Second City Days
As the plane taxied to the gate at Chicago Midway, a rush of excitement shot up and down my spine. Here finally was the weekend that had been set motion a score and one years ago, when two children were born, and the path of history was altered for all time.
For some backstory, both my family and my Uncle John and Aunt Kate's family have been linked by what we like to call "twin cousins". All the kids in my family except my little brother Ben have one, but the case of my sister Sarah and my cousin Pete, the difference in birthdays is only a scant 19 hours.
An event that is derived from such circumstances requires massive festivities, and as such, a great pow-wow was called for this weekend, to take place in Chicago. The guest list was top of line, bringing in all of the classics. Nearly every of-age Cavanaugh was there, Cinema Center was represented, Creighton Prep alumni ruled the place, and Boston College's Finest came out as well.
Exiting the plane, I immediately set out to find the party. I was directed to meet up in Millennium Park, and so I trekked north, braving my way through a pack of annoying teenage girls on the train, figuring out just where the hell Millennium Park was, until finally, from across Michigan Avenue, I saw them. Mike, Pete, and Matthew Cavanaugh, Nicole Bennett, Ryan Ellis, Mike Manetti, and last but for damn sure not least, Ladies Lou the Zone Manzo! It was utter chaos, the heavy bags I carried felt weightless, hugs, handshakes, and high-fives abounded. We began to make our way to the Bean, stopping only to be hustled at checkers, falling prey to ridiculous rules allowing kings to do pretty much whatever they pleased.
We sat in the shadow of the Bean, chatting and making plans for the evening. My immediate concerns included setting down my bags, eating some food, and hitting the streets for a wild and crazy night.
And so, after dropping my bags of at DePaul, getting out of my traveling clothes, and not eating, we headed up to Wicker Park. Our goals for the evening were simple, find a bar and utilize the facilities for their intended purpose. Meeting up, we started to wander, and eventually came across a fine establishment. Hearing the hot beats of a mariachi band pouring out, we headed in.
When we first got there, it wasn't a special bar. Just your average watering hole, catering to a regular crowd of people who weren't particularly interesting. But that was before it got rocked by an all-star cast of Omaha expatriates, and their respective associates. We took that place over, pulling together a few tables in the back and camping out, ordering what we pleased, saying what we pleased, taking what we pleased. We destroyed the competition in pool, in character, and in sheer good looks.
Eventually our ranks swelled, as the older kids arrived, only increasing our power. Our endeavor now had the support of at least one lawyer and a member of the Chicago Police Department. And thus did the party continue, in true Amdor-Cavanaugh fashion. Wine, women, and song were the orders of the evening, and we were all as gods that night. As the night began to wind down, some of the group began to depart, I felt something telling me to look over my shoulder. I saw then the bartender, raising over his head a giant bottle of a very special liquid. He had read my mind, peered into the very depths of my soul. And gathering the rest of the crowd together, we proceeded to drink bombs of the special drink and Red Bull as a group, before heading out, over to Boystown, to Mark Laughlin's place.
Obviously at this point, only two things were needed- libations and pizza. Picking up the former at a convenience store, we headed to the apartment to get the other, which turned out to be a larger ordeal than one would expect.
This is a good place for me to air a grievance that I have with college, and apparently everywhere east of the Mississippi River. Do you know how to make hamburger pizza? And don't tell me to get sausage, because it's not the same.
So we order the pizza, a hamburger pizza. And we wait for it, patiently for quite a long time. I was very "tired" by this point, and so my perception of the actual time is a bit fuzzy. But, eventually, the doorbell rings, and John Cav runs down to get the pizza. He comes back with a very small box. Contained in that box was: a hamburger. They actually sent us a hamburger. And when we called back, to ask an explanation, and we told them what we really wanted, they offered to make a hamburger pizza, one with ketchup and pickles on it.
