ILLINOIS DRINKERS

ILLINOIS DRINKERS

JOHN M. Mike CONNOLLY

This is wonderful book about bar room rhymes and boxcar times of yesteryear. The author takes the reader back to a post World War II era when life was less complicated. The reader is introduced to mirth and laughter sprinkled with a few tears among good friends, drinking buddies, bar room mooches, casual acquaintances, hustlers, and hangers-on! A powerful story filled with nostalgia and ironic events of a different time in Mid-American history.

About The Author

John M. Mike Connolly is a prolific writer of powerful novels and an accomplished poet. This example of his imaginative and unambiguous writing style is an outstanding literary and poetic achievement. The author's clear-cut description of characters and events is gifted as well as refreshing.

e-BOOK

Maverick Publishing

HOUSTON, TEXAS

ILLINOIS DRINKERS

JOHN M. Mike CONNOLLY

Bar Room Rhymes

And

Box Car Times

e-Book 2002

www.mittymax.com

ILLINOIS DRINKERS

JOHN M. Mike CONNOLLY

e-Book

Maverick Publishing

HOUSTON, TEXAS

ILLINOIS DRINKERS

JOHN M. Mike CONNOLLY

FICTION

Names and dates are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental. However, many of the places were factual.

The colloquialisms and vernaculars used in this book are a means of depicting a mindset and attitude prevailing in certain social strata of the Nineteen Fifties and Sixties.

ILLINOIS DRINKERS

JOHN M. Mike CONNOLLY

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I wish to thank Nancy I and Sis, for their help in the initial typing and proofreading of my manuscript.

Special thanks to Jody Byers who displayed great skill and tolerance in deciphering four hundred pages of manuscript, chicken scratches, and scribbling. She did most of the hard work. Thanks.

I wish to express my appreciation to the Lincoln Library Staff and to the Staff of the Illinois State Historical Library.

Some of the material in this book is from the Sangamon Valley Section of the Lincoln Library, and also from the Archives of the Illinois State Historical Library.

JOHN M. Mike CONNOLLY

ILLINOIS DRINKERS

JOHN M. Mike CONNOLLY

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to: Eddie, Al, Tommy, Charlie, the Two Jacks, Frank, and the group from West Jefferson Street. And especially to P. U. Wes, Spits, Bus, Ward, George, and Jake, Jack R. Smitty, Sy, Bill B., Harry, and George W.

JOHN M. Mike CONNOLLY

ILLINOIS DRINKERS

JOHN M. Mike CONNOLLY

Though my participles dangle

And my infinitives are split

In this silly age we live in

Who really cares a whit

Words misspelled? Some lines incomplete

Subject matter iffy—I should be more discreet

Not a racist or a sexist book

Though at times I do allude

To commentary from the mouths

Of drunken, red neck dudes

It’s vintage J. M. Connolly

As I ramble and I rage

A poem or a chuckle on every other page

Every word pure fiction—unless stated otherwise

As I roam the rows and ride the rails

And watch the bluebirds fly

Uncork a jug and have a jolt

Of wine or rock and rye

JOHN M. Mike CONNOLLY

ILLINOIS DRINKERS

JOHN M. Mike CONNOLLY

BAR ROOM RHYMES AND

BOX CAR TIMES

Makes the mind a thinker

Of Barbra Lu

And Hobo Stew and

The Illinois Drinkers

A bottle gang who drank arid sang

One time they rode the rails

Got drunk on Clark

And spent two weeks inside

That Bridewell Jail

Disembarked the Greyhound Bus

To the Midway Bar were bound

For months on end

Inside that Den

Is where they could be found.

This Book Is A WARNING And A Teaching Aide

It is designed to hold the attention of the serious drinker “past and present” hoping to motivate them to a less destruction mindset and to be more aware of the long and short-term consequences of abusive drinking!

We are told that over forty million members of our society are afflicted with an addiction problem. Alcohol, drugs, smoking, gambling, to name four that often cause devastation to the suffering addict and to those who are near and dear to him.

This book is also intended for the teachers, the judge, the probation officer, the warden and correctional officer and for young people who are often the targets of those who profit from selling and advertising destructive products.

This book is intended to be humorous but meaningful and should be available in every schoolroom, barbershop, barroom, beauty salon, high school, reform school, jail cell, judge’s chambers, rectory, church meeting, treatment center and hobo jungle.

However, if only one person reads and comprehends the message herein, then this book has been a worthwhile project!

