me sandwiches, "Dorothy, that's Maeshe out ther-- I thought he was in." He's out there. "You want salmon salad did you say?" "Yeah-- yeah I'll have salmon salad with a pickle." "Okay." "So I didn't know about Maeshe's--" "Do you want coffee with that, too?" And the fact is, I was violating every rule in the book. There's nobody there.

Mike Royko Maeshe wasn't there.

Studs Terkel No! [laughs] Just [laughs] And so that's Maeshe. Now we come to another place. Billy Goat's. And Sam runs it. Now there was a problem, the question Sam was talking about-- the guy-- it was free and easy atmosphere but Sam was talkin' about getting married.

Mike Royko Yeah well Sam, Sam is a little immigrant who runs one of my favorite bars. And oh about eight or nine years ago, I wrote this column. It's called Hardy 'Hallo' from Greece. "For days, terrible rumors have been sweeping Billy Goat's Tavern. They all concerned the recent trip to Greece by Sam Sianis, the owner. He went to Greece, where he was born, to marry a girl named Irene. But when he got there, just as the student uprising began and the troops, tanks, and martial law moved in. So everybody in the tavern was saying Sianis was in a Greek prison or Sianis was trapped at the airport or Sianis is captured by the students, that, that he had fled to the mountains. One customer summed up everybody's grief when he lifted his face from the bar and wailed, 'He-'"

Studs Terkel I'll say the customer. "He said that when he come back he'd have a big party and the drinks would be free. But if he's in prison, no party. Jeez, those damn students. What a tragedy."

Mike Royko "The basis for the rumors was one phone call Sianis made to the tavern after he landed in Athens. Unfortunately, the connection was bad and the call was taken by one of Sianis' relatives, all of whom work in the tavern-grill. Nobody knows what Sianis said because Sianis' relatives speak limited English. The ones behind the grill can only say: "Wan doobla-cheese weet onion." Those who tend bar s-say: "Wan stein bee!" The relative who took the call could only report: "I no wha' hap, bus eeesh nah goo!" I was distressed by the rumors because I'm partly responsible for Sianis being in Greece in the first place. I've been playing matchmaker. When the famed Billy Goat Sianis died, the bar was inherited by Sam, his nephew, whom Billy Goat had brought here as a boy from a small village in Greece. Billy Goat's funeral was hardly over when many young ladies, and some who weren't too young, began coming to the tavern and making goo-goo eyes at nephew Sam. Some were sincere in their overtures, since Sam, at 37, is a fine figure of a man. He's only five foot seven but he has a 19-inch neck and can lift a bar stool by one rung with his teeth. However, others were attracted by the fact that Sianis' place sells more Schlitz than just about any joint in town, which means he is a man of considerable means. I fear that one of these women would turn his head with her wiles, and an unfortunate marriage would occur. So I urged him to go back to his native Greece and find a nice girl who knows nothing of checking accounts, charge accounts, Bonwit Teller, property laws, Gloria Steinem, tennis clubs, and property laws. My motives were partly selfish. Billy Goat's is my favorite tavern, and a tavern is only as happy as its owner, and a tavern owner cannot be happy with a wife who expects him home before 3 a.m. 'Remember Zorba!' I kept telling him. 'No henpecked man, he.' So after several vacations in Greece, Sam returned this summer with a picture of the beautiful Irene, an announcement that he would return in November to marry her."

Studs Terkel "She's a good woman. She don't say much."

Mike Royko "And that's-- that was why he happened to be there this week in the midst of unrest, troops, tanks, and martial law. Finally the tension became so great that the bartenders were drinking more than the customers, which can happen when they become nervous, and when the c-owner is out of the country. That's why I put through a transatlantic call, hoping to get some information. One of his relatives gave me a relative's number in Athens. The number was--"

Studs Terkel "Seesha fy seesha, fy seesha fy fo!"

Mike Royko "The call went through. Several voices said--"

Studs Terkel "Huh?"

Mike Royko "Then Sianis himself came on."

Studs Terkel "Wash new?"

Mike Royko "I told him that the customers feared for his safety and about the rumors. He said things had, indeed, looked bad for a while."

Studs Terkel "When I got off airplane, I look for Irene, but she's not there. I figure that maybe I'm making a mistake if she can't even meet me. Then I get in cab. I go two blocks, then the soldier jump out surround me. I say: 'Wash wrong?' They say: 'We gotta war.' I say: 'Whose gonna win?' They say: 'We gonna win.' I say: 'I'm on your side.' Then they tell me that nobody's supposed to be out this late. Ees Marshall's law, I ask 'em Marshall who? In Chicago my place st' open till two a.m., so it wasn't too late. They tell me I better get off street until the war is over. So I've been off the street all week."

Mike Royko "Did this mean that he was being kept from Irene and that the wedding is off, and the Chicago free party was off, too?"

Studs Terkel "Nah! Irene is right here with me. We're gonna get married next week. Here I put on phone. Irene, say hallo."

Mike Royko "She came on the phone and said: 'Hallo!' 'Hello. Are you looking forward to the wedding?'"

Studs Terkel "Hallo."

Mike Royko "I said: 'Do you think you will like Chicago?'"

Studs Terkel "Hallo!"

Mike Royko "Sianis came back on-- on the phone

Studs Terkel "'er English ain't too good yet.'"

Mike Royko "The tavern will remain a happy place." [music playing]

Studs Terkel I-I was thinking right before, one more in that sequence about Boilermakers and Bar Stools and then we'll head to other aspects of your writing, different dimensions. But this is a-- years ago-- Big Wally's tavern. And there was a certain kind of freeloader. We can talk about this, perhaps a little or we could talk, I think we could do dialogue on this. This is a certain kinda freeloader, different from the usual one.

Mike Royko Yeah. Well, this th-this concerns a tavern dog, which is a breed of dog that's my favorite. They're-- well they're dogs that hang around taverns.

Studs Terkel This is Big Wally's.

