I just heard the news that Mike Royko is dead.

The name may not mean much to many who follow this group (unless you read Liam's recent post that included an entire column of his), but believe me when I say that he was a one-of-a-kind journalist who always told the truth as he saw it. He was famous for standing up for the little guy and exposing bureaucrats and crooked politicians to be the parasites that they are.

His name, locally anyway, is as closely associated with Chicago as those of Michael Jordan and Al Capone. Maybe even more so, because he was a home-town boy whose reputation didn't extend that far beyond the city limits. Until he became syndicated, anyway.

Chicago has produced a fair number of writers who can hold their own among the greats. George Ade, Theodore Dreiser, Carl Sandburg, Ben Hecht, and Finley Peter Dunne come to mind. Royko belongs in this company.

I first became conscious of Royko when I was about eight years old. Some guy at a Christmas party my parents dragged me to read one of his columns aloud. My parents still talk about the way I laughed uproariously (at the right places) about his tale of a modern-day Mary and Joseph coming to Chicago on the Greyhound bus and not being able to find a room at the YMCA.

I read him every day as a teenager. He was one of those personalities you'd figure would always be around, like Johnny Carson. Somewhere along the way (during college, I think) I got him to autograph a book for me. Finally, around ten years ago, I happened to belly up to the bar next him, and I saw him for what he really was.

He was a loud-mouthed drunk, is what he was. A loud-mouthed drunk who had a way with words and wasn't afraid of pissing off the powers that be--not to mention the wide-eyed, hero-worshipping, 25-year-old looking up at him from the next bar stool. I'm lucky he didn't tell me to fuck off, the way he was known to deal with people who approached him in public.

Anyway, I think I've told this story here before, so I won't tell it again. I also have already told the story about Royko being in the same hospital last week--dying--where my son was busy being born. What can I say? I felt a certain kinship with the guy, and now he's dead. At least he left behind a body of work that he will be remembered for. What more could anyone hope for?

Shit. I think I may get drunk tonight.

Kev

Mark Mathu writes:

Royko put Point Beer from the Point Brewery in Stevens Point Wisconsin, on the map in the mid- 70's (OK, maybe only for us midwesterners). Oh yeah, I'm not sure if making people know about Point Beer was such a good thing.

That having been said, allow me to quote Royko on the subject of hangovers:

"Defining a hangover is simple: It is nature's way of telling you that you got drunk. I've never understood why nature goes to the bother, since millions of wives pass on the information.

Except for abstinence or moderation, there is no way to completely avoid a hangover. But there are certain rules that, if followed, will ease the discomfort.

First, stick with the same drink you started with. By that I mean that if you started the evening drinking champagne, beer, and frozen daiquiris, stick with champagne, beer, and frozen daiquiris for the rest of the evening."