August 28th, 2024

 It’s Wednesday, put a little love in it and slide into Labor Day Weekend.

The Summer of ‘24 is coming to a close. Like I feared in May, it was dull and uneventful.

Bring on the ‘Ber months…

7th Anniversary of The Morning Chalkboard

 First Chalkboard

August 27th, 2024

 I posted the first Morning Chalkboard on this day in 2017. It was about five weeks after I separated from my wife. Here we are seven years and almost 2,200 Chalkboards later.

I hung the “blackboard” in my kitchen so there was some familiarity between mom’s house and dad’s new three flat. I didn’t think it would turn out to be what it is today.

Four hundred to five hundred people go to the blog everyday.

What became something of a daily therapeutic exercise for me every morning has become a daily ritual for many people.

The biggest joy that I receive is when someone thanks me for something I wrote. Maybe I stoked a memory or said something helpful and supportive.

I’m going to keep on chalking about a divorced dad raising Shepkids, working on a trading floor, driving Betty the Green Blazer and chasing hot moms.

Maybe someday all of these Chalkboards will be on a coffee table, but until that day…

…put a smile on the sun, take time to watch shit do stuff (smell the flowers), be kind and always be astonished.

August 26th, 2024

 In mid-July, I opened my old footlocker to grab my high school yearbooks. I wanted to do some groundwork before my reunion.

I ended up spending an hour going through all the pictures that I’ve kept along the years. Pictures that would now be on a cellphone.

I came across a stack from the annual Christmas parties that I hosted at Shanahan’s. In one of the pictures was a guy that hung out along the strip of bars on Madison Street. He strolled into the bar that night and mixed into the party.

I wondered what had happened to that character in the thirty years since.

We called him the Bank Detective, but his name was Bob. He never drank and was always very friendly. Bob came from a big Catholic family in the Oak Park/River Forest area. Bob was probably ten years older than me.

He was a decent conversationalist that always asked a shit ton of questions. Always the same questions over and over every time he came into the bar. Then he would sneak to the back and jot down notes in a little pocket notebook. That is how we came to nickname him the Bank Detective. Just one of the many characters we run into on our life journey.

Anyway, yesterday I took Fritz over to Parky’s for a birthday hot dog. Hazel was at her mom’s house and we dropped George off at JoJo’s so they could hang out together.

It was perfect, just me and my middle son on his birthday. Unfortunately, we pulled into the parking lot and Parky’s was closed. That was a kick in the throat. Fritz being the cool and calm kid wasn’t upset and said we could go to McDonald’s or somewhere else instead.

“McDonald’s? McDonald’s on your birthday? Fuck that son, I gotta back up joint that isn’t far from here.”

We drove through South Oak Park and arrived at Pete’s down on the corner of Ridgeland and Roosevelt Road. Pete’s is in my top ten hotdog joints, so Fritz was getting a new experience on his birthday.

We got up to the counter and Fritz ordered a couple hotdogs, fries and a root beer. I ordered a Maxwell Street with fries and a Coca Cola.

Sitting at a table near the register is Bob, the Bank Detective. His curly black hair is now gray, but he still has his black framed glasses. Just like the 1990’s, he was dressed like he was coming from church. A pair of slacks and a button-down shirt with loafers.

Bob and I caught up while I was waiting for our food. I reminded him that I was Jumbo and finally told him what his nickname was during the Clinton years. Our food was ready and I said goodbye to the character that I just came across in a photo earlier in the summer.

Fritz and I sat down at a table outside of the restaurant. Three minutes later Bob sat down to join us.

He told us that it’s been forty-eight years since he had brain surgery. He talked about going to Mass at Saint Luke’s and his parents, Joseph and Mary.

“I was destined to be a good Catholic kid having parents with those names Jumbo.”

Bob asked me where I lived, three times. He asked me how many kids I had, three times and he asked me what bar I hung out at, three times.

I live in Riverside; I have three kids and I hung out at Shannys. I’m sure Bob wrote all of this down in the notebook that I noticed in his dress shirt pocket.

The brain surgery wrecked Bob’s short-term memory, so he used a scratch pad to remember what happened. He has been doing that for forty-eight years.