Mike Royko Yeah. And this this, this is a saloon up on the northwest side called Big Wally's. "People who haven't been in Big Wally's Tavern for a while will order their beer, then look around and ask where Freddie the Freeloader is. Wally Tibor or his wife, Evelyn, will shake their heads as they break the sad news."

Studs Terkel "Freddie has passed on."

Mike Royko "No kidding. From fr-- what from?"

Studs Terkel "He just got old, I guess."

Mike Royko "Then they'll talk about what a heroic creature Freddie the Freeloader was. And about the cold night he saved Old Jake's life. And Evelyn or Wally will say-"

Studs Terkel "I never had a better dog. No tavern ever had a better dog."

Mike Royko "That's a strong statement, since tavern dogs are probably the bravest, most useful of all dogs. Some of them have become legends, such as Bruno, a Milwaukee Avenue tavern beast. He was a cross between a Doberman and a chow, and he had red eyes and a green tongue. One night a robber came in and with one bite Bruno performed a rather crude but effective vasectomy on the felon. Then there was Duke of Armitage Avenue, a huge, mean mixed breed that had lost one ear in a fight with a dozen cats. It was said that if the Duke ever licked your hand, you could die of blood poisoning. [laughs] Duke was unusual in that he didn't like to bark. So a teenage burglar was-- who broke in one night thought he was-- he had clear sailing. He was emptying the cash register when Duke put his paws up on the bar, stared into the kid's eyes and made a growling slobbering sound. When the owner showed up in the monrning, he found Duke still growling and slobbering, and the teenaged burglar still standing with his hand in the register. The owner swears that the kid's hair had turned white. But as noble as these dogs were, Freddie the Freeloader was something special. Freddie was born to be a tavern dog. He just wandered in off the street one day and made himself at home, mooching potato chips, boiled eggs and hunks of pepperoni. That's how he got his name. He could do everything expected of a good tavern dog: never biting a regular customer, sniffing suspiciously at strangers or people who asked for credit, breaking up fights by biting all brawlers equally and growling at wives who came looking for their husbands. He could do it all, plus something I've never heard of any other tavern dog doing. At night he would walk customers home from the tavern, which is on North Greenview. Nobody trained him to do it. He just seemed to know that a dog is a drunk's best friend. A regular named Leo was the first to notice it. One night Leo told Evelyn-"

Studs Terkel "You know, when I leave here, that son-of-a-gun always walks me to my door."

Mike Royko "It became kind of a joke. Evelyn or Leo would tell people-"

Studs Terkel "Don't worry about getting rolled on the way home. Freddie'll get you there."

Mike Royko "And he did. The regulars would leave one at a time: Leo, then Shorty and Teddie and Donnie and Marty. They'd stagger down the street with Freddie at their sides. As soon as one of them lurched safely into his house, Freddie would trot back to the bar for another. Evelyn recalled-"

Studs Terkel "Sometimes one of them would be leaving and I'd say: 'Oh wait, Freddie's not back yet from taking Tony home.' They have another drink and wait for Freddie."

Mike Royko "After a while, Freddie knew where most of the regulars lived, which is more than some of the regulars knew at two a.m. So all they had to do was follow him and he'd get them there. Nobody kept track of how many times Freddie got people safely home. Hundreds, even thousands. And not one of them was mugged or pinched for vagrancy. Think about that. A Saint Bernard named Barry is in history books because he rescued 40 people during a blizzard in Switzerland in 1800. Freddie provided safe escort for that many people on any busy Saturday night. Then there was the incident with Old Jake. Even now when somebody mentions it, every, everybody at the bar drinks a silent toast to Freddie. It was late one night during last winter's terrible blizzard. Old Jake had been drinking boilermakers to brace himself for the long walk home. By midnight he had braced himself enough to walk to Alaska."

Studs Terkel "'When Jake got up to leave, I told Freddie to go with him,' Evelyn said. And, and off they went into the fierce cold deep snow."

Mike Royko "About ten minutes later Freddie returned. But instead of mooching a piece of pepperoni, he stood near the door and barked."

Studs Terkel "Lay down."

Mike Royko "Evelyn said, but Freddie kept barking and barking."

Studs Terkel "I, I said: 'I wonder what's wrong with that crazy dog.'" Ev-

Mike Royko "Somebody opened the door and Freddie went outside. But he just stood there barking. So the couple of the regulars went outside to see why he was acting that way. Freddie ran down the street and they followed him. He turned at the next corner, then stopped and stood wagging his tail. There, lying in a snowbank, almost covered with new snow was Old Jake. He had passed out. And if Freddie hadn't brought help, Jake might not have been found until the spring thaw."

Studs Terkel "'Freddie saved his life for sure,' s'Evelyn. 'And wh-when he sobered up, Jake even came back and thanked Freddie. Gave 'em a whole bag of potato chips.' I swear if I could afford it, I'd have a statue made of that dog."

Mike Royko "There have been statues made of devoted dogs. So some sculptor out there wants to make one, Evelyn and Wally would be glad to put it in a place of honor. Maybe next to the cash register. It wouldn't have to be a big or a statue or even artistic, just the prone figure of a man [chuckles] with a pint bottle in his hand and standing over him in a noble pose, a mixed-breed mutt. But don't put a brandy keg under Freddie's chin. That's for St. Bernard's. For Freddie, maybe just a piece of pepperoni sticking out of his mouth."

Studs Terkel [music playing] You say that-- th-- talk about the statue.

Mike Royko You know I ended the column by, by jokingly saying there oughta be a statue made of Freddie. And sure enough a, a sculptor in Chicago put together a wonderf-- made a beautiful little statue of a, of a dog standing heroically, a mutt standing heroically over this falling down drunk. [laughs] Put a bottle in his hand and, and I've got it in my office.

