Through The Ages

Lillian sat in her room with her memories. At her age---- 90 years young----she had a lifetime of experiences that settled comfortably in her mind. Lillian thought it was a life well spent. She and her husband----the late, great Chester---- raised a good brood of children. She was proud of them. All were good kids. And, all had better kids, for Lillian became a grandmother and a great-grandmother. Lillian had seen much in her 90 years. A Great Depression. A World War. Several smaller wars. Television. The Internet. The Space Age. All of the achievements and miracles of the 20th Century, Lillian saw through her eyes. Except, one. She had never seen the Chicago Cubs win a World Series. Oh, she had seen them play in a few. But never to any successful conclusion. She and Chester regularly attended the ballgames at Wrigley Field. They sat in the bleachers, ate the cheap ballpark hot dogs, drank the warm beer. And, they bonded with their fellow ''Bleacher Bums.'' Chester was a die-hard fan who taught her the love of the game. When he passed away 12 years ago from his cancer, he made Lillian promise him that he would be buried in his beloved Cubbie blue attire. And, he was!!! It was a sight!!! Dignified Chester, a handsome man who looked like a movie star, lying in his casket, with his Cubs jersey [Number 14 for Ernie Banks] adorning his frame, as if he couldn't wait to show Saint Peter his Cubs ardor. Chester went to the next world bringing his passion with him. But, in this world, Lillian still kept the old dream alive. For both of them. As age caught up with her and she was moved to the retirement home that she was currently inhabiting, Lillian watched her Cubs. Not only for her. But for Chester. She wears one of his old Cubs shirts when she does. His smell is still there.........Two doors down from Lillian, at the home, sat Malcolm. He had just turned the ripe old age of 98 recently. Malcolm lived alone, too, with his memories. Malcolm never married----the right woman did not exist for him---- but he was well-loved by his family and friends. Malcolm has an imp personality, a sparkle in his eyes, and a ready smile that lights up the retirement home. He is the person everyone comes to for a quick laugh and a feel-good moment. He had several jobs in his life. Not because he couldn't hold one down, but, rather, being a black man, he had to make do with what he could in the pre-Civil Rights period of this nation. He was a barber, ran a small restaurant, opened his own travel agency, and finally, became a Civil Rights attorney, championing the rights of the poor and neglected. Malcolm identified with the forgotten because of the enormous barriers he had to overcome. The biggest was his inability to play in Major League Baseball. Malcolm was a hell of a pitcher. His fastball came at you like lightning, blinding all hitters and making them seem helpless at the plate. But, being black, no scouts in the majors would touch him. Major League Baseball---pre-Jackie Robinson--- was an old-boy network, meaning old-boy, rich, white businessmen, who wanted nothing to do with black players. Never mind how the Negro Leagues flourished throughout the years. Black men could not crack the color barrier. Malcolm found playing time with the Kansas City Monarchs, the premier Negro League team of its time. He played often the first few years in his twenties. But, a nasty pitching injury forever silenced his budding baseball career and he dropped out of the league at the age of 25. It was then that Malcolm started his other career, finding his spot in the world. However, old dreams never really die, they just settle uneasily in your soul, awaiting the spark of life again. Malcolm follows baseball now and his Chicago Cubs. Partly, as a fan. And, partly, for what might have been had fate been kinder to him......... Marion cries often. The other residents in the retirement often hear her sobs night after night. Marion lost her son twenty years ago, when she was 50. But, to her, it seems like it just happened yesterday. Some drunken fool killed her baby boy in his fifteenth year of life. Her son, Billy, named after her favorite Chicago Cub player Billy Williams, was the apple of her eye, the sun that shined over her soul everyday. The two of them were rabid Cubs fans, always turning into the games on WGN with Jack Brickhouse announcing. The words ''Beautiful Wrigley Field'' resounded around their picturesque home in every game watched. Most of the years of Billy's life, the Cubs were pretty awful. Only two times in his life did the Cubs win and go to the playoffs. They lost but the seed of hope always reigned eternal for both Mother and Son. That fateful night in 1996--- when the police turned up on Marian's door and told her that her world was over--- is what Marian cries about mostly. From 1996 until now, she has never been the same. Her late husband and other children tried to rally her. It was a losing cause. Marian had lost everything with her Billy. It is said that when a child dies before a parent, even God cries. Marian had no thoughts on that. She just knew with Billy, the light of life went out, never to return. As the years went on, Marian lost the will to live. And, she her mind left her. Despite the best medical treatment available to her, her family lost her. She would not---and, could not----return from her darkness of grief. Finally, the family committed