Life in the big city

Was I scammed?

Image result for sucker

I’m still unsure whether, metaphorically speaking, I dodged a bullet a few weeks ago or if I was shot.

I was driving home at mid-day when, at the stoplight, a guy pulled alongside and motioned for me to roll down the window.

Listening was my first mistake.

He said that he knew me and I ought to remember him from the place where I bought my car. I had just been to the dealership that morning, so it seemed possible. He urged me to pull over at the curb ahead. It was daylight on a busy street, so I decided to find out what this was all about.

Second mistake.

When he got out of the car he started talking faster. He said wanted to help me out and, unlike the guys at the car dealership, he “wouldn’t charge me thousands of dollars to fix the problem.”

What problem?

When I got out of the car I saw he was talking about a dent on my car’s passenger side that I was unaware of. His buddy, who had gotten out of the car with him, was holding a suction cup tool used in body shops to pull out dents. “Frankie,” as he introduced himself, said they’d take care of it.

“Just don’t tell my employer” he said. Then, without asking, his pal put a foamy substance on the dent which covered it up. He told me to wait an hour to wipe it off.

Frankie was talking faster and faster and repeating a lot of the same material:

“I’m a good guy,”

“The dealerships want charge you a lot. I won’t do that.”

“My boss thinks I’m in Michigan so don’t tell him,” etc…

That’s the “confidence” part of a con game; My friend Frankie was giving me something of great value that won’t cost me much. We’re pals. I’m special. Let’s stick it to the man.

Unfortunately for Frankie, a few hours earlier I’d spent much more money for auto service at the dealership than I expected. I wasn’t in the mood to pay anyone for anything having to do with my car.

I told Frankie I didn’t have any money. His suggestions about what would be “fair” dropped from a few hundred dollars cash, to “a check.” Frankie was sad to learn I don’t carry a checkbook.

Before he could suggest we visit an ATM, fast talking Frankie’s spell had worn off. I walked around his car to see his license plate. His accomplice noticed and moved to block my view. Frankie now realized the jig was up. He and his buddy bid a hasty goodbye, backing their car down a busy street so they wouldn’t drive past me and show me their plate.

So there I stood, with what turned out to be car wax covering the dent which, as you would expect, was still there when I washed it off.

All I could think was, “What just happened?”

The Google Machine provided answers; It’s a popular con that involves scammers driving around looking for dented cars. If they can engage the driver in conversation, they try to convince the potential victim they can fix the dent quickly for far less money than a dealership. The car wax is meant to keep the victim from discovering he’s/she’s been had until after payment and getaway.

My surly disposition (and cheapness), helped ensure I didn’t give the mopes money, which kept me from being a sucker.  On the other hand, I gave then ten minutes of my time. Arguably, that makes me a chump.

It’s good to be reminded that you should never engage in a conversation with someone who claims to know you, if you don’t know them.

But I still don’t know how my car got dented.

Maybe I am a sucker.

# # #

McBarronBlog Bonus
Here’s a local TV story about the scam.

Fake Auto Body Repair Scheme Targets Victims With Dents In Cars


Growing up

New Year’s (brawling) Eve


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.
# # #
Growing up · meeting the famous

Chicago’s richest man visits McDonalds


On a chilly Sunday morning in the fall of 1969, while hanging out at McDonalds after Mass, a long, gold-painted limousine, license plate “WC3”, pulled into the parking lot. Out of the backseat, which was full of well-dressed people, stepped a small man with a pencil-thin mustache, wearing a suit and smoking a very smelly cigar.

Because I had read that morning’s Chicago Tribune profile on a local billionaire insurance tycoon, I recognized W. Clement Stone III.

I took a moment to bask in the fact I was just a few feet away from Chicago’s richest man, then began trying to figure out what the hell W. Clement Stone was doing in the Clark St. McDonalds in Rogers Park.

Stone was not only famous for being a fabulously wealthy (self made) man who lived by a philosophy based on “positive thinking,”  he was also well known at the time (and remembered today) as Richard Nixon’s biggest financial backer. His donations impacted campaign finance laws.

Mr. Stone’s contributions of more than $2 million to President Nixon’s re-election campaign in 1972 — on top of even greater donations to Mr. Nixon in 1968 — were cited in Congressional debates after Watergate as a reason for instituting campaign spending limits.

I surmised that Stone and his entourage were en route to the Bears game at Wrigley Field. Traveling into the city from his Winnetka mansion, Stone had stopped at McDonalds to pick up provisions for the trip.