Studs Terkel And all this time, kids are learning about Heidi and the St. Bernard in the Swiss Alps [laughs] and you know they should be reading real, real [laughs]. Mike's column, why don't-- here's a number on this sequence. Then of course there's one on the language, the bureaucratic language of our day. The jargon that Mike dissects fairly regularly. But one of the special ones deal with the educators, you call "Educatorese." Not so much the reading of it, but perhaps talking about it. There's a whole-- and you have a little, a way of-- you know when, when they send letters, these superintendents of various schools, it's impossible to make 'em out.

Mike Royko Oh yeah, we can give a few examples of that. Educators have always driven me crazy because they, they talk in a language, they're, they're, they're as bad as doctors. And some teachers, speech teachers, rhetoric and speech teachers in a junior college. It's been years looking at, at circulars distributed by the administrators in their schools and they put together a, a, a list of words and they broke 'em down into several categories: A, B, C, D, through E. And all you have to do is take a word from each of these categories and any words-

Studs Terkel Let's do that.

Mike Royko And you will, you will be able to talk Educatorese.

Studs Terkel Let's do it. So we start saying Dear So-and-so, adaptable-

Mike Royko Well here we've got some-

Studs Terkel Oh

Mike Royko He-- right there. Flexible and ontological productivity will implement the control group and experimental group. Now al-- I got that just by taking one from each list or, or, or right there.

Studs Terkel Oh let's for the fun of it-- you've got a-- you've got about 50 words on this page, or perhaps more, in four categories. And a-- just at random, we'll choose. Interpersonal's the word and so interpersonal is one word. Let's put throughput and accountability, interpersonal, throughput, accounta-- I'm just choosing words that are in behavioral, judgemental, concept, and verbalize. Okay, so the first word I chose was what? Interdis-in-in the interpersonal relationship that will result in accountability will have some priorities that concerns the ontological aspects of the behavioral and judgmental attitudes of people and will lead to a concept, a gestalt concept, that will terminate when I can you.

Mike Royko Of course, or optimal ethic accountability should facilitate postsecondary educational enrichment.

Studs Terkel Yeah, so w-we have a new-- there's no doubt

Mike Royko it- Yeah.

Studs Terkel We have a new language coming-

Mike Royko And and I wh-- after I wrote that column, teachers had so much fun with that, they started sending memos to each other. Some of which were taken seriously.

Studs Terkel It w-- you see, because-- I suppose taken seriously because you can't tell, nobody can-

Mike Royko No-

Studs Terkel Understand you.

Mike Royko No,

Studs Terkel And so y-you, you, you have one dealing with a teacher who's a hard working teacher or librarian. And the memo was sent-- and the wind up but she couldn't make that particular day being [bothered?] because she was getting married that day.

Mike Royko Yeah.

Studs Terkel And she told that to the guys in charge. They knew she's getting married but they had to send the memo out.

Mike Royko Yeah, well I've got a whole section in there on, on, on bureaucrats and, and the way they think. If they

Studs Terkel You know-- if they thin-- you know, I were thinking, i-it may sound like this. I, I always look for a piece of music to italicize a Royko column. This might be it for this one. [music playing] Mm both. I'm thinking, we're talking about other sequences of Royko's column. An-and this sequence deals with history doesn't it? Sort of-

Mike Royko One of, yeah-

Studs Terkel Aspects-

Mike Royko Yeah. Th-this column-- are we talkin' about Honest Abe?

Studs Terkel This is Honest Abe and Sexy Sam. Now you wrote this at, at a certain time

Mike Royko Yeah. This was, this is at a time when the papers were filled with stories, accounts of the, love affairs of, of past presidents. We were reading about FDR and his love affair he had for years-

Studs Terkel Lucy Mercer.

Mike Royko Lucy Mercer. We were reading about Eisenhower and his driver, the

Studs Terkel The secretary driver.

Mike Royko The secretary driver. We were reading about one-- any number of the

Studs Terkel Kennedy- Jack

Mike Royko Jack Kennedy's romances. There was even a hint, at the time, I think it-- rumored that Nixon had had [chuckles] no one believed it, of course, [laughs] but Nixon had had something going with, with some, some Chinese lady he met on his trip to China. And I, I just had this coming out of my ears. And so I wrote this column.

Studs Terkel Okay. Lemme-- well let's do the dialogue, you wanna do Samantha?

Mike Royko Sure

Studs Terkel Or, I'll -- you do Samantha. Okay, it's, it's someone is expos-- Honest Abe and Sexy Sam, this was 1976. Just the time of, of all the gossip was coming out. "Samantha Fudley Crick, who at 133 is believed to be the oldest woman in the United States, has disclosed to me in an exclusive interview that she once had quote "an intimate relationship" with President Abraham Lincoln."

Mike Royko "'I suppose you could say he was my lover,' Ms. Crick said. 'It lasted three years. I don't regret it. He was a wonderful human being and a beautiful person.'"

Studs Terkel "Her reminiscences will be published in the forthcoming book called: Me and Mount Rushmore. And Mrs. Crick said she met Mr. Lincoln in 1862 when she visited the White House with her father, who was in charge of mule procurement of the Lincoln administration."