We finished our lunch and said goodbye to Bob. He started walking up Ridgeland, but turned around about thirty feet away and said, “Goodbye Jumbo, Happy Birthday Fritz.”

Fritz and I got into Betty the Green Blazer. I turned to Fritz and said, “This was something God did. God doesn’t plan hurricanes and tornadoes, but he arranges shit like this Fritz.”

It was destined for Parky’s to be closed on the last couple Sundays of the summer. It was destiny that we drove over to Pete’s instead. I told Fritz that I came across a picture of Bob earlier in the summer and I wondered whatever happened to him.

God sent us to Pete’s and I found out what happened to Bob the Bank Detective. Again, another example of the Mystery of our Faith.

Today is National Dog Day. Perfectly placed during the dog days of summer. Keep yourself cool this week and never stop being astonished.

August 25th, 2024

 Just before 4:44am, I was making breakfast in a big bright kitchen for the Shepkids. In walks in with two bags of groceries and a big smile on her face, the Shepkids mom.

I need to get the dream dictionary out for this one. At least I woke up on an Angel Number.

Yeah, I know… I keep harping about these Angel Numbers, but without them, I’d probably wallow in the banks of grief.

I put down two holidays in the grabber section that I haven’t spent much time celebrating recently.

Halloween went from getting all worked up finding a costume and going to a Halloween party to dragging kids door to door for trick or treating. I don’t drag kids around anymore, so maybe it’s time to find a costume.

It’s been so long, I’m not sure what to do? Every Labor Day weekend those Spirit costumes joints open up in vacant Kmarts, but I need a big and tall costume shop.

We used to have Razzle Dazzle costumes in Oak Park, but they closed around the turn of the century. My Oldman always went to a guy named Omar the tentmaker for his suits, but Omar moved to Michigan.

New Year’s Eve is out of the question, I go to bed by 9:00pm every night.

I’m all over the place this morning, but I just realized how much I miss the Jerry Lewis Telethon. This time of the year throughout the seventies and into the nineties, I’d try and stay up all night and watch Jerry make money for muscular dystrophy. If you want to make America great again, bring back the Jerry Lewis Telethon.

Dreams, Angel Numbers, The Great Pumpkin, Auld Lang Syne and dancing ponies spinning plates at 1:45 in the morning… we covered it all on today’s Morning Chalkboard.

I gotta put lotion on my cicada mite bites and dust the nooks and crannies with GoldBond. Maybe I can go back to sleep and have Farrah Fawcett help me with this application process? I won’t need the dream dictionary for that one.

Anyway…. It’s the last week of August and it’s gonna be a hot one.

Don’t sweat it.

Pretend you are a solar panel absorbing energy that will get you through the long snowy path of winter.

It’s a great day for a growler of BuckleDown and a sandwich from Alpine.

Be astonished

August 24th, 2024

 Yesterday I read a story about the “Cockroach Theory.”

It told the story of two people freaking out at the sight of a cockroach at their restaurant table. When the waiter approached the situation, he remained calm and removed the cockroach from the scene.

The waiter handled the unwanted bug without creating any chaos. The server didn’t react like the diners did, he responded.

And that is what I need to learn to do mo betta in my last twenty-five to thirty years.

It isn’t the traffic jams or long red lights that disturb me. It is how I handle those fucking traffic jams and gosh damn red lights.

I need to learn to respond and not react, because it is the reaction that brings bedlam into my world.

Today is a designated Chalkboard holiday. It is Mr. Wetterer’s heavenly birthday, officially known on the Morning Chalkboard as “applesauce and chocolate pudding” Day.

Fellow Chalkhead, Bridget K. Wetterer has the memory of feeding her Daddy applesauce and chocolate pudding as he was preparing to go to heaven.

A Daddy and a Daughter bonding that would become one of their final memories together.

Chalkboard holidays are meant to make a Chalkheads day brighter. Chalkboard holidays are another way of putting the smile on the sun. Chalkboard holidays are meant to lessen grief and add joy to the Chalkhead’s heart.

If you want a Chalkhead holiday, text me a story that can develop your very personal day and I’ll chalk about it.

