AL

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Sometimes I’m a little amazed, generally, in a good way, by what happens around me but not always. Life has a way of unraveling in ways we never imagined or anticipated. Take today for example. Macomb had a huge thunderstorm this morning, and as I laid there in bed with Diane (good choice on my part), I lamented that the twenty bags of mulch in the driveway that I intended to spread around this weekend would have to wait for another time. Diane smiled and immediately put things in perspective, “At least you don’t have to do your Chicago Tribune paper route this morning.” She was absolutely correct. Her comment took me back 70 years when my dad came home from the office and announced, “Gord, I have a surprise for you.” I hoped it would be a new baseball glove or maybe some baseball cards but alas, in a way, it was the beginning of adulthood in my still young life. I was crushed. To myself, I said, “What is he talking about? Gordy Taylor doesn’t do manual labor. I’m nine and I play sports with my buddies, ride my bike, and maybe help a little around the house, but I surely don’t get up at 5 a.m. six days a week to deliver newspapers. Dad explained his reasoning, “Gord, it’s time you learned the value of a dollar and the meaning of work.” Indeed, I did. I got three measly dollars a week for at least 12 hours of labor. I was mortified. In reality, it was even worse.

Best buddy Ted Mowery who lived five doors down from me had a Trib route too but his delivery area was Adams, Bruner, and Quincy which were the streets directly around the where we lived. My route was two miles from home, so I had to pedal there just to get started. But I was a dutiful son so I complied and became an employee of the Hinsdale News Agency.

It wasn’t all bad as occasionally it gave me the opportunity to do something neat for my family. On mornings when the weather was good, I would sometimes finish my route and head uptown to Rapp’s Bakery where at 6 a.m. a crew was baking sumptuous rolls for consumption by the day’s customers. It was like something out of a Horatio Alger story. The old guys would look up at me as they took fried rolls and applied savory frosting for a wonderful finished product. It was always the same. “Hey, kid, out early delivering papers. Good for you. What do you need this morning?” I’d pay 67 cents and ride home with a large bag of tasty rolls for my parents and three brothers. I do remember that sometimes on really rainy or cold wintry mornings one of my parents would get up and drive me around on my route. Those were special times–a kid, his bike, his job, and the occasionally wonderful smells from the back alley of the bakery. Let me close by saying none of my three children ever had to get a paper route.

As I get deeper into the 4th Quarter of my life, I wonder sometimes, do I still “make a difference to people” and then something happens to answer that question. Recently, I was sitting on the patio at Northwestern Hospital in Lake Forest when a woman walked up to me and inquired, “Are you Gordon Taylor?” I replied, I was and with that she threw herself in my arms and said, “Mr. Taylor, I just need a hug.” As I type this I tear up as it was an extraordinary experience full of deep and profound emotional release. We hugged for a very long time as she sobbed and attempted to regain her composure. I told her to “have a seat” and we had a long chat. Her mom had just been diagnosed with a serious health challenge, and she thought she recognized me sitting there and she just needed someone to care. I was glad I could be that person. I hadn’t seen her in 40 years (not sure how she recognized me) but she related how one of my sons had been her first love in junior high back in Macomb. Her name had become a staple in our house for many years. As we talked, she told me she was experiencing a double wammy as she had just gotten her mom’s diagnosis but was also soon to lose her job due to the fine work of Elon Musk. It was sad to hear her tell me that “I’m just one of the little people. I do my job and now this. I’m too young to retire. What am I going to do?” It was a tough few minutes. We hugged again and went our separate ways. Right place at the right time–fate.

Damn, I’m losing too many friends and former colleagues. This is one of the serious downsides of this 4th Quarter. Lately, the Class of 64 at Hinsdale Township High School lost our leader–spiritually, emotionally, athletically–that was Al Koranda. He was All-state in football, played basketball and baseball and was simply an all-around great guy. He was born into wealth, but you would never know it. He was everyone’s friend–kind to you regardless of which side of the track you came from. Al Koranda just didn’t care. He was handsome, personable, outgoing, and a true leader. Most importantly, he was just Al. After graduation from law school, he went to work with his dad, Hugo, and later his brother, Ken, at Mid-America Savings and Loan. They held the mortgage to my parents’ very modest little home. I’ve mentioned before the Taylor family for a multitude of reasons including just bad luck, had a hard time making monthly mortgage payments. Many times Mid-America could have foreclosed but it never happened. Hugo, Al, and Ken were there for us, sort of like George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life.

At our 30th Class Reunion someone asked classmate Tim Feris if he would do anything differently in his life? His reply brought down the house. “Hell, yes, I’d have married Al Koranda.” We all laughed at that master stroke of self-deprecating humor. Al suffered mightily the past couple of years but through it all, with the love and dedication of his wonderful wife, Jennifer, he managed to maintain his positive mental attitude. In death, as in life he is an inspiration for anyone wanting to know how to measure a life well-lived. To use a baseball analogy, Al Koranda touched all the bases. I’m grateful I got to be a part of his universe. I sometimes talk about someone being what English philosopher, Sir Thomas More referred to as a A Man for all Seasons. Al was ours.

The deeper I get into this 4th Quarter thing, the more I appreciate the life I have lived. Believe me, it has not all been fun or easy but looking back–a paper route, a warm cinnamon donut, a hug, knowing Al Koranda, it’s been a pretty good journey so far with more experiences and memories to come.