Mike Royko "'Naturally, I was awed by him with his reputation as the Great Emancipator and all that. He was so tall and somber. I remember saying, 'The burdens of your office must be very tiring, Mr. President.' He sighed and said: 'Yes, they are, young lady, but it beats splitting rails for a living.' He later invited me to visit him at the White House alone, and my father encouraged it. My father was an ambitious man and hoped that when the Civil War ended, Mr. Lincoln would appoint him as urban renewal director for Richmond. At first our relationship was just friendly. I used to play the harmonica for him. His wife hated harmonica music, but he enjoyed it. He said it relaxed him and helped him ponder great decisions. The day he wrote the Gettysburg Address, I played 'Turkey in the Straw' and 'Eatin' Goober Peas'--two of his favorites--over and over again. But Mr. Lincoln, despite his image, was like any normal man. I was young and pretty, not wrinkled and toothless as I am now, and his friendship began to turn into something more personal. I believe he 'gan seeing me as a sex object. I suppose that I began, to use a modern expression, turning him on. One day he said to me, 'Samantha, do you think of me as old?' I was surprised by the question, and I said, 'No, Mr. President, you are ageless. Why, if you shaved your beard, you'd look years younger.' But I don't think he believed I was sincere. He went to a closet and took out an axe and several rails, which he kept around for luck, and split them in a jiffy, right there in the Oval Office. When he finished, he said, 'There, I'll bet those young dandies and whippersnappers you meet at parties can't do that.' The exertion gave him a stiff neck and he was in considerable pain. Like many young ladies of that time, I was skilled in folk remedies, so I gave him a sharp tap on the back of the neck with my harmonica. It was that intimate physical moment that drew us together. Our romance began. Naturally, after we became close, he asked me to stop calling him 'Mr. President.' I called him Abe, but he didn't like that name. He thought it sounded Jewish [chuckles] and he worried that people already thought he was too liberal. Throughout our relationship I found him to be a warm, sincere, genuine person, and I enjoyed his company. Naturally, we couldn't be seen out-- together outside of the White House because he was so recognizable due to his height. He was six feet four, you know. That used to bother him. He thought it might cost him the short vote. [chuckles] Because I was young and impetuous, I used to try to persuade him to change his image a little, to smile and wear more casual clothes. But he really liked those dark suits and that stovepipe hat. Do you know that during those three years he never once took off that stove-stovepipe hat, even when we were together? Our relationship ended when the war was ending. He became so busy binding the nation's wounds that he didn't have time for little old me. I built a new life, marrying Mr. Crick, a fertilizer dealer. I told Mr. Crick the entire story and he was a kind man and said he understood. But he never voted Republican. I shall never forget the last time I saw Mr. Lincoln, and we both knew it was our last time together. It was a sad and tender moment. He asked me to play 'Turkey in the Straw' for him on my harmonica, just one more time. I began to weep and did not wanna play it. But he insisted. He said, 'Play it again, Samantha.'" [music playing]

Studs Terkel I was thinking, Mike, these are some of the humorous columns and it's interspersed. What it is-- oh by the way, since you do satire, I must ask you that, there's something you just said in passing. You do something funny and satirical, sometimes it's taken literally

Mike Royko Well yeah, when I, I, when I do that thing on, "Play it again Sam", I had a number of letters from people who thought it was just terrible and that this old lady would bring out these intimate things about her relationship with Abe Lincoln at this late date in time. And I also had letters from bookstores in other parts of the country wanting to know who was publishing her books [laughs] so they could carry it. [laughs] See? Oh, there are always going to be people who take things literally.

Studs Terkel Satire is tougher to do these days.

Mike Royko Well it is tougher because, as you've pointed out so often, the line between satire and reality in today's world [laughs] is, is, is so thin and so blurred.

Studs Terkel I always try this out on everybody. I say to you a joke, somebody would joke say forty years ago, I'll ask a one sentence joke. Ronald Reagan, president of the United

Mike Royko That's right. That's right.

Studs Terkel It's a funny joke. [laughs] One-- funny-- It's a one-liner.

Mike Royko Yeah.

Studs Terkel And, though-- Mike Royko's book. It's his fourth collection. I think it's your fourth collection.

Mike Royko Right.

Studs Terkel Up Against It.

Mike Royko I May Be

Studs Terkel I May Be Wrong, but I Doubt It. And Slats Grobnik and other friends, as well as of course, Boss, a study of power in Chicago. And it's published by E.P. Dutton. And these are about-- you got about 50 or 60 columns here-