Bridg, make today full of happiness as you celebrate your dad’s birthday.

We are going into the last stretch of GoldBond application days. Soon our chests will be lathered with Vicks Vapor Rub, so enjoy one of the last heatwaves of the Summer of ‘24.

And besides being astonished today, be compassionate as well!

August 23rd, 2024

 I’m a man of few words this morning.

Today’s quote is from the Bible.

The first time I remember coming across it was during Senior Retreat at Dear Old Cathedral. The other thing I remember from that week was IU upsetting North Carolina led by Jordan in the NCAA tournament.

I went to high school in Indiana. Jesus and basketball are very important over there.

My favorite holiday is in ninety-seven days. I’ve got my yoga mat out already. I gotta start stretching this big dad bod early for football and food.

Let’s get through Friday and enjoy a hot and humid weekend. Six months from now, we will be enjoying cold and frigid weekends.

The sun has a smile…

….Gusto up!

August 22nd, 2024

 Sometimes a kick in the throat is a good thing. It can be a humbling reminder of where we belong in the world.

I often remember the dodge ball thrown at my face in third grade by Sister Francis Maureen. In today’s world, an eight year old getting destroyed by a nun in a playground game would be unheard of.

For me, it was great preparation of what life was about to bring.

“Don’t let the blood get on your uniform Mr. Shepley….”

These words have stuck with me for fifty years.

I have been able to deal with defeat and grief because I didn’t get blood on my school tie.

Today’s quote is credited to Billy Shakes. Enjoy this beautiful late summer day. Christmas will be here before you know it.

…and don’t get any blood on your school uniform today.

August 21st, 2024

 The unwritten rule for anyone working on the trading floor; no matter how sick you are, how hungover you are or how drunk you still might be…

…get your ass in the pit by the opening bell and we can decide then if you should take the day off.

That rule was effective for a bunch of twenty and thirty year olds making a shit ton of money, living a fast lifestyle.

In the age of Covid where all of those punks are now in their fifties and sixties, the old school ways have faded.

It didn’t stop me from going in Monday morning with a high temperature and a throbbing headache, just to be sent home a couple hours later.

I went to Superbowl XXVII in 1993. Our trading group took some customers out to Vegas that weekend. We took a plane Sunday morning to Pasadena to watch the Cowboys and the Buffalo Bills game. I could give two shits about either team, but Michael Jackson was the halftime performer.

After the game we flew back to Vegas. Everyone got off the plane and went back to the casinos. I went over to a locker and grabbed my weekend bag that I left earlier that day.

I was the low man on the totem pole. I got a free ticket to the game under the condition that I had to make the open Monday morning.

I flew into O’Hare around five in the morning. Since I didn’t do well playing craps, rather than a cab, I took the CTA into the city. I went to the health club in the Options Exchange and while everyone there was working out…

… I did the steam, shit, shave, steam, shower workout.

I had the steam all to myself until Richie came in. I didn’t know him very well, so I couldn’t call him Richie.

“Rough night last night Jumbo?”

“I was at the football game last night Your Honor and I had to come straight home afterwards.”

He replied, “You were AT the game, that is impressive Jumbo. Impressive work… Enjoy that nap this afternoon.”

As I left the steam room I answered back, “Have a great day running Chicago sir.”

I went to my locker and put on the same clothes that I wore to the Rose Bowl stadium. I was twenty-six years old and all my clothes were stuffed in my travel bag. The only thing decent enough to wear was the pair of khakis and Hawaiian shirt that I had been wearing for the last twenty-four hours.

It was a slow Monday morning, so I slipped off to the side of the pit to take a quick nap.

While I was sleeping, just twenty feet from the Five Year Pit, a couple trade checkers were stapling my trading jacket to the chair.

Once they secured me to my nest, a guy standing in the pit yelled my name as loud as he could. Keep in mind that a hundred people watched me get stapled to the chair.

When I heard….. “Jumbo get up here!”

I sprung up and the entire row of chairs flew up in the air with mine strapped tight to my big ass.

The floor roared with laughter and my old school customer at Merrill Lynch told me, “Son, if you’re going to hoot with the owls, you better be prepared to soar with the fucking eagles.”

