When We Was Kids In Chicago Part 3

Writen by Luksi Humma

I have been thinking about those times back in the 70's in Chicago. We were all out of service, the war was over, and we were coming home in droves. Many guys found out that they had lost their girlfriends, and wives, to the romeo's who stayed behind, while we served in the military.

I remember how some people reacted to what they had seen and done. Some of it was good and other actions were not so good. It was all the matter of melding back into society. I use that word loosely, because Chicago society, as I knew it was tough and sometimes dangerous.

When I was seventeen I left home for a life of adventure on my own. I moved into a horse stable on Chicago's far south side. The name was, Sky High Stables on 172nd and Central Ave. In the bunkhouse, we lived with drunks who would make us drive to the liquor store, then threaten us and take our money so they could buy liquor. It didn't seem that far out of line back then. One might say it was the price of living that adventure.

Every morning we would roll open those huge barn doors, and the smell of horse urine coming from all those poor equines, would almost knock us out. We shovelled and cleaned all those stalls, so the horses could have some kind of good life. That was just one of the two sides of the barn. Fifty horses on the stand stall, and livery side, and about thirty on the high dollar side with box stalls.

Funny thing about that, they all kicked hard and bit viciously, when they were hungry in the morning, and we thought nothing of it. Cleaning all those stalls was an all out assault on the senses and in some case, dangerous to our health. I guess when your a kid, nothing really gets to you that much. At least, not a kid from Chicago.

We threw hay bales during the summer. If you had any fat on you at all, there was none after that excersize. We were fairly strong, now that I look back at it. I remember too, all the big black limosines, rolling down the long road that lead into Sky High. Oh yes, mobsters, coming to see Kenny. The owner, as we all knew was involved with the mob. He would get regular visits and we all knew to keep our distance from the trailer, that he and his wife lived in, just outside the barn, during those meetings.

We would find a good spot, far away from the action, we didn't even want those tough guys to see us looking at them. We knew that it was the best thing for our health. We just loved the horses, and living with the mob was an everyday thing for us. We all knew gangsters and we all stayed far away from those black clothed drivers, who would lean against the limos, and cross their hands in front of them while waiting for the bosses.

Horses were our lives back then, and we belonged to a click of kids who knew about horses. We had broken even the toughest brutes by sheer terror of getting busted up. We had no finesse or horse sense, everything was brute force and compliance. That is all we knew back then.

As time drew me into its vortex, I started looking for other things in my life, outside the horse arena was a world of interest to me. Most of it was coming from the veteran's who were coming home, and were having a hard time. My Father, his Father, all my uncles were all veterans of the wars and service. There was never a day in my life when I doubted the thought of anything, other than enlisting in the service.

Lets see, I remember the old timers saying, "ya ain't a man till ya fought in Japan". Sheesh how was I gonna follow that up?

All the days of my life, my eyes had beheld these powerful men, all my relatives, wearing khakis, and navy blues, these were the real tough guys in my life. I say those words with real fond memories of these men, who had done things that were not intimated to those, who were not destined to serve. That too was a club of sorts, The Mens Club, and not the one in Houston, Texas.

I want to tell you more of these stories but first, I must think about, how I shall describe these men, and how they dealt with their burdens. Their wives and families had their own crosses to bear while they were gone, and they were strong, and brave. The tears they cried, left indellible wet spots in my mind and wonderous thoughts of those men's peril, while they faced the ultimate test.

We will talk more later, please come back and read my tales of bravery. All these people deserve to have their stories told because most are no longer here. I will tell those stories as I remember them. With fondness and respect for all. Till next time, these are my thoughts and memories of Chicago.

Life was becoming more serious as the war in Vietnam wore on. We were just doing what we were trained to do.