Mike Royko

Studs Terkel

Mike Royko You know it's common knowledge in Chicago but the rest of the country finds out a little more slowly but finding out quickly now, now just about the best all-around columnist in town, any town, is Mike Royko. And Mike's new collection, Mike as you know, is on page two of the Chicago Sun Times- Chicago Sun Times, right. Once, page three of the now long-mourned and lamented Chicago Daily News. And his influence on the town is overwhelming. But more than that, his change of pace. Mike, as you know, is a good investigative journalist but is funny, writes about Slats Grobnik, memories of past, from deeply moving columns, sometimes exposing a phony as on the day of this particular conversation. [chuckles] There's a guy named Ira [laughs] who's a con-artist at work, [laughs] and Mike has a column about 'im. Says oh, there's always either a humor or an indignation, but mostly he is there. A flesh and blood figure, not-- some of the automatic young men we have 'round and about these days. Now there's his recent collection is called, Sez who? Sez me, published by E.P. Dutton. And it's a collection of some of his best columns of the past several years. And he's here-- we'll do some reading and commenting and there'll be some musical interpolations as well. [microphone cuts out] So Mike, we gotta begin with Boilermakers and Bar Stools. There's a certain world for which Chicago is very well known, has been through the years. It's not a legal world but nor, nor is it outrageously illegal. How would you describe that world? Well th-that section is, it's about saloons, mainly and the things that go on in saloons. As you know, I kinda grew up in saloons. My father was in the saloon business and I've always had a fondness for them as kind of the poor man's country club. And so it's, it's kind of a collection of things that I've seen happen in bars. The kinda, it's kinda little theater, you know? It Almost every bar, if you sit in it long enough, is like a theater. Well didn't you have a feeling as a small boy that you thought every boy's father ran a saloon? Yeah I, I didn't know that, gee, I must have been 22 years old [laughs] before I found out there were regular jobs. I just thought that this is the way people lived. You opened the door and a bunch of people came in and sat at the bar. But there was one place, it was a delicatessen, although there was a bar there. It was near City Hall on LaSalle Street. Now no longer there. The M and M Lounge. Yeah we used to go in there, I And there was a man by the name of Maesh who ran it, Maeshe Baer. Maeshe Baer. Now perhaps-- this might be an opening that sets the Chicago scene. It's called Maeshe's Café Menu. "I just read that Arnie Morton has spent about a million dollars to give his newest restaurant a spectacular atmosphere. That's the trend in the restaurant business. The glittery surroundings are considered even more important than the chow. Today's restaurant critics write more about the interior designer than they do about the chef. In a way that makes Morris Saletko, better known as 'Maeshe Baer,' a pioneer in the restaurant field, although you will not read it in 'Panorama' or 'Chicago Magazine.' Maeshe, who passed on last week in the trunk of his car, used to run a restaurant called the H & H on LaSalle Street, a couple of blocks north of City Hall. Maeshe didn't go in for fancy decorations. His tables were an understated Formica, the only colors in the place were the varicose veins on the legs of his harried waitresses. The cuisine was acceptable if you fancy corned beef on rye, pickles, a bowl of borscht, and potato pancakes. What made it popular was the atmosphere and the magnetic personality of Maeshe. The distinctive atmosphere was provided by the lunchtime clientele, which included lawyers, judges, traffic court fixers, bondsmen, bailiffs, bagmen, aldermen, and other Loop wildlife. Nobody ever talked above a whisper for fear of being overheard and indicted. Many of the customers seem to communicate solely by winking, nodding, and passing unmarked envelopes. One day a waitress reached to pick up what she thought was a remarkably large tip. A judge gave her a karate chop on the wrist". [laughs] Shall I go on? "M-many of Maeshe's business associates frequented the place, although it wasn't clear what business they were in. They spent most of their time sitting around in dark glasses, golf shirts, and fedoras. They were shy. If you stared at one of them too long, he'd take off his fedora and hold it over his face. Maeshe's magnetic personality was subtle. He was not a backslapper. Anybody he slapped on the back would probably scream and flee. He seldom said much, except when he answered the phone and whispered: 'Which race?' Most of the time he sat behind the cashier's counter glowering at anybody he suspected of being honest. Yet people flocked to him. It was probably because he was known to be an easy touch. If you needed a few dollars, Maeshe always had it. Of course if you were 30 seconds late in making your interest payment, your friends would wind up autographing your cast. [laughs] That was one of the reasons people flocked to him. For every person who came into the H & H to eat, another dozen would walk in, hand Maeshe something, and scurry away. One man came in to Maeshe empty-handed. Right in front of the lunch crowd, Maeshe used the empty hand for an ashtray. [laughs] When the man yelled, Maeshe threw him out for being unruly. Maeshe was at the H & H for years before his customers learned that his real name was Morris Saletko. They learned this when his picture was in the paper saying that Morris Saletko had been indicted with some syndicate activists who had been hijacking trucks carrying millions of dollars in merchandise. Maeshe didn't steal the trucks, he was supposed to have helped them hide them. He had a plausible explanation in court. He said a customer came to him and asked if he knew a good garage where he could park a truck with some film in it. Maeshe recommended the garage where he parked his own car. 'Then,' Maeshe said, 'I went to the club to get some steam and sun.' That was all there was to it, he said until the FBI woke him up one night and said he was under arrest. 'You must be silly,' he told the agents. 'I never took no hot film.' After that Maesh drifted out of the restaurant business, although they let him run a soda fountain at the Sandstone Federal Prison. When he came back, he said he was going into the vegetable business. Sometimes he would be seen standing around places like Caesars Palace in Las Vegas waiting for a radish to grow. A couple of years ago Maesh and a friend were standing at Halsted and Jackson waiting for the corn harvest when a big car pulled up and two men started shooting. Maeshe was wounded in a fingertip. A reporter asked Maeshe, 'Who tried to bump you off?' Maeshe said, 'I think it was gypsies.' Nobody is sure who put Maeshe in the trunk of his car last week, or even why. One detective said: 'I'm really surprised.' Why are you surprised? 