JOHN M. Mike CONNOLLY

ILLINOIS DRINKER

JOHN M. Mike CONNOLLY

PROLOGUE

An Illinois drinker, PhD

A poor hopeless drunkard got a BCD*

Hitchhike, Greyhound, riding on freight

From Cairo to Chicago through the red bird State

Brass rail spittoons, sawdust, bars a hoppin’

Juke box, guitar, hear the corks a poppin’

Hillbilly, honky-tonk, liking Johnny Cash

Blind drunk, can’t think, doing something rash

Squad car, billy club, bull pen clanging

Sun up, Judge says, “Guilty” as he’s banging

Hard time, shaky time, gives you time for thinking

Oh Lord up in heaven, please help me stop this drinking

*Bad Case Of Drunkedness

JOHN M. Mike CONNOLLY

ILLINOIS DRINKER

JOHN M. Mike CONNOLLY

The New Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library is located in the center of Downtown Springfield, Illinois! Lincoln’s Home and Lincoln’s Tomb are located in Springfield and are opened to visitors.

When you come to Springfield you won’t see the rough and tumble Springfield of which I write, it’s long gone now, bulldozed and bladed off the land.

Landscaped Insurance Companies, Banks, Book Stores, Boutiques and Bistros line the streets where hobos and hard cases once held sway. Gone is The Midway, The Glass Hat, The Travel Inn, The Hot Dog Stand, The Fish Market, The Pool Hall and the Jail.

The Old Historic Buildings are still to be seen as you walk around the Square and, of course, the Old State Capitol Building is open to visitors.

The Governor’s Mansion is just a few blocks south on Fifth Street and next to the Mansion is the home of the poet and author Vachel Lindsay.

Good eating-places are everywhere in Springfield. When you leave the Vachel Lindsay Home do yourself a favor and walk east to Ninth then two blocks South and have yourself a bowl of Joe Rogers’ Chili! A warning here! That Den Chili could be habit forming!

A must for every visitor should be a trip to the State Capital, and by all means, while in Springfield, visit the State Museum. Play golf at one of the mite local courses, swim at the Lake beach, see the State Fair, and don’t leave without visiting Lincoln’s New Salem. Sports bars are found on every side of town and the horses run every day at the Teletrack.

ILLINOIS DRINKERS

JOHN M. Mike CONNOLLY

S' Long to Coney Island

Bombarded. banged, bulldozed

Bladed off the land

S’long to Coney Island the finest hot dog stand

Say goodbye to Coney Dogs

And coffee strong and black

The Coney Island’s gone boys

And it ain’t coming back

For eighty years the Coney stood

And served this city proud

But the chili and the hot dogs

Just didn’t bring the crowds

Onions cooking on the grill Aromas so heroic

Making way for some new

Museum so historic

And gone is the Lincoln Square

A place for drinking gin

Mokleys, Lukes, and Skubies

And of course the Travel Inn

The Whirlaway across the road

See Burley in a fighting mode

Around the corner Cannon’s store

War surplus boots along the floor

Big Mary’s flop house up the stairs

Bob’s Barber Shop with busy chairs

Friedman’s selling blinds and shades

Fishman’s where you buy or trade

The Hub, Samuels, Greenberg’s

The Midway for a snifter, and here and there

Along the street a hobo or a drifter

On Sixth and Jefferson the Ariston

Across the street the Sally

“Hey pal, where’s the Hopalong?

“Just go right down that alley!”

Antonacci owns a cab

Rose Sacara rents a pad

The Greyhound Station now long gone

All night café there

The buses come the buses go exhaust flumes fill the air

A sailor, or a bindle stiff sleeping in a chair

Benson’s Cafe, The Crystal Bar, Art Bensch’s place so neat

Import Italiano was just across the Street

The Lodge, Hill’s Grill, the State; the Strand

A barber college and a soup line and a lock up

And a court to seethe Man!

Sixth Street was a lively place

The lights were always blinking.

The wayward boys and wayward girls

Went there to do their drinking

JOHN M. Mike CONNOLLY

Bester of buffalo and bear by the pair

He fights to the finish but never fights fair

Maurice DeLaBoozer climbs to the crest

Makes stew of an eagle and soup of its’ nest

He hikes or’ the drifts or follows the sun

Singing a song of life on the run

Two years on the mountain of famine and feast

Roams the bilingual butcher of bombarded beast

With red skin and bobcat the Boozer would feud

Balladeer of the badlands is now ballyhooed

Rising from his mountain tomb

A whiskey thirst his mind consumed

Across the ridge and plane he strides

Wearing clothes of bearskin hide

A bowie knife hangs by his side, Hawkin rifle in his hand

Keeps safe his golden contraband

In sacks and pokes of skin in pack

He caries on his mighty back

Across the range to Fort McGill

Where a man can sit and drink his fill

Through wind and frost

His youth the cost

Beneath the stars a snoozer

Part Cheyenne this mountain man, was Maurice DeLaBoozer

Bear skin clothes, beaver hat with Bowie knife a hanging

Upon bordello doors at night Maurice would go a banging

He came to town with mule and hide hoping for

a midnight ride

“Oh, go away cries voice of wrath

You can’t come in without a bath”

Maurice you see had an aversion to stripping down for an immersion

Instead he rolled in pine and clover

He thought for sure he’d put one over

He knocked again and gave a yell.

