I am the Granddaughter of a 1930’s Bookmaker. From Chicago.

Maybe that’s where the “Buy low, sell high” mentality comes from.  Maybe it’s why I buy and sell things.  Maybe it’s why I’m a baseball fanatic, and somehow find my way to Las Vegas Sportsbooks most winters to bet on league division winners and the Word Series.  I don’t know.

It’s spring now, and with the Kentucky Derby right around the corner, I tend to become nostalgic of my childhood, bringing me to ask my dad about those days I spent with him and my maternal grandfather at the horse track.  Each year I get more details, so I’ve decided to document them here.  I wanted to write this story a year ago – who’d a thought the Cubbies would win the World Series before I could put this on the board?

Let’s start at the beginning.  Back in the 1930’s, on the outskirts of Chicago, my young grandfather worker for a baker.  Fresh bread, cookies and pastries, things that pre-war 1930’s housewives in the rural part of the Midwest would budget for, and present to their husbands after the evening meal, bread to make sandwiches for their husband’s lunch pails.  A cookie for a well behaved young child.    There wasn’t a whole lot of money being made on baked goods back then, and, well, the bakery owner would occasionally send my youthful grandfather off to ‘run’ an ‘errand’ on the train to place $2 long shot bets at Arlington Park on one specific horse.

Well, after many trips on the Great Western Railway, and hours spent placing bets on horses, or should I say, one horse that never came in, my grandfather started keeping the $2 bets and heading off to do other things with his precious time.  Like maybe dating my grandmother.  How would the baker know?  His horse never won.  As you can probably guess, in time, that losing horse finally saw its day on the track, the baker heading down to the track to claim his winnings for the bet my grandfather never placed.  Needless to say, grandpa was fired that day, but that is not end of  his bookmaking bakery story.  He wasn’t too worried, because when you’re a bet runner, the next natural promotion is…bookmaker, no?

My grandfather did well at bet making, and it wasn’t just the ponies.  He bet on baseball games, (you see, it really is in the blood!)   There was this thing, back then, and maybe Cubbies fans still do it today, I’m not sure;  you see, if you placed the bet before the game started that the Cubs would score 13 runs that day, well, you’d win a wad of money.  Yep, he won that a few times.  And you know, those Cubs are favored to win the 2018 World Series right now.  It’s April, and as any fan knows, we won’t know the truth till October.  Maybe early November if we play our cards right.  (That was a gambling pun, by the way).

I wish I knew more stories of those days.  Because I was yet to be born, my appearance in this story, or “participation” I should say,  doesn’t really happen until well into the 70’s.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.  Grandfather works for the baker, doesn’t place a long shot bet and gets fired.  Grandpa keeps betting, for himself and others, and saves enough money to open a donut shop of his own in the heart of Chicago.  He was married to my grandmother by this time, it was the 1940’s and time to set up a family business.  It wasn’t just any donut shop though – they sold these amazing, dense, triangle donuts, perfect for dunking in your hot coffee.  And yes, my family still has the equipment and the recipe to make those very special donuts.

“How do you know I love you?  I make you my grandparent’s signature triangle donuts.”

As mentioned earlier, there was not a whole lot of money in the bakery business back then.  I’m not exactly sure how it came about, as the story gets a little blurry right about here, but my grandparents lost their lease on that little donut shop in downtown Chicago.  It was picked up by a savvy business owner wanting to franchise.  Maybe you’ve heard of it, it’s now called Winchell’s.

Meanwhile, grandpa found a job with Rembrandt Brass and Iron Company, and began the daily train commute with so many other Midwestern men in work shirts and fedoras from rural parts of Illinois into downtown Chicago.  Grandma settled in working for a (not so) French Bakery that, was ironically, the former business of my grandfather’s former employer, the baker who fired him.  It was also walking distance from my grandparent’s farm.  (Yes, I partially grew up on a farm, but I think you kinda guessed that already).  Hours of my early childhood in the 1970’s, in the late afternoons, after school and after the bakery closed, were spent with my grandmother inside that bakery.  I have a penchant for buttercream roses and have consumed more than my weight in buttercream in any single year.  (The way to my heart?  Buttercream).  For as long as I can remember, my grandmother was up at 5 am, and sometimes earlier, serving coffee and pastries to the businessmen walking across the street to the train station for their daily commute.  Like clockwork, the wives would arrive back at the train station at 6:00 pm to pick up the men in the family Town and County Station Wagon.  I see it so clearly.  (This car is on my wish list.)

