Today’s Chalkboard came a little later than usual, but sometimes that’s how holidays go. Especially when the echoes of July 3rd linger in your head like a John Philip Sousa march played just a bit too loud last night. The hangover’s not just from a couple drinks, it is the full-throated weight of nostalgia, gratitude, a cigar and maybe one too many bratwursts.
Just a typical Chicago guy juggling fatherhood and bachelorhood. I’m an old trading floor broker who drives around in Chet the Ford Lemon and lives by the river. Most of these stories are life lessons meant to make you laugh, cry, and think. The “Chalkboard” is a daily post scribbled on the blackboard in my kitchen ... it has become my morning ritual, a bit of therapy and a small win to start the day. All Chalkheads are welcome to ride along.
Saturday, July 5, 2025
July 4th, 2025
These two days always remind me how damn lucky I am.
I live in a solid neighborhood. I have grown roots in a town that, for all its quirks, knows how to show up when it matters. They have supported me after my exile west of Mannheim.
Sure, Illinois might have its warts... between the taxes and the politics, some say it’s fallen apart, but I’d still take it over Delaware or Oklahoma.
And this country? This country has never let me down. It has protected me, provided for my family, and given me the tools and the rights to build a great life.
Last night at the town concert, I watched families dance, old friends catch up, and kids chasing each other under a sky that smelled of summer humidity and sounded like laughter and cover bands. This morning, I went to the parade, same spot I always sit. Sun or drizzle, it doesn’t matter. It starts the same every year: sirens blaring, fire trucks rumbling, and hometown heroes behind the wheel. The police chief waved and wished me a happy birthday, which, let me tell you, felt pretty damn good.
I got hit with a few pieces of candy and even scored a toothbrush, they must’ve seen me smile. I got some patriotic beads, a little American flag, and a mini bottle of Malört from Teddy Roosevelt. Who was actually Peter, the guy who runs Riverside Foods. How many people can say their neighborhood grocer channels the Rough Rider and hands out Chicago's weirdest liquor?
Only in Riverside.
There were shouts of “Hey Jumbo!” and “Happy Fourth!” all around. My Reagan/Bush ‘84 shirt got plenty of smiles, thumbs-ups, and nods of approval...
...turns out, nostalgia looks good in red, white, and blue.
A couple folks even chuckled and said, “You wear that well, Jumbo.” One friend leaned over and said with a grin, “You’re actually really nice… for a Republican.” I just smiled and said, “That’s my Reagan charm.”
Today will be filled with Sousa marches, hot dogs, corn on the cob, and juicy watermelon. And maybe, just maybe, a swig of that Roosevelt Malört.
We’ve been divided in this country for a long time, but not today.
Today, we are all Americans.
Proud ones.
Grateful ones.
Stewards of a place we didn’t build but were lucky enough to inherit.
Let’s take care of it. Let's take care of each other and let's leave a mark that will make the middle of this century glorious and astonishing.