Hey girls, you like the way I smell?

The girls all gathered round and winked

Then shouted, “No! Maurice you stink!”

Brush and lye soap far behind

A midnight bath he redefined

Inside a vat of backwoods gin

Maurice would wade from foot to chin

Bearskin clothes and beaver hat become bug free inside that vat.

And as he bathed he drank and dreamed of gold and girls and mountain streams

But he never got his midnight ride for that gin inside would not abide

When he came to, no hides, no poke

Old whiskey plays a cruel joke.

JOHN M. Mike CONNOLLY

D. D. DeLaBoozer attended Seaton Hall for two years. His efforts were concentrated on Political Science, Literature, and Library Science.

Mismanaged investments had depleted his trust fund and after his second year he left the Hall to join the United States Army. He went through basic training with a special contingent at Fort Mead and on completion of the basic program was ordered to Fort Sam Houston at San Antonio, Texas.

His background in Library Science qualified him to work with the Fort Archivist. D. D. DeLaBoozer was a natural. He took to the task with an enthusiasm and soon was promoted to Buck Sergeant. Maintaining the historic records of the Fort including records and equipment that were indeed part of the history of the country and artifacts of the old West was a special treat. D. D. became a Civil War buff and read and collected pieces for the Museum and Fort Library. Indeed, he had found a home. He played golf, tennis and utilized the Olympic-size swimming pool. He also was a regular at the NCO club and at half the cantinas in downtown San Antonio.

Twenty-two years later D. D. was discharged from the United States Army at the same Fort Sam Houston. He had spent his entire career at the Fort. He had also become a terrible drunkard. The incident that brought his career to an abrupt end was in reality a minor typographical error.

A special report on the History of the Second Division was being prepared for the Fort Commander. Major General Clay Callahan, who was a stickler for detail and protocol.

C. C. went by the book! D. D. was overseeing the research and would give the okay on the final draft before it was sent over to the General’s Office.

The morning after the report was received, Sergeant D. D. DeLaBoozer was summoned to the General’s Office and was ushered into the inner sanctum by a Captain Gall who looked at D. 0. as if he could kill him right there on the spot. The problem was that in the summary of his report on the actions of the Second. Division in the Korean War the word sailor was substituted for soldier on three different accounts.

The General’s face was red. “Sergeant DeLaBoozer, I want you to know that no one on earth has more respect for our fighting men in the Navy than myself and I do remember the old World War I song, the Army is the clover but the Navy took’em over and the Navy will bring ‘em back.” He quoted looking dead into the blood shot eyes of the Sergeant. “I love and respect our fighting men of the Air Force and the United States Marine Corps too and the good Lord in heaven knows that they are always in my prayers! That said Sergeant, the General took a deep breath, “Let me tell you that no fighting man on earth has ever show-n or equaled the courage, endurance, the sacrifice and the valor of the United States Army Infantryman or any dog face that ever pulled on a pair of combat boots or fixed his bayonet and charged into the enemy of this great Nation. No fighting man in boots and fatigues who wades through mud and rain and snow till he’s so tired that he can hardly crawl and then keeps on going till he contacts the enemy then fights him right down to his last breath and when he’s dying in the mud looks up and calls the enemy a no good Communist Son of Bitch should be called anything except soldier.” He waited briefly, and then continued. “Are you with me on this son? Do you hear what I’m saying? Soldier! Soldier! Soldier! A man who is a soldier has that one right as long as the earth spins and that’s to be called a soldier and Sergeant as you leave this office always remember that there is a difference between a sailor and a soldier.

DuWayne Durwood DeLaBoozer's papers were already being processed as he left the General’s Office. He had his twenty-two years in and he’d have all the benefits that go with the rank and time served and besides he’d heard that they had another sergeant lined up for the Archivist’s spot. Sure he knew he’d been hitting that bottle way too hard the last couple of years, Oh well he thought, it’s history now and he boarded’ the Greyhound Bus headed for Springfield Illinois, the home of Abraham Lincoln.

The guy at the Greyhound Bus Station told D. D. "I can put you on an Express that goes straight through to Chicago. Stops at Fort Worth, Dallas, Little Rock, Memphis, St. Louis, Springfield, Illinois and then goes right to Chicago.” He explained, ‘the Express leaves in fourteen hours or I can put you on a Special that leaves in one hour.” He chuckled, “you’ll