But, finally we got our pizza, and I headed to bed, only to awoken far too early, and we headed over to McGee's, which I guess is a bar that caters exclusively to Nebraska fans on Husker gamedays. Since we were there so ridiculously early, I showered in Matthew's room at DePaul, and then we went back for breakfast. I got a pattymelt, which was really quite good, I'd recommend the food there. So, our intrepid early risers whittled away the hours until the rest of the group showed, and that's when the real party began. Again, our group was the classiest in the joint, and so we ruled the day once more. The libations flowed, and my momma showed up, with my little brother in tow! This was the first I had seen them since the beginning of school, so that was lovely! But then my mom and sisters left for pedicures, and so I again began to party in earnest. That's when halftime came.
Over the PA, the bartender announced that those special bombs were two-for-one during halftime. I teared up, and then I was forced to order one for me and one for Nicole. Needless to say, they were fantastic. The game ended in a crushing disappointment, with the Huskers sucking it up once again, and we left the bar dejected and upset. And there's no better place for Irish Catholics to go in such a state while than church.
Yes, we crossed the street and entered a really big church. I think it was the DePaul church, I really wasn't sure, but it was large and it was gorgeous. I was awed by the flying buttresses. I don't actually know if there were flying buttresses, but I like saying it, and they always talk about them when they talk about big churches, so I'm going to assume there were some. The stained glass was amazing, albeit somewhat confusing, we struggled to figure out what exactly they portrayed. So we took the obligatory pictures of me praying (Uncle John really brings out my sacrilegious side) and we headed out.
So then we got a little tour of the DePaul campus, it was very nice. Again, Uncle John made me out to be some sort of spiritual guide, as he posted my picture on the DePaul Campus Ministry bullitenboard. And then we split up again, as the guys and I headed back out to Mark's for a cocktail hour before the cocktail hour before dinner. At Mark's, I caught a quick and much-needed nap, and then we headed over to the Clam Shack, or whatever it was called for dinner.
Arriving at the seafood place, we found a large table, set for the massive group that was to be entertained. We cajoled about for as the rest of the guests arrived, just generally having fun, talking, laughing, putting on an antique divers helmet. Fantastic time had by all I'm sure. Dinner was awesome, I had a tasty spaghetti with marinara and seafood. Scrumptious.
And then the big moment arrived. The keynote address. I had the honor of introducing Lou Manzo, one of the premier orators of our generation. For me to try and paraphrase the speech would be pointless, to deliver it in any words but Lou's would be heresy, and so I simply say that it was beyond comparison.
After dinner was finished, it was off the Southport Saloon! Our group once more took the place over, as we claimed the outside patio as our own, firing up the torches and the fireplace. We also lit up the fine cigars that John Cav had purchased for the evening. It was epic, a party worthy of Bacchus, a hedonistic tribute to the anniversary of my sister and cousin's births. Cigars, watching Aunt Kate take a shot of tequila, reenacting the "KHAAAAAAAAN" scene from Star Trek II. It was a great family reunion, a chance for all of us to get together and rock out like the world has never seen.
After the Saloon broke up, and I wasn't allowed into the after-hours bar, we caught a cab back to Mark's. It was in that cab that I found out people don't like my fake Russian accent as much as I do. Philistines.
Back at Mark's, we finished the evening off quietly, and eventually Matthew, Nicole, and I said our goodbyes and headed back to DePaul, where I quickly fell into a deep sleep.
I woke up, said toodles to Matthew and hopped on the L to get to Midway. All was well, as soon as I got on the plane I grabbed a window seat, and fell asleep before the plane even left the gate.
Arriving back in Columbus, I discoved that my cell phone was dead, my baggage was lost, and my ride wasn't there. It took a really long time to get home, get my luggage, and do my homework. But I suppose after such a great trip, some bumps were to be expected. All in all, I would recommend Chicago, and I would also recommend being 21.
PHOTOS COURTESY LOU MANZO AND AUDRA CAVANAUGH
Oct 28, 2005 2:16 PM
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