her to a retirement home. They still come to see her. Every once in a while, they see a glimmer of the old Marian. Still, these are fleeting moments. She sits and stares into space. And, she weeps her agony every night. The other residents keep a respectful distance from her. They know her pain. And, they wish they could help. It is of no use. But, the patients and staff do notice one thing about Marian. A little life does come into her eyes. When the Cubs are on....... There is a bond between grandfather and grandson that is special. Generations have met, love has been passed forward from the past. Whether it is a fishing trip, a simple walk in the park, or Junior sitting on his grandfather's knee, the bond of family achieves a sainted level. When Mort takes his grandson to Wrigley Field, he feels those stirrings of family most acutely. Mort is 87. He knows his days are dwindling to a precious few. And, his grandson, Steve, is no little boy anymore. Steve is 21 now, a dangerous age for a young man. It is the age where you are too old to be under your parents thumb, but, too young to be fully launched on your own in the world. And, like most twenty-one year men, you do not want to hang out with old people. Your friends your age are your passport to the New World Of Adulthood. Who wants an old man to tell you his war stories of life? Well, Steve does. He adores his time with his grandfather. They talk about their life and women and good times and women and times from their past and women. And, they talk Chicago Cubs.Wrigley Field is their spiritual home, a golden diamond in the world of confusion. They sit in the bleachers. They yell at the players. They cheer when a home run comes by them. And, they damn the Gods Of Baseball when the Cubs fail again. Every once in a while Mort will get that look in his eyes that Steve recognizes. That look signifies that a Cubs story from the past is coming fast over his memory plate. It might be the tale of seeing Willie Mays and Ernie Banks having a home run duel in the sunshine. It might be the almost grand slam that Hank Aaron hit but the wind blew back at the last moment for an out to end the game. Or, it might be the grandest memory of all: the 1945 World Series . Mort was there. He was a young man of 19. It was the end of the War and most of the good players in the game were overseas. The Cubs basically won the National League with a bunch of 4F's. But it did count. And, Mort followed every pitch in the Series. Steve loves when Mort recounts hearing the lovely sound of Phil Cavaretta, his favorite player, hitting the ball. The Cubs lost the Series that year and have never been back. But it is about to change, they both feel. When Steve drives Mort back to the retirement community where he lives, the talk of ''Wait Until Next Year''----that tired old refrain---- is now old news. ''Next Year'' is here. And, they both will be watching it unfold together. Grandfather and Grandson, united as family and Cubs fans........ There is a room in the home where Lillian, Malcolm, Marian, and Mort live. It is the activity room, the place where the residents go to have a little fun.The sun shines in there, the view is of a vast lawn. Sometimes, on nice days, you can hear the birds singing if the windows are open. There is a piano centralized in the room. At various time during the day, you can see a few of the residents standing around it, singing the songs of bygone days, the days of their youth and good times forever lost. Malcolm has the best voice. Lillian can still ''cut a rug''. Only Marian, in her sad world, can not be reached. She remains a blank slate of emotions and feelings........ There is also a TV in the room. Sure, the sound is very loud because of the hearing problems of most of the residents. At various times, it is on game shows, music programs, nature shows, and the news. With every show comes opinions and long stories. Some roll their eyes at the long talkers, and there can be loud arguments brewing. Then, comes harmony. That happens when a certain baseball team appears on the screen. Suddenly, a visible change comes over these old people. They seem to become alert and full of energy long thought gone. The years drop from them and glints of happiness form in the eyes. Smiles become a fixture and good-natured talking to the TV happens. And, in the most remarkable response, there are moments when Marian shows signs of the woman she once was. Her eyes focus on the screen, as if a light switch into her soul has been turned on. The other Cubs fans themselves become happy because they see Marian become happy. They talk to her. Whether she hears them, no one knows. But they like to think she does comprehend what is being said. A bond has been formed, the Cubs bond. They have seen plenty of baseball before, most lousy. The tide seems to have changed, though. The 2016 Chicago Cubs hold out such promise and fun that the residents share the enthusiasm. They are all rooting for various reasons. Most want the Cubs to win for those that are no longer there to see them live. The residents are the caretakers of generations of Cubs memories and moments of glory, both past and future. They want the Chicago Cubs to go all the way this year. Mostly, they grimly believe, because they are unsure if they will be around much longer...... Something tells me that they may finally get their wish this year........ Go Cubs........