Based on what happened next, I realized this it was likely Stone’s first McDonalds visit.  When Stone placed his order, the teenager waiting on him looked puzzled, then bent closer to the billionaire. He asked Stone to repeat his request.

A moment later, it was Stone’s turn to be puzzled. He clearly did not expect to receive six hot chocolates.

Apparently, Stone had ordered “six hot dogs.”

Did I mention this was probably his first “Mickey D” experience?

There followed a quick explanation, that “McDonald’s doesn’t do that. ” Stone’s hot drinks were replaced with semi-warm hamburgers. He picked up his bag and headed for the door.

As he was about to depart for the game, a friend with me yelled, “Hey Clem!”
Standing the doorway, Stone turned, smiled and gave us a little wave worthy of a king. At that moment, that’s exactly what he was.
# # #


McBarronBlog Bonus:

On the occasion of his 85th birthday, the Chicago Tribune published this wonderful profile, which gives you an idea of what it must have been like to be in Stone’s company.

W. Clement Stone’s positive thinking allowed him to live to be 100. Here’s his 2002 New York Times obituary


Growing up

Bon Voyage, Capt’n Nemo


Almost half a century ago, the teenagers from St. Jerome’s were playing football at Sherwin Park on North Clark Street when a strange man came over and interrupted our game. He said he was about to open a sandwich shop nearby and we ought to check it out.

We did. This was the first of many encounters with Lou Ragusi who, to me, was always Capt’n Nemo.

Lou Ragusi at Capt’n Nemo’s in 1976.
(Sun Times photo)

I remember my initial reactions:

“This food is good.”

“This guy is nuts.”

He talked constantly and at high volume. He seemed to be arguing with his workers and they were arguing back. They all seemed to be having a good time. There was nothing like Nemo’s in the neighborhood at the time so I was sure he’d quickly fail.

48 years later, Capt’n Nemo’s is still there. Mr. Ragusi was real American entrepreneur.

Mr. Ragusi died on November 18 at age 88. Read the Sun-Times obituary.

Bon Voyage, Capt’n. I hope wherever you are, you are getting a free taste of soup and I hope it’s as good as Mrs. Nemo’s Split pea.

# # #

Growing up

Worst birthday ever

I’ve had two really terrible birthdays in my life. The last of these was 36 years ago.

I was depressed because I had convinced myself everyone else had their life figured out by age 30.

Because I was only two years out of college (it’s a long story), had no money and wasn’t married, I felt like I was failing at life. Despite a nice party, I went into a major sulk and started my 30th year with one of the all-time great hangovers.

In time I saw I was doing fine. Eventually I realized life was pretty good. And it only continued to improve.

That was the last time my birthday made me depressed.

But, that was not the saddest birthday of my life. That was the day I turned ten.

November 25, 1963.

I had been excited about this birthday. It had a number with two digits! Big stuff.

There would be presents!



Lots of attention FOR ME!


It didn’t exactly work out that way. Three days before my birthday, in Dallas Texas, the President of the United States was murdered.

Suddenly, everyone I knew was sad. I was puzzled at first. After all, my parents were Nixon Republicans and I’d never heard a good word about President Kennedy spoken by either of them. So, I was surprised by my mother’s crying.

The assassination occurred on a Friday. Instead of preparations for my party, the weekend was spent in front of the television, where there was only one thing on; coverage of and reaction to, the assassination.

To a ten year old, there was a sameness to all I saw on the small black and white screen in our living room. I couldn’t understand why the news people kept repeating  information and showing the same pictures.

Things took a turn for the unexpected on Sunday, when alleged gunman Lee Harvey Oswald was, for reasons never adequately explained, marched through a crowded hallway at the police station, where he was shot by (choose one):

A) a distraught local resident,
B) a patriotic American,
C) a strip club owner who wanted to ensure Oswald didn’t implicate the Mafia.

There were presents and cake on my birthday (they’d already been purchased) but no joy. Rather than the attention I had anticipated, the focus was on President Kennedy’s funeral. The ceremony was overwhelmingly sad and, at times, sent chills down my spine, like when the riderless horse, with backward boots in the stirrups, was led down Pennsylvania Avenue as part of the funeral procession.


That weekend, I experienced crushing sadness for the first time. There would be more to come, of course. It was the first of those things that happen that make you think, “I will never get over this.”

And you don’t. Tragedy is indelible.

Yet, life goes on.

– – –

On the eve of my 66th birthday it was pointed out to me, “You’re just one “6” away from Satan.”

Is that any way for a child to talk to her father?

