THREE NEW VICTIMS!

I regret to report three new victims of the Catholic Church pedophile scandal. I found them on a North Michigan Avenue elevator between the 5th and 6th floor...!

A middle-aged priest got on. Instinctively the mother of a young boy tugged her son closer as she whispered, "Stay away from men like that!"

Adding to the inexcusable tragedy of this Church scandal, what we passengers were witnessing was the further tragedy of three new victims: A panicked parent, a confused child, and one of the vast majority of scandal-free clergy whose image and service have suffered for the crimes of a few.

Justice must now be served, swiftly and surely. But as it is, multiply these three additional victims by a factor of, say a thousand, and you have an idea of what some terribly errant men have done to an entire church. And an entire city. The hope is the guilty few do not go on to stain the work of the guiltless many. Because if it does -- like on that elevator -- what is already a tragedy for some becomes a paralyzing disaster for all.

HOW TO UNREMEMBER

Everyone forgets. Names, dates, events. Not even the most sophisticated iPad or GPS will be able to help us remember everything we should remember. However, it is immensely important to understand the distinction between forgetting and unremembering....!

It's possible to forget the day you first fell in love -- but it should be impossible to unremember why you did. Likewise, why you chose this career, moved to this community, celebrated this event, visit this cemetery. To unremember what should be memorable is an act of sacrilege. History bursts with memorables -- from Christians dying in the Coliseum to Jews dying in the Holocaust, from Jonas Salk curing Polio to Neil Armstrong walking the Moon.

We each walk the world with distinct memorables of our own. Little moments and large discoveries which must not be taken for granted along with such all-too-common unremembereds like the day mom helped us take our first step, and dad toss our first ball.

Some among us -- saints and poets -- try to take upon them self to never unremember the little epiphanies which first opened such large lessons. In all likelihood, each of these will find an echo in your own heart: Bullies when challenged will cry...neighbors when asked will help...clergy when needed will come... Christmas will arrive even after Santa has left it...cops when indispensable will act indispensably... Wrigley Field's dark concrete innards will always emerge into green ivy and lawn. Also, planes are faster than buses and buses faster than streetcars, but streetcars meant time to think before you acted....movies may be in 3-D technicolor, but life itself is usually in 2-D black&white....when they say with a tear they will never forget you, remember they always do...oh, and in this great gleaming world of new technology, so far it still takes us to turn them on.

If we forget incidentals, certainly we can forgive ourselves that. But if we unremember what the world has revealed to us, we cannot forgive that! And we must not forgive that! For if we fail to bring what we've learned to the distracted attention of tomorrow's learners, tomorrow becomes even less than yesterday. Which would make those of us living today the most forgettable generation of all.

RANDOM THOUGHTS SIPPING MONDAY MORNING COFFEE

We've always been told, "Little boys are made of frogs & snails, and puppy dogs' tails; little girls are made of sugar & spice, all that's nice." Then, my friends, came the iPad....!

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We've always been told that taxes are too high, too unfair, and all they do is re-distribute the wealth from the good guys to spread among the not-so-good guys. Actually, aren't taxes the rent we pay for living here? And if social justice isn't your thing, then consider this. Re-distribution does have the effect of keeping the hurting have-nots from rising up and slaughtering the haughty haves in their beds. Check the Caesars and Machiavelli on that...!

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Everyone carries special images inside us. Frozen-in-time national moments like Washington at Valley Forge... Lincoln at Gettysburg...FDR flashing a smile...black smoke over Pearl Harbor...that nameless GI endlessly shot in that B&W film from the Normandy beaches...Sinatra belting, Elvis rocking, the Godfather brooding, man walking on the moon, Wall Street ticker tape, Vegas showgirls and Babe Ruth pointing to the Wrigley Field bleachers. These and 101 more.

So which 1 in those 101 is the one you most closely carry....?

7 MILLION HOMES WHERE OLD IS NEW AGAIN

The Associated Press reports almost 7 million American households are now home to three generations of family members. A 30% spike since 2000. The poor job market has squeezed 'boomerang kids' back home to live with their parents after college. And grandparents too, who can't afford the increasingly costly and/or impersonal senior communities.

What we have here is what was once old but now becoming new again -- "The Waltons."

If you're too young to remember that popular old TV series featuring the narrative voice of John-Boy, then you're too young to finish reading this. But not too young to be living at home, where millions of Americans are discovering (re-discovering?) the assets and debits of sharing meals and memories with three generations.

I did. Some of you did. Some of you may soon do the same. With what social/psychological consequences? Well, the professional behaviorists may have a tough job profiling an adequate answer, because now each generation can exist inside and at the same time outside any place in their world. It's called personal communicators.

So -- Mom, Dad, Grams -- maybe I'll met you at the refrigerator some night; but in the meantime, just pretend me and my pc aren't here...!

IMAGINE A WORLD LIKE THIS

For one small sad moment, imagine a world like this.

