February 26, 2009

STORMIN’

Upon moving to Chicago fourteen years ago, I discovered that my new hometown was not much different from my original of Philadelphia. Both cities suffer from sports afflictions, causing a great amount of hope and despair. I soon became acclimated with the personalities that made Chicago tick. As an outsider, it was easy to know the names of Jordan, Butkus and Sayers, but living here afforded me the ability to learn much more. Working at Harry Caray’s I obviously became well acquainted with Harry’s legend. Driving in my car in the afternoon, I became aware of that of another. Norm Van Lier was working afternoons on WMVP and I couldn’t get enough of him. For a guy my age, I could describe him simply as, “old school.” I remember thinking, “this guy’s a trip.” He would combine a no-nonsense attitude towards the games we watched with a devil-may-care one towards the ones we adults play. He was as at ease with talking rock music as he was with rock-headed decisions of a team’s hierarchy.

As a young man-about-town during the mid nineties I had observed Mr. Van Lier at a certain late night eating and drinking establishment on North State Street. I heard through the grapevine that he was there often. For some reason I never approached him, although I was dying to. Until that is, one Saturday evening after a morning in which there was green dye poured into the Chicago River. After serving revelers all afternoon, I reveled with them all evening, then it was time for a late-night snack. Accompanied by my better half we went to “Norm’s place.” Even at the late hour, the joint was packed and we were lucky to get the last table, in the back co rner next to the restroom of course. When our waiter approached, I was feeling a little “gregarious” and I asked him, “Hey! Where’s Norm? He’s supposed to be here. Did I miss him? What’s going on?” He replied that he had not seen him but he would let me know if he arrived. He then told us that our 1st round of drinks were on the house, then our 2nd one. Then the wife, in her kill-joy style, said, “What are you going to do when this guy figures out that Norm has no clue who you are?” “Relax, honey. We’ll be gone soon.” Sure enough we get the bill, minus the drinks, and an apology about Norm not being there. For some reason I’m finding this whole scenario hilarious. I can barely keep a straight face as I paid the bill. (To off-set any bad karma, I, of course, left an extra generous gratuity. The last thing I need to do is upset any of the restaurant gods.) Then, with god as my witness, as we’re about to leave, I look up and who is about to enter the restroom? That’s right. “NORM!” He turns, smiles and asks, “How ya doin’?” “Great, thanks.” I say as he enters the restroom, and mumble, “to you.” We then ran out of the back door and into a cab, laughing the whole time and feeling only a little guilty. What are the odds I’ll ever see him again?

Pretty good as it turns out. Over the years, Norm would stop in the bar, no way I could avoid him now, and we had some fascinating discussions. Or should I say he did. I don’t think I’ve ever used the word raconteur, but that was Norm. Whether it was about his playing days, on and off the court, rock and roll or things in the news, I was always riveted. I remember one time about 2 years ago getting in my car and turning on the radio late on a Sunday night and I hear Norm’s voice. What’s this? Norm just kept talking and talking. No updates. No commercials. Just Norm. I listened the whole way home, then, sat in my garage listening until it was over. About an hour and a half. When I recounted the story to him later, he told me he had purchased the time to showcase himself for his own show. Showcase? What? What was he going to do or say that would “enlighten” someone about his abilities? More than once since then, on my long trek home late at night, I’ve thought about how cool it would have been to have Norm accompany me on my drive.

My favorite interaction occurred about a year and a half ago. I was filming a movie review for Comcast Sportsnet at the ba r and I was using my 8 year old daughter in the piece. We used the opportunity as a family day and I brought the rest of my family downtown with me and we arranged for friends, and their kids, to meet us at the bar, so that we could take the kids to a mind-numbing theme restaurant after Maddy and I were done. After we were finished I was walking down the good side of the bar and noticed Norm sitting there. I was still in my bartender garb and Norm asked if I was working. “As a mater of fact, no. I’m done for the night.” “Great!” he replied. “Me and you. Let’s go. I’ve got backstage passes for Van Halen tonight at Rosemont. Let’s do it.”

Not often in this life are we presented with such distinct either-or decisions: An angel on one shoulder, a devil on the other, with a twinkle in his eye. I looked back down at the end of the bar, kids climbing all over everything, wife with the foot tapping, all ready to go eat some cardboard and french fries. Then back at Norm, smiling at me, visions of backstage at a rock concert with a prince of the city dancing in my head. I was in the middle of this vision when, like a needle being drawn across an album, I heard the familiar screech of my name from you-know-who. Newman! “I’m sorry Norm. Thanks for the in vite. I’d love to go, but I’ve got family and friends here and there all waiting on me so that we can go.” I know I made the right choice there, but trust me, I’ve often thought, “What if” many, many times.
Most of all, I’ll remember him as a Bull. Whether it was as a player or a broadcaster Norm was a Bull. His passion and love for them always showed. Sometimes I think that when people have an opinion that is not positive they can be viewed as negative. Sometimes this is true. But, sometimes, this is just honesty (and a little frustration) for something that you care too much about. He would call out the Bulls, all of the time, by name! I never viewed this as malicious, just tough love. He just wanted the team that he loved to be all that it could be. To play the game the way he played it: For 48 minutes with intelligence and intensity!

Without a doubt, I feel blessed that this kid from Philly was able to meet a Chicago legend. We’re all better for it and he won’t soon be forgotten. The # 2 hanging from the United Center rafters would help ensure this. Looking down on us as we attend a game, just is he is now, on a new court, but still bringing the ATTITUDE!

God Bless You, Norm.