This will be a pretty good birthday. So will each of those to come.

# # #




Brushes with greatness

That time I met The Greatest


(The first meeting between Cassius Clay and Sonny Liston took place 55 years ago today. I’ve dug out this past posting to mark the anniversary).

In 1988, I took a round-trip train ride to New York City to visit my brother. On my return to Chicago, as I walked through the main room at Union Station, I was shocked to see the world’s most famous man.

Muhammad Ali was waiting for his luggage.

In the blink of an eye, so much went through my mind:

  • The first fight (as Cassius Clay) with Sonny Liston which ended with the “unbeatable” Liston giving up and refusing to leave his corner for the seventh round.
  • Ali’s refusing to be inducted into the military on religious grounds, causing him to be stripped of his title and denied the right to fight in the US, until he prevailed in the US Supreme Court.
  • The “Rope-a-Dope” strategy that brought him a victory over the heavily favored George Foreman in the “Rumble in the Jungle” in Zaire in 1974
  • His three battles with Joe Frazier, including  the 1975 classic “Thrilla in Manila.”

This man had been a huge part of my life and here he was, with no security to keep fans at a distance.

It was just Muhammad Ali and his assistant, waiting for their luggage.

I wanted Ali to know that he was one of my heroes. That I admired his greatness in the ring and his courage for standing up to the government. I wanted to tell him that he’d entertained and enthralled me since I was a boy.

I had to meet him.

As I got within about four steps of him, I lost my nerve and veered off to one side.

I tried to pull myself together, and approached again. This time, I got within about three steps, then lost my nerve a second time.

I mean this was not some mere mortal. This was Ali!

I knew I’d hate myself forever if I didn’t try again. As I got within two steps, Ali, who I was sure hadn’t noticed me on the first two passes, suddenly looked up, made an intense face and drew his fist back as if to throw a punch.

Time stood still.

Then he smiled that world-famous smile and extended his hand.

He never said a word, but shaking the hand that shook the world was one of the great thrills of my life.

He was the greatest.


McBarronBlog Bonus

Ali is the only person I’ve ever met who had met The Beatles. That 1964 get-together is remembered here.



Rx for Bears blues: YouTube


Last Sunday was a dark day for fans of Chicago’s NFL team. People who ordinarily think  realistic thoughts had allowed themselves to buy into the idea that this season’s Chicago Bears, who turned out to be much better than anyone expected, had a shot at the Super Bowl.

It was a  pipe dream that ended in the final seconds of Sunday’s playoff game, when kicker Cody Parkey, already holder of a record for hitting the uprights four times in a previous game, hit the upright (and the crossbar) one last time for the Bears.

Though I’ve given up on football, I saw the last few minutes of Sunday’s game and must admit the “double-doink” even made me sad. Those suffering from Bears Blues, need to know video mood elevators are plentiful on YouTube. Here are a few favorites.

The Payton Game

Every Bears fan depressed about last Sunday’s game should see the last play of the first game the Bears played following the death of the legendary Walter Payton. The 1999 Bears team, which was not very good, managed to hold their own against the much better Packers, led by future Hall of Famer, Brett Farvre.

Like last Sunday’s game, it came down to the final seconds. All the Packers needed to do was kick an easy field goal to win. (click the “watch on YouTube” link)

Another clip that always cheers me up comes from last season’s Cubs, who were one strike away from a 3-0 loss to the Nationals when rookie David Bote lived the dream of every kid who ever fantasized about batting with two out in the bottom of the ninth with the bases loaded. Listen for the sound of the ball hitting the bat. Beautiful.

Speaking of fantasies, Accountant Scott Foster got to live the dream of every boy who ever thought about playing for the Blackhawks when his perfunctory role as “emergency goalie” was upgraded after two goalies were injured on the same day. The 36-year old Foster, who hadn’t played anything but “beer league” hockey since leaving college, was sent into an NHL game with 14 minutes left and the Blackhawks leading 4-2.

Sports fans can relive past glories on Youtube as we wait for the next season of promise.

Speaking of which, pitchers and catchers report in less than six weeks.

Do you have any sports videos that help you beat the blues?

McBarronBlog Bonus

What’s more fun than unexpected sports excellence?

Kirk Gibson gives Dodgers an unexpected win in the 1988 World Series.

JoeCarter’s Game 7 walk-off home run to win the 1993 World Series

Ryne Sandburg homers twice off previously unhittable Bruce Sutter to help  the Cubs beat the Cardinals in “The Sandburg Game”