A world of wombs without fetuses...hearts without loves...minds without thoughts...Springs without birds....Junes without marriages...Winters without Christmases...moons without lovers...pitchers without batters...organs without choirs...pianos without fingers...newspapers without readers...."The Wizard of Oz" without "Somewhere Over The Rainbow"...dreams without dreamers...oceans without beach parties...passions without purposes...prophets without followers...teachers without students...parents without pride...kites without kids....and constitutions without devotees.

A perfectly dreadful place. A world with all potential and no payoff!

One has to wonder sometime if this has not become the fate of our own hard-earned 1st Amendment. To have shed blood to achieve it, to have spilled ink to compose it, to have fought to preserve it, what are we left with...? Perhaps you hear and see what I do. Blind, blistering arguments in Congress, in sports bars, on commuter trains, on college campuses, in board rooms, in backrooms, in the Wrigley Field bleachers and on the worldwide web.

A cacophony of ranting voices exercising this sacred right like a fraternity gang chug-a-lugging vintage champagne. There's something almost sacrilegious here. Oh, we are assured that this is how democracy works; that such public-forum messiness can eventually translate into legislative majesty; that when Mr Smith goes to Washington, Jimmy Stewart can eventually warm the cold heart of Claude Rains in the final reel.

I'm no longer sure.

And so it is that we live in a great irony. More freedom of speech being exercised by more citizens in more formats than ever before. From the office water-coolers to the family dinners, from our barbershops to our beauty salons, from our town halls to our street marches, and from talk radio to 24/7 cable. And yet, I feel the restless stirrings of our Founding Fathers in their graves who hear this babble of angry dis-informed voices, and whisper: "Don't you yet understand? Reason not rage is what we tried to enshrine in this amendment. If all you can bring to it is your rage, how will your reason ever prevail...?"

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO LITTLE LOCAL AMERICA?

Wherever we look these days there are Save signs. Save the planet...save the whales...save our schools...save our jobs....save us from the government. Often the true believers march or conduct vigils to drive home their point for the media. So far, though, darn few marches or candles for our most endangered species: The local merchant!

America -- especially blue-collar cities like Chicago -- has been built by the sweat and swagger of local retailers. Butchers and bakers, barbers and beauticians, tailors and shoemakers, bookstores and florist shops, plus cozy mom&pop stores of all kinds.

Instead of faceless franchises owned somewhere by invisible bankers, these are friends and neighbors. Sure, you're sympathetic. But so long as you keep trekking to the flashy malls and buying on the glitzy websites -- poof! there goes a big chunk of America.

But here's the problem...

Once people get something fixed in their mind (really, their gut) it's hard to dislodge it. For instance the recent Toyota debacle. Overnight, the company's prestige crumbled. A new and disquieting narrative about their product took hold of the American mind (gut). Despite a massive PR campaign by Toyota, this negative narrative is lingering. Very much like the negative narrative about local merchants being unable to compete with the big boys.

True or not (and it has often been proved "not"), this narrative may have found its way into our minds (gut) to the eventual detriment of Little Local America. You don't have to be old to start missing the sweet-used-to-be...

GO WEST YOUNG MAN, GO WEST!

"Go, West, young man, go west!" While Horace Greeley uttered that grand call back in the roaring frontier days of the 19th C, the old fox stayed East and made a fortune. Still, I hear his voice echoing in my April thoughts. Last week I did go West, and found something I never expected...

Like most of you, I've spent a little time in the Grand Canyon, Big Sur, the Canadian Rockies, Provence and Tuscany. The sights pour over your senses like an ocean of sinful pleasure. You find yourself drowning in inexpressible natural grandeurs. But you never quite expect to find any of this just 20 miles west of Chicago.

One sun-dappled afternoon I traveled west of O'Hare Airport on Irving Park Road in search of an appointment. As whenever I wander more than an hour outside my own community, I proceeded with exact predictability to get myself lost. And no sweet-talking GPS avatar was able to help! Ahh, but what joy getting lost turned out to be. Made me think of an old adage I could never really believe before: "Happiness is being able to enjoy the scenery on a detour."

Twisting and turning on these western roadways, I soon found myself in a series of cozy green hamlets lined with staunch white fences protecting proud paneled homes. Like being snatched up inside a Norman Rockwell illustration where neighbors are chatting over front-porch coffees, and kids are giggling in squadrons of tricycles.

Remarkable.

Or had I just eased into one of those B&W "Twilight Zone" episodes in which Rod Serling is on another relentless search for his lost innocence? For a moment, I think I wanted to think so. But the car clock snapped me back to attention as I realized I was now late for my appointment.

What to do...? Fact versus fantasy! Reality versus remembrances! One look at this lost little world of yesteryear Americana, and I could only do the right thing. I stopped the car...got out to stroll the streets...and felt not a pang of guilt. That terribly important appointment grew remarkably small in the light of this surprisingly large discovery.

And that's what can happen to you traveling just a little west of Chicago....!