Sugar scarfing and scoring colorful, character shaped cookies and cupcakes for my friends was not all this kid was doing in the 1970’s.  Nope.  I was hopping on that train with my grandfather, occasionally leaving pennies on the track to be smooshed, and sometimes would travel by Cutlass or Dart with my dad and grandfather, and head to Arlington Heights to the race track.  Sometimes we’d make a quick stop at a mysterious man’s house on the way and collect $1,000, (a grand, a big ‘un’) – to place a bet for him on our way to the track.  Keep in mind, the median yearly income in 1975 in the United States was slightly over $14,000.  This meant the average person’s month’s salary was won or lost in one day at the track, the actual bettor not present.

I was always given $2 to place a bet on a horse of my choice.  I ate hot dogs and looked like a young Jodie Foster.  I knew what win, place and show meant, as well as a trifecta and the Daily Double before I was 7 years old.  Back in those days, a cute kid such as myself could saunter up to the betting cage and place a carefully marked out bet for myself, my dad or my grandfather.  Yes, I had the racing form in my hand, and yes, they always checked to be sure I properly placed all bets once I finally found my way back to the seats, or standing and yelling spot.  (With my sense of direction today, I’m not really sure how I navigated those experiences back then without having a panic attack or using a   cell phone for guidance.  The magic freedom and safety of the 70’s.  I want that back.)  Where my dad and grandfather were, and what they were doing while I was placing bets will always remain a mystery.  Most likely talking and enjoying the day, I guess.   I know I got bored after a while and spent endless hours picking up betting slips off the floor of the race track.  Stacks.  Stacks of betting slips.  I WAS A STOOPER.  Hours comparing these tickets to the results.  I can’t remember ever winning more than $80 betting on a horse in my life, and I think I was in my 20’s by then, and that was from a $2 bet.  I can’t remember winning more than $2 from the discarded betting slips as a kid.  And I took the loosing slips home!  What was I going to do with stacks of losing betting slips?  Play with them?  Are they future tax write-offs?  Are gamblers born this way?

“I knew what win, place and show meant, as well as a trifecta and the Daily Double before I was 7 years old.”

In my 20’s, I always thought that I would move back to rural Illinois after having been transplanted in California, to buy that bakery and let the legacy live on.  I don’t have that dream anymore.  Dreams change.  People change.   Some things stay the same.  Like the thrill of betting slips and taking a chance on your favorite things.

A Glossary of Betting Terms:  http://www.paulaura.com/betgloss.htm

A GenXer’s Guide to the Rise and Imminent Fall of NAFTA

Let’s begin by saying that if you want to discuss the intricacies and fine inner workings of the history of NAFTA, I’m not your girl, as I’m not here to pick a fight with anyone.  I am however here to give you a brief historical outline and share some nuances about the NAFTA project and it’s players, as well as offer a mental picture that silhouettes the start-up and the inevitable decline or demise of this lofty 3 country joint effort.

If you’ve grown-up, come of age, and/or participated in life in the US, Canada or Mexico, (or even watched television or made purchases) during this NAFTA generation (Generation X), you may already have an idea about what NAFTA is.  You may have watched the initiative show up on nightly news broadcasts, in newspapers or referenced on voting ballots.  If not, here’s a layman’s description:

NAFTA stands for the North American Free Trade Agreement.  It is a comprehensive agreement that sets the rules for international trade and investment between the United States, Canada and Mexico.  It’s a very lengthy and complex document of over 2,000 pages, spanning multiple American presidential administrations.  Both Republican and Democratic presidents have weighed in on, interpreted and eventually approved NAFTA.  It has been a “thing” for the past 25 some-odd years.