The ticket to that game is on my trading desk to this day.

I haven’t seen the end of the last few Superbowls lately. They’ve sucked since Prince did the halftime show.

GenerationX, we hoot with the owls and soar with the eagles.

Be astonished today and always enjoy a short afternoon nap.

August 18th, 2024

 I woke up feeling like ass yesterday. I went to take my temperature, but the battery was dead on the thermometer. I’m going to Walgreens this week and getting an old school glass thermometer. The one for under the tongue, not in the booty.

I rallied through breakfast and got the Shepkids over to my mother-in-laws house. They celebrated George’s birthday with his mom and I went home and took a nap.

I don’t get sick that often, but when I do, I moan for my mommy.

I still needed to get over to the grocery and pick up a few things.

I bought what I needed and put my groceries in the back of Betty the Green Blazer. There was a puddle between the back hatch and the drivers side door. So I walked around the passenger side and in front of Betty to get inside.

Laying on the parking lot was a dime. Sitting right there on the wet pavement in front of Betty. I’ve written in the past how my mom leaves me dimes from heaven. They always show up when I need her to hold my hand.

Now remember, I ended up walking around the front of the Blazer. If I tippy toed through the puddle, I wouldn’t have seen this dime.

Here we have another example of the mystery of our faith. My mom left me a dime in the grocery store parking lot on a day that I needed her.

I’ve never grieved the loss of my parents. I don’t need to.

I might not see them, but they routinely drift down from heaven and let me know that I’m loved.

Keep sending dimes Ma….

It’s Patrick Swayze Day today. My favorite Swayze movie is either “Next of Kin” or “The Outsiders.”

We are already in the back end of August.

I love that first Saturday when it’s perfect for a pair of shorts and a college sweatshirt. A spicy Bloody Mary, a juicy cheeseburger and an 11:30am Big10 football game.

The ‘Ber months are just a couple weeks away. GoldBond will be replaced by Vicks Vapor Rub as the days get shorter.

Go be astonished.

August 17th, 2024

 I was standing on the balcony at the peak of Friday night’s storm. Wind blowing the trees, turning branches into dealership noodle-men. Thunder banging throughout the neighborhood and lightning blazing across the western skies.

Fritz was a little nervous…

“Dad are you crazy? You need to come in! What are you doing?”

“I’m tempting the storm… I’m pushing it along and it isn’t happy with me.”

Hazel moved Fritz to the side and joined me as my assistant Tempest.

She stood tight on my hip as I waved my pretend baton as though the storm was a symphony.

The rain started pelting our faces. The wind raging through the trees. Headlights along the street illuminating the deluge of raindrops.

“Give me the baton dad! Give me the baton!”

I handed the imaginary conductor’s wand to my apprentice and she took control.

Then suddenly a gust trucked across the lawn and the American flag that I forgot to take down was ripped from its stand.

“It’s time to go in Love….”

“I’m almost done with this movement Dad!….. okay…. I’m done! Hurry, Hurry…”

We got inside, Fritz looked at his father and baby sister with that shit eating grin of his. George came out of his room and asked if I was doing that Shakespeare stuff again in the rain.

..And at the same time, Fritz and Hazel said, “Again?”

George replied to his siblings, “yeah dad thinks he’s MacBeth when it rains like this.”

“It’s not “MacBeth” it’s “The Tempest,” get it right boy!”

Hazel told George the flag blew away and he replied, “That is foreshadowing of what is going to happen to this country in November.”

Shakespeare and American Politics… you don’t get that west of Mannheim Road. Always let your kids see the crazy side. It will give them something else to laugh about when you’re gone.

Don’t let the raindrops get you down. The sun up in the corner will never ever frown.

Might be a good day to watch shit do stuff. Whatever you do today, do it with Gusto.

August 16th, 2024

 I think the deepest that I was ever in love with someone occurred eighteen years ago today.

It was also the day that I finally became a man… the day when I finally became a father.

On a Wednesday morning at 10:16 in 2006, I met George Edward Shepley.

We didn’t know if George was going to be a George or an Olivia. When the doctor brought our baby up for its first glimpse of the world, I yelled,

“The baby has a penis, YES, a penis, the baby has a penis…. It’s a boy!”