'Maeshe was pretty big. I didn't think an Oldsmobile had that much trunk space.' [music playing] Somehow there could be only one musical coda to the story of Maeshe Baer and that's that particular song. There's one-- before you read 'em -- another kinda bar, Billy Goats was run by Sam Sianis. And a, a certain marriage of Sam that, you know, was very important to the customers. A quick Maeshe Baer story. It was near where WFMT was, our former studios on LaSalle and Wacker-- Mhmm. When Maeshe was in charge. And apparently he was sent up, as you say, before Sandstone, here, he was in Joliet. But for some reason he was out. No one knows quite why-- and there he is behind the counter, so I'm saying out loud innocently, "Hey Maesh! I-I'm delighted to see you back." And as a [unintelligible] he just went "What's your bill? Let's see 5.50." "Aye Maesh." And everybody's staring at me. Not a word spoken, but he's not there, ya see? [laughs] There's nobody there. So I say to the waitress, Dorothy, I was sayin', and she's givin' me sandwiches, "Dorothy, that's Maeshe out ther-- I thought he was in." He's out there. "You want salmon salad did you say?" "Yeah-- yeah I'll have salmon salad with a pickle." "Okay." "So I didn't know about Maeshe's--" "Do you want coffee with that, too?" And the fact is, I was violating every rule in the book. There's nobody there. Maeshe wasn't there. No! [laughs] Just [laughs] And so that's Maeshe. Now we come to another place. Billy Goat's. And Sam runs it. Now there was a problem, the question Sam was talking about-- the guy-- it was free and easy atmosphere but Sam was talkin' about getting married. Yeah well Sam, Sam is a little immigrant who runs one of my favorite bars. And oh about eight or nine years ago, I wrote this column. It's called Hardy 'Hallo' from Greece. "For days, terrible rumors have been sweeping Billy Goat's Tavern. They all concerned the recent trip to Greece by Sam Sianis, the owner. He went to Greece, where he was born, to marry a girl named Irene. But when he got there, just as the student uprising began and the troops, tanks, and martial law moved in. So everybody in the tavern was saying Sianis was in a Greek prison or Sianis was trapped at the airport or Sianis is captured by the students, that, that he had fled to the mountains. One customer summed up everybody's grief when he lifted his face from the bar and wailed, 'He-'" I'll say the customer. "He said that when he come back he'd have a big party and the drinks would be free. But if he's in prison, no party. Jeez, those damn students. What a tragedy." "The basis for the rumors was one phone call Sianis made to the tavern after he landed in Athens. Unfortunately, the connection was bad and the call was taken by one of Sianis' relatives, all of whom work in the tavern-grill. Nobody knows what Sianis said because Sianis' relatives speak limited English. The ones behind the grill can only say: "Wan doobla-cheese weet onion." Those who tend bar s-say: "Wan stein bee!" The relative who took the call could only report: "I no wha' hap, bus eeesh nah goo!" I was distressed by the rumors because I'm partly responsible for Sianis being in Greece in the first place. I've been playing matchmaker. When the famed Billy Goat Sianis died, the bar was inherited by Sam, his nephew, whom Billy Goat had brought here as a boy from a small village in Greece. Billy Goat's funeral was hardly over when many young ladies, and some who weren't too young, began coming to the tavern and making goo-goo eyes at nephew Sam. Some were sincere in their overtures, since Sam, at 37, is a fine figure of a man. He's only five foot seven but he has a 19-inch neck and can lift a bar stool by one rung with his teeth. However, others were attracted by the fact that Sianis' place sells more Schlitz than just about any joint in town, which means he is a man of considerable means. I fear that one of these women would turn his head with her wiles, and an unfortunate marriage would occur. So I urged him to go back to his native Greece and find a nice girl who knows nothing of checking accounts, charge accounts, Bonwit Teller, property laws, Gloria Steinem, tennis clubs, and property laws. My motives were partly selfish. Billy Goat's is my favorite tavern, and a tavern is only as happy as its owner, and a tavern owner cannot be happy with a wife who expects him home before 3 a.m. 'Remember Zorba!' I kept telling him. 'No henpecked man, he.' So after several vacations in Greece, Sam returned this summer with a picture of the beautiful Irene, an announcement that he would return in November to marry her." "She's a good woman. She don't say much." "And that's-- that was why he happened to be there this week in the midst of unrest, troops, tanks, and martial law. Finally the tension became so great that the bartenders were drinking more than the customers, which can happen when they become nervous, and when the c-owner is out of the country. That's why I put through a transatlantic call, hoping to get some information. One of his relatives gave me a relative's number in Athens. The number was--" "Seesha fy seesha, fy seesha fy fo!" "The call went through. Several voices said--" "Huh?" "Then Sianis himself came on." "Wash new?" "I told him that the customers feared for his safety and about the rumors. He said things had, indeed, looked bad for a while." "When I got off airplane, I look for Irene, but she's not there. I figure that maybe I'm making a mistake if she can't even meet me. Then I get in cab. I go two blocks, then the soldier jump out surround me. I say: 'Wash wrong?' They say: 'We gotta war.' I say: 'Whose gonna win?' They say: 'We gonna win.' I say: 'I'm on your side.' Then they tell me that nobody's supposed to be out this late. Ees Marshall's law, I ask 'em Marshall who? In Chicago my place st' open till two a.m., so it wasn't too late. They tell me I better get off street until the war is over. So I've been off the street all week." "Did this mean that he was being kept from Irene and that the wedding is off, and the Chicago free party was off, too?" "Nah! Irene is right here with me. We're gonna get married next week. Here I put on phone. Irene, say hallo." "She came on the phone and said: 'Hallo!' 'Hello. Are you looking forward to the wedding?'" "Hallo." "I said: 'Do you think you will like Chicago?'" "Hallo!" "Sianis came back on-- on the phone and "'er English ain't too good yet.'" "The tavern will remain a happy place." [music playing] I-I was thinking right before, one more in that sequence about Boilermakers and Bar Stools and then we'll head to other aspects of your writing, different dimensions. But this is a-- years ago-- Big Wally's tavern. And there was a certain kind of freeloader. We can talk about this, perhaps a little or we could talk, I think we could do dialogue on this. This is a certain kinda freeloader, different from the usual one. Yeah. Well, this th-this concerns a tavern dog, which is a breed of dog that's my favorite. They're-- well they're dogs that hang around taverns. This is Big Wally's. Yeah. And this this, this is a saloon up on the northwest side called Big Wally's. "People who haven't been in Big Wally's Tavern for a while will order their beer, then look around and ask where Freddie the Freeloader is. Wally Tibor or his wife, Evelyn, will shake their heads as they break the sad news." "Freddie has passed on." "No kidding. From fr-- what from?" "He just got old, I guess." "Then they'll talk about what a heroic creature Freddie the Freeloader was. And about the cold night he saved Old Jake's life. And Evelyn or Wally will say-" "I never had a better dog. No tavern ever had a better dog." "That's a strong statement, since tavern dogs are probably the bravest, most useful of all dogs. Some of them have become legends, such as Bruno, a Milwaukee Avenue tavern beast. He was a cross between a Doberman and a chow, and he had red eyes and a green tongue. One night a robber came in and with one bite Bruno performed a rather crude but effective vasectomy on the felon. Then there was Duke of Armitage Avenue, a huge, mean mixed breed that had lost one ear in a fight with a dozen