Every year, when December 31st rolls around, I am reminded of a New year’s Eve about 50 years ago in Chicago.
Back before climate change was a thing, winters were REALLY cold. This particular New Year’s the temperature must have been well below zero.
There were about six of us teenage boys, bonded by the fact that none of us had a car or money. Together we set out, on foot, looking for a party to crash.
This was not a great plan. It was so cold, and we were so poorly prepared for sub zero conditions, that we could only walk about 100 yards or so before we had to duck into an apartment building lobby to warm up. You could still access lobbies in those days.
We had just squeezed into the lobby of a building on Touhy near the lake when the door opened from the inside and four guys our age forced their way into the tiny space.
One of them was acquainted with a member of our group. I knew this because, when he saw my friend Phil Tucker, he yelled “Tucker! ” and started throwing punches.
What ensued was the the stateroom scene from the Marx Brothers’ Night at The Opera if it had been directed by the Three Stooges. There was no room to fight, and no one wanted to fight outside, so there was a lot of yelling and pushing and threat-making. Few of the punches that were thrown landed. No damage was done.
When things settled down, the two groups went their separate ways. I don’t remember if we ever found a party, but our main goal was to not be bored on New year’s Eve. Now, we had something to talk and laugh about for the rest of the night.
That New Year’s was a success!
Happy New year.
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