I probably could have just yelled out that it was a boy, but I needed to announce to the world that it had another penis instead.

For the last 6,585 days, I’ve watched this boy grow into a man. Many of you Chalkheads have already done this. So you know how great of a milestone today is.

Thanks for making me a man George. Being your father has been the greatest challenge given to me.

I Love You Boy……

Happy Friday morning… it’s going to be a rainy start that will turn sunny and humid.

So GoldBond up and spread happiness into your corner of the world.

August 15th, 2024

   The dog days of summer are burning the lawns and starching the leaves. Flower pots are starting to look spiny as the annuals get closer to the first frost.

There is still plenty of summer left. We should have some eighties in September. A couple seventies in October and let’s hope some sixties in November and fifties in December.

As a Catholic kid, the Feast of the Assumption was the yearly reminder that school was getting near. I can hear my mom saying,

“We need to pick up John’s school uniforms this week.”

The Virgin Mary is ascending to heaven and I’m heading to the school uniform section at Sears. I just hope nobody from my class is there at the same time or they’ll know that I wear husky sizes.

The Feast of the Assumption is the stop watch from “Sixty Minutes” that marks the end of summer.

When you hear the….

Tic, tic, tic, tic, tic, tic, tic

….you know the weekend is over. When Mary dies and goes to heaven, Catholic kids know the summer is over.

It’s Thursday… give someone a call out of the blue and tell them…

“I was thinking about you and how much I love you.”

Those eleven words can brighten up someone’s day….

….and make them feel astonished.

August 14th, 2024

 I came across a dusty box under my bed yesterday. I opened it up and found all of the masks that I bought during Covid.

I had a purpose for saving them a couple of years ago, but now that purpose seems tasteless.

I was going to pin them all in a shadow box and hang them up on the wall. They were going to be my badge of courage that symbolizes those awkward years at the beginning of the decade.

I spent a shit ton of money on my mask collection. I had a Bears mask, a White Sox mask and a Blackhawks mask. I had a mask for Christmas, New Years, Mardi Gras, Saint Patrick’s Day and the Fourth of July. I had a Chicago Flag mask, an American Flag mask and a Union Jack mask.

I beat the shit out of all of them.

Here they all were laying on top of each other neatly. Worn out elastic and crusty snot stains from cold mornings waiting for the train.

I looked at each one of them and thought about how pissed I was walking around the grocery store wearing this shit on my face. I thought about the defiant prick that got on the train every morning and refused to wear his mask. I thought about my poor kids and the shitshow they had to go through.

I folded all the masks neatly and shoved the box back under my bed. I’m never going to make a fucking shadow box for Covid masks.

Can you see me inviting people over for a cocktail? Just so I can show off my “Masks of Covid” hanging proudly on the living room wall?

Absolutely fucking not going to happen…..

I came out of Covid in a better position. Covid closed my trading floor. Something that needed to happen years ago. It was time to shit or get off the pot. They closed that floor so quickly we didn’t have time to wipe.

Covid gave my dad a train ticket to heaven. He was wasting time in a nursing home eating bland food and waiting for a diaper change. I didn’t get a chance to see him before he departed, but now he is with me all the time.

I’m not sure what I’m going to do with the box of Covid masks under my bed. I don’t think they’ll ever have the historic significance that I thought they’d have down the road.

Maybe I’ll save them for Covid2?

Alright…. It’s Wednesday already and it’s gonna be steamy. Dust your nooks and crannies and go be astonished.

August 13th, 2024

 My daughter sent me a text saying that she loves me…. At 2:15 this morning.

I can’t get too pissed about that.

I figured it was right before my mom’s Angel Number at 2:22, so I asked my Ma to go over and check on her granddaughter. Having a mom in heaven is helpful when you need a Guardian Angel to watch over your family.

My mom gave the best back rubs when I had a hard time falling asleep. If the back rubs didn’t work, she would take me to the living room couch and we’d watch the end of Johnny Carson. I’d be sleeping in minutes with my head comfortably resting on my mommy’s hip.

I’m sure my mom was able to get Hazel lulled before 2:30.