cats. It was said that if the Duke ever licked your hand, you could die of blood poisoning. [laughs] Duke was unusual in that he didn't like to bark. So a teenage burglar was-- who broke in one night thought he was-- he had clear sailing. He was emptying the cash register when Duke put his paws up on the bar, stared into the kid's eyes and made a growling slobbering sound. When the owner showed up in the monrning, he found Duke still growling and slobbering, and the teenaged burglar still standing with his hand in the register. The owner swears that the kid's hair had turned white. But as noble as these dogs were, Freddie the Freeloader was something special. Freddie was born to be a tavern dog. He just wandered in off the street one day and made himself at home, mooching potato chips, boiled eggs and hunks of pepperoni. That's how he got his name. He could do everything expected of a good tavern dog: never biting a regular customer, sniffing suspiciously at strangers or people who asked for credit, breaking up fights by biting all brawlers equally and growling at wives who came looking for their husbands. He could do it all, plus something I've never heard of any other tavern dog doing. At night he would walk customers home from the tavern, which is on North Greenview. Nobody trained him to do it. He just seemed to know that a dog is a drunk's best friend. A regular named Leo was the first to notice it. One night Leo told Evelyn-" "You know, when I leave here, that son-of-a-gun always walks me to my door." "It became kind of a joke. Evelyn or Leo would tell people-" "Don't worry about getting rolled on the way home. Freddie'll get you there." "And he did. The regulars would leave one at a time: Leo, then Shorty and Teddie and Donnie and Marty. They'd stagger down the street with Freddie at their sides. As soon as one of them lurched safely into his house, Freddie would trot back to the bar for another. Evelyn recalled-" "Sometimes one of them would be leaving and I'd say: 'Oh wait, Freddie's not back yet from taking Tony home.' They have another drink and wait for Freddie." "After a while, Freddie knew where most of the regulars lived, which is more than some of the regulars knew at two a.m. So all they had to do was follow him and he'd get them there. Nobody kept track of how many times Freddie got people safely home. Hundreds, even thousands. And not one of them was mugged or pinched for vagrancy. Think about that. A Saint Bernard named Barry is in history books because he rescued 40 people during a blizzard in Switzerland in 1800. Freddie provided safe escort for that many people on any busy Saturday night. Then there was the incident with Old Jake. Even now when somebody mentions it, every, everybody at the bar drinks a silent toast to Freddie. It was late one night during last winter's terrible blizzard. Old Jake had been drinking boilermakers to brace himself for the long walk home. By midnight he had braced himself enough to walk to Alaska." "'When Jake got up to leave, I told Freddie to go with him,' Evelyn said. And, and off they went into the fierce cold deep snow." "About ten minutes later Freddie returned. But instead of mooching a piece of pepperoni, he stood near the door and barked." "Lay down." "Evelyn said, but Freddie kept barking and barking." "I, I said: 'I wonder what's wrong with that crazy dog.'" Ev- "Somebody opened the door and Freddie went outside. But he just stood there barking. So the couple of the regulars went outside to see why he was acting that way. Freddie ran down the street and they followed him. He turned at the next corner, then stopped and stood wagging his tail. There, lying in a snowbank, almost covered with new snow was Old Jake. He had passed out. And if Freddie hadn't brought help, Jake might not have been found until the spring thaw." "'Freddie saved his life for sure,' s'Evelyn. 'And wh-when he sobered up, Jake even came back and thanked Freddie. Gave 'em a whole bag of potato chips.' I swear if I could afford it, I'd have a statue made of that dog." "There have been statues made of devoted dogs. So some sculptor out there wants to make one, Evelyn and Wally would be glad to put it in a place of honor. Maybe next to the cash register. It wouldn't have to be a big or a statue or even artistic, just the prone figure of a man [chuckles] with a pint bottle in his hand and standing over him in a noble pose, a mixed-breed mutt. But don't put a brandy keg under Freddie's chin. That's for St. Bernard's. For Freddie, maybe just a piece of pepperoni sticking out of his mouth." [music playing] You say that-- th-- talk about the statue. You know I ended the column by, by jokingly saying there oughta be a statue made of Freddie. And sure enough a, a sculptor in Chicago put together a wonderf-- made a beautiful little statue of a, of a dog standing heroically, a mutt standing heroically over this falling down drunk. [laughs] Put a bottle in his hand and, and I've got it in my office. It's And all this time, kids are learning about Heidi and the St. Bernard in the Swiss Alps [laughs] and you know they should be reading real, real [laughs]. Mike's column, why don't-- here's a number on this sequence. Then of course there's one on the language, the bureaucratic language of our day. The jargon that Mike dissects fairly regularly. But one of the special ones deal with the educators, you call "Educatorese." Not so much the reading of it, but perhaps talking about it. There's a whole-- and you have a little, a way of-- you know when, when they send letters, these superintendents of various schools, it's impossible to make 'em out. Oh yeah, we can give a few examples of that. Educators have always driven me crazy because they, they talk in a language, they're, they're, they're as bad as doctors. And some teachers, speech teachers, rhetoric and speech teachers in a junior college. It's been years looking at, at circulars distributed by the administrators in their schools and they put together a, a, a list of words and they broke 'em down into several categories: A, B, C, D, through E. And all you have to do is take a word from each of these categories and any words- Let's do that. And you will, you will be able to talk Educatorese. Let's do it. So we start saying Dear So-and-so, adaptable- Well here we've got some- Oh He-- right there. Flexible and ontological productivity will implement the control group and experimental group. Now al-- I got that just by taking one from each list or, or, or right there. Oh let's for the fun of it-- you've got a-- you've got about 50 words on this page, or perhaps more, in four categories. And a-- just at random, we'll choose. Interpersonal's the word and so interpersonal is one word. Let's put throughput and accountability, interpersonal, throughput, accounta-- I'm just choosing words that are in behavioral, judgemental, concept, and verbalize. Okay, so the first word I chose was what? Interdis-in-in the interpersonal relationship that will result in accountability will have some priorities that concerns the ontological aspects of the behavioral and judgmental attitudes of people and will lead to a concept, a gestalt concept, that will terminate when I can you. Of course, or optimal ethic accountability should facilitate postsecondary educational enrichment. Yeah, so w-we have a new-- there's no doubt it- Yeah. We have a new language coming- And and I wh-- after I wrote that column, teachers had so much fun with that, they started sending memos to each other. Some of which were taken seriously. It w-- you see, because-- I suppose taken seriously because you can't tell, nobody can- No- Understand you. No, And so y-you, you, you have one dealing with a teacher who's a hard working teacher or librarian. And the memo was sent-- and the wind up but she couldn't make that particular day being [bothered?] because she was getting married that day. Yeah. And she told that to the guys in charge. They knew she's getting married but they had to send the memo out. Yeah, well I've got a whole section in there on, on, on bureaucrats and, and the way they think. If they You know-- if they thin-- you know, I were thinking, i-it may sound like this. I, I always look for a piece of music to italicize a Royko column. This might be it for this one. [music playing] Mm both. I'm thinking, we're talking about other sequences of Royko's column. An-and this sequence deals with history doesn't it? Sort of- One of, yeah- Aspects- Yeah. Th-this column-- are we talkin' about Honest Abe? This is Honest Abe and Sexy Sam. Now you wrote this at, at a certain time because Yeah. This was, this is at a time when the papers were filled with stories, accounts of the, love affairs of, of past presidents. We were reading about FDR and his love affair he had for years- Lucy Mercer. Lucy Mercer. We were reading about Eisenhower and his driver, the lady- The secretary driver. The secretary driver. We were reading about one-- any number of the Kennedy- Jack Jack Kennedy's romances. There was even a hint, at the time, I think it-- rumored that Nixon had had [chuckles] no one believed it, of course, [laughs] but Nixon had had something going with, with some, some Chinese lady he met on his trip to China. And I, I just had this coming out of my ears. And so I wrote this column. Okay. Lemme-- well let's do the dialogue, you wanna do Samantha? Sure Or, I'll -- you do Samantha. Okay, it's, it's someone is expos-- Honest Abe and Sexy Sam, this was 1976. Just the time of, of all the gossip was coming out. "Samantha Fudley Crick, who at 133 is believed to be the oldest woman in the United States, has disclosed to me in an exclusive interview that she once had quote "an intimate relationship" with President Abraham Lincoln." "'I suppose you could say he was my lover,' Ms. Crick said. 'It lasted three years. I don't regret it. He was a wonderful human being and a beautiful person.'" "Her reminiscences will be published in the forthcoming book called: Me and Mount Rushmore. And Mrs. Crick said she met Mr. Lincoln in 1862 when she visited the White House with her father, who was in charge of mule procurement of the Lincoln administration." "'Naturally, I was awed by him with his reputation as the Great Emancipator and all that. He was so tall and somber. I remember saying, 'The burdens of your office must be very tiring, Mr. President.' He sighed and said: 'Yes, they are, young lady, but it beats splitting rails for a living.' He later invited me to visit him at the White House alone, and my father encouraged it. My father was an ambitious man and hoped that when the Civil War ended, Mr. Lincoln would appoint him as urban renewal director for Richmond. At first our relationship was just friendly. I used to play the harmonica for him. His wife hated harmonica music, but he enjoyed it. He said it relaxed him and helped him ponder great decisions. The day he wrote the Gettysburg Address, I played 'Turkey in the Straw' and 'Eatin' Goober Peas'--two of his favorites--over and over again. But Mr. Lincoln, despite his image, was like any normal man. I was young and pretty, not wrinkled and toothless as I am now, and his friendship began to turn into something more personal. I believe he 'gan seeing me as a sex object. I suppose that I began, to use a modern expression, turning him on. One day he said to me, 'Samantha, do you think of me as old?' I was surprised by the question, and I said, 'No, Mr. President, you are ageless. Why, if you shaved your beard, you'd look years younger.' But I don't think he believed I was sincere. He went to a closet and took out an axe and several rails, which he kept around for luck, and split them in a jiffy, right there in the Oval Office. When he finished, he said, 'There, I'll bet those young dandies and whippersnappers you meet at parties can't do that.' The exertion gave him a stiff neck and he was in considerable pain. Like many young ladies of that time, I was skilled in folk remedies, so I gave him a sharp tap on the back of the neck with my harmonica. It was that intimate physical moment that drew us together. Our romance began. Naturally, after we became close, he asked me to stop calling him 'Mr. President.' I called him Abe, but he didn't like that name. He thought it sounded Jewish [chuckles] and he worried that people already thought he was too liberal. Throughout our relationship I found him to be a warm, sincere, genuine person, and I enjoyed his company. Naturally, we couldn't be seen out-- together outside of the White House because he was so recognizable due to his height. He was six feet four, you know. That used to bother him. He thought it might cost him the short vote. [chuckles] Because I was young and impetuous, I used to try to persuade him to change his image a little, to smile and wear more casual clothes. But he really liked those dark suits and that stovepipe hat. Do you know that during those three years he never once took off that stove-stovepipe hat, even when we were together? Our relationship ended when the war was ending. He became so busy binding the nation's wounds that he didn't have time for little old me. I built a new life, marrying Mr. Crick, a fertilizer dealer. I told Mr. Crick the entire story and he was a kind man and said he understood. But he never voted Republican. I shall never forget the last time I saw Mr. Lincoln, and we both knew it was our last time together. It was a sad and tender moment. He asked me to play 'Turkey in the Straw' for him on my harmonica, just one more time. I began to weep and did not wanna play it. But he insisted. He said, 'Play it again, Samantha.'" [music playing] I was thinking, Mike, these are some of the humorous columns and it's interspersed. What it is-- oh by the way, since you do satire, I must ask you that, there's something you just said in passing. You do something funny and satirical, sometimes it's taken literally Well yeah, when I, I, when I do that thing on, "Play it again Sam", I had a number of letters from people who thought it was just terrible and that this old lady would bring out these intimate things about her relationship with Abe Lincoln at this late date in time. And I also had letters from bookstores in other parts of the country wanting to know who was publishing her books [laughs] so they could carry it. [laughs] See? Oh, there are always going to be people who take things literally. Satire is tougher to do these days. Well it is tougher because, as you've pointed out so often, the line between satire and reality in today's world [laughs] is, is, is so thin and so blurred. I always try this out on everybody. I say to you a joke, somebody would joke say forty years ago, I'll ask a one sentence joke. Ronald Reagan, president of the United States. That's right. That's right. [laughs] It's a funny joke. [laughs] One-- funny-- It's a one-liner. Yeah. And, though-- Mike Royko's book. It's his fourth collection. I think it's your fourth collection. Right. Up Against It. I May Be Wrong. I May Be Wrong, but I Doubt It. And Slats Grobnik and other friends, as well as of course, Boss, a study of power in Chicago. And it's published by E.P. Dutton. And these are about-- you got about 50 or 60 columns here- About- I I