It is going to be a gorgeous Tuesday in Chicagoland.

Be astonished and cover up those that you love.

August 12th, 2024

    I spent over an hour yesterday on the computer looking for a missing person. It was a gorgeous afternoon and I parked myself in front of a keyboard and a monitor.

Yesterday I chalked about the “Table of Death,” which I should have probably just called a memorial table.

The table had a place for the first guy who passed away within a couple years after graduation day. Concluding with the kid who died last month.

But someone quietly mentioned that a classmate was missing. We all looked at each other dumbfounded.

“How the fuck could we let a classmate die and not know about it?”

I had so many things to digest on my northbound drive up I-65 yesterday morning….

…. And I kept going back to the classmate that died and didn’t have a spot on the memorial table.

So I spent a part of my Sunday afternoon finding out what happened. I’ve gotten pretty good at finding information quickly with that Google thing and a couple other search tools on that internet deal.

Our classmate’s death was mentioned in a 2020 addition of our high school highlight periodical. It was in small print under a kid from the class one year ahead of ours. I knew he died. He was an outgoing guy that spoke Spanish and became a priest.

Again…. How the fuck did we not know?

I’ll admit that the name sounded somewhat familiar and I had to get home and grab my yearbook to fill in the blanks.

I couldn’t find a detailed obituary, but I did find out our classmate lived in Florida at the end of their life.

Maybe the point of my search party was to get some closure and make sure we can honor the missing person at the fiftieth reunion,

BUTT (that’s the Shepley big but),

I wanted to find a lifetime that belonged to the person that went unnoticed.

I have a soft spot in my heart for all of the Eleanor Rigby’s of the world. I cherish my alone time, but fear the darkness of being lonely.

Saying that…. I needed to find out if our missing classmate died picking up the rice at the church where the wedding had been.

Maybe our classmate wanted to hide from the past? I spent years hiding from some of the people that I just hung out with this last weekend.

The death notice was in 2020. It could have been that fucking Covid.

Or what us foul mouthed, politically incorrect pricks call The China Flu.

I’m going to keep on Dick Tracy’ing this cold case and properly honor our classmate that didn’t have a spot on The Table of Death.

Through our remaining years, less people will be wearing name tags and more people will have a portrait on a memorial table.

Name tags and memorial tables… sounds like a John Prine song.

Let’s get out and enjoy Monday, the 12th of August. Sunrises are getting later and later as we approach Labor Day.

Our Jewish friends have a solemn day of fasting, no laughing and no sex today. So cut them a break if they seem to be grumpy.

Go be astonished and make sure you listen to Father McKenzie’s sermon next Sunday.

August 11th, 2024

We have this thing in Chicago called "The Irish Goodbye" and I used it last night. Well, I thought I pulled off a masterpiece of a Houdini, but as I was putting the car in reverse, Brian Elson and Tim Walsh asked me what the fuck I was doing.

"I hate saying goodbye boys and I'm doing an Irish goodbye to avoid them."

Two of the first kids that I met when I moved to Indianapolis told me that they love me and it was good that we spent time together...

The Class of 1984 out of a small Catholic high school in Indianapolis, Indiana jam packed forty years of catching up in a forty-hour period.

We reminisced about our time together, we honored our classmates in Heaven and we didn't bullshit each other.

Speck pulled out his guitar and played a song by Jason Isbell called "Cover Me Up.' He sang it to honor the last kid who just recently died. He was emotional, I was emotional, our classmate that spent the last eighteen months with our deceased classmate was emotional.

The whole fucking room was emotional.

We realized that all of us at one point in our lives had been broken. One of us, a couple of us.... shit, most of us have something stressful going on in our lives right now.

It was at Cathedral where I received F's, both in the classroom and in my character. All of us Cathedral Irish received straight F's that carried on in life.

FOUNDATION: FAITH, FAMILY and FRIENDS

Greg Bell did one hell of a job putting the shindig together. Many others chipped in to create a great weekend. John Marbaugh, Beth Lewis, Anna Lamberti and a couple others volunteered as well.

That is why I used a Latin phrase in today's Grabber Section. Magnum Opus means Great Work. Forty years later and the Latin and Greek Derivatives class at Dear Old Cathedral still pays off.

Many of us won't gather together again until 2034. Unfortunately, the odds are, a couple of us will have our senior year picture on the table of death and not on a name tag.

Speaking of the Table of Death, if that is even an appropriate thing to call it.... We must continue to honor those individuals by leading a beautiful life in their absence.

Let’s never forget that we once shared our last years of youth together. Because of each other we have turned out to be a decent group of sophomoric adults.

I got in my rental at 3:40am and pulled into the Divorced Dad District of Riverside, Illinois at 5:54am. I must make sure Betty the Green Blazer doesn't see the lipstick on my collar. I wouldn't want her to think I cheated with a fucking Nissan.

I think I'm going to meet my neighborhood buddies at the diner for breakfast. I'm going to cherish them more because I learned how much I cherished those fourteen-year-old kids that I met forty-four years ago.

...and I gotta water my flowers.

It is going to be a gorgeous week in Chicagoland. I put a smile on the sun today.

One last thing about the reunion... one of my classmates has eleven grandchildren and I have a daughter going into sixth grade next week. I better not get old, but continue getting older so I can make the sixtieth in 2044.

August 10th, 2024

 My dad often said that a good friend could be someone you haven’t seen in a long time, but when you see them, it’s like you were together yesterday.

Last night I was in a party room in the back of a restaurant with sixty people. Many of them I haven’t seen since May of 1984. Last night it was like we haven’t skipped a beat, even though it’s been 14,691 days since graduation day.

Nobody remembered the struggles we went through those first four years in the 1980’s. Nobody remembered how tough those Cathedral teachers were, but how well they prepared us for life.

We talked about winning home runs and come from behind victories against Roncalli and Scecina. We talked about the last keg we tapped. We talked about making out backstage in the auditorium. We talked about our classmates in heaven and we all smiled like it was 1984 all over again.

The hot chicks were still smoking hot. The jocks were still capable of putting on the pads, but what really surprised me were the introverts. They had the best stories of the night. They had the best view from those days we had together between September of 1980 and May of 1984. In those 1,357 days, they were able to see the drama from the front row.

I ended up in the backyard of one of my classmates until 2:30 in the morning. The breeze was a bit chilly, the sky dark with clouds and a moon in waxing crescent. Our host pulled out a cooler of beer, put his best bourbon on the counter and ended up playing a song on his guitar. A song he will play again tonight in tribute to the recent member from our class to go to heaven.

We took a shit ton of pictures. We hugged each other a shit ton and we gathered as if we just saw each other earlier in the summer.

Last night I realized that I was lucky that my mom dragged me from Chicago to Indianapolis when I was a kid.

The Class of ‘84 out of Dear Old Cathedral is aging well. Everyone has gotten older, but nobody got old. We had each others back then and we have each other today.

That’s a pretty good fucking deal if you ask me.

Get out there today and be the best Chalkhead you can be.

More stories to follow on tomorrow’s Chalkboard.

August 9th, 2024

 I’m about to see a bunch of eighteen year old kids that I haven’t seen in forty years. I happened to be eighteen as well. Reagan was still the president and Mtv was still decent.

Time to go catch up with the Class of ‘84… I never did open up ShepProductions like I promised. No Van Halen stories or tours with Oingo Boingo.

I’m not bringing a hot wife with me and I’m not wearing a Rolex to the banquet. I might talk about the trading floor and how I once lived in Camelot.

Everyone I see these next forty-eight hours knew a kid named Shep who moved down from Chicago. Nobody knows Jumbo from the Bond Room.

At this point we are all a bunch of fifty-eight year old kids that don’t have anything to hide. Our chins aren’t pointy and our bellies are bigger.

It is class reunion time…. those forty years sure as fuck blew by quickly.

Dear Old Cathedral, here's to you

Here's to your colors, gold and blue,

We'll cheer you onward everyone,

Whether the battle is lost or won,

So here's to your sons,

Your fighting team

Let your banners stream,

And we will proudly wave

them to the sky

As we cheer for Cathedral High.

I’m about ready to be astonished this weekend.