There is much discussion as to whether or not this agreement was an initially good idea, if opening a three-way county trade has indeed been beneficial, or if putting this agreement into place was just decades of misguided investment and trade ideas, initially developed by a bipartisan think tank back in the late 1970’s.  I’m picturing some smart, groovy dudes stating, “Hey!  Let’s open the borders, we’ll make piles of money, it will be good for everyone!”

NAFTA was originally proposed by President Ronald Reagan, eventually signed by President George H.W. Bush, implemented by President Bill Clinton, defended by George W. Bush and for the most part, ignored by our 44th President, Barack Obama.  Considering the fact that we are talking about free trade, doing business between 3 countries in North America and keeping the lines of communication (and trade) open, and given our (the US) current choice of American President, it almost goes without saying that the agreement of free trade may be coming to a complete and screeching halt.  If you are a visual learner, let’s look at it this way:

Chances are, whatever work you do or have done, you have somehow participated in, been touched by, or purchased something that may not have been possible without NAFTA.  Maybe you’ve worked in the automotive industry and have seen jobs come and go, maybe your own.  Maybe you work in oil, or farming.  You may already have a good idea of how NAFTA has invisibly touched each one of us, in both tangible and in intangible ways.  It has strengthened our economy during the times when we have been open minded and willing to take a chance on growth.  On the law of reciprocity.

Here’s a personal example.   Here’s one my sweethearts:

As a female GenXer growing up and coming of age during the times of NAFTA, I developed a keen interest in the automotive industry.  Maybe it was my Midwestern roots, maybe it was being born into a family with a father as a mechanic, maybe it was just what I was exposed to.  Cars have been my thing.  About 10 years ago, automakers recognized there was a surge of consumers with quite a bit of expendable income created in a new-found (if not price paid) economy, and decided to resurrect the American made muscle car in the form of bringing back the original body styles.  Now, keep in mind, this could not be done without the help from our other North American friends, both Mexico and Canada to be specific.  Whenever I’m at a dealership, car show, or a place where other auto enthusiasts converge and are in the know, they will ask me, (sometimes mocking, sometimes not) “Mexico?” and I will respond with, “No, Canada!”  This means that my American made beauty actually possesses a Canadian birth certificate.  As mentioned in my opening line, things get complicated when we talk about intricacies and  where parts were made and products were assembled, and it’s all outlined in that 2,000 page document called The North American Free Trade Agreement.  If it weren’t for this agreement, you and I would have experienced a life much different than the one we’ve known over the past two, going on three decades.  And if you followed the six figure photo chart above, you may begin to realize that life as we now know it, is about to change drastically.  Whether it be good or bad, that’s left for the financial analysts to decided, our golden years to witness, and our children to reap the benefits or unravel the mess.

For your further reading pleasure:







If Ronald Reagan Were Alive Today, Would He Take To Twitter?

Ronald Reagan was my favorite president, and I’ve gotten to see and live through a few of them.

Regardless of what you may think, this is not a political post, but a sincere toast to a man that I never for one second felt lacked in class in any way.   Maybe also a sincere toast to a few of the men I’ve loved before.

My first love was Mr. President Gerald R. Ford.  In 1976, I was proud to be an American, and participate in the greatest party of all time.  Seriously, I don’t think I’ve been to a more fun party since.  I’m talking about the 200 year Bicentennial celebration of our country.  I can’t help but to remember standing in the mid-western market with my mom, buying ears of corn for a front yard BBQ on the Fox River, eyeing the Bicentennial posters (oh, if I could have one now!) and listening to my absolute favorite song coming out of a car radio speaker… Bohemian Rhapsody.  (OK, my secret favorite song was 50 ways to Leave Your Lover and I still know the words by heart).  I was 8 years old.  I felt safe.

The following year, my heart would be absolutely crushed.  Not by the boy who would swing his (or mine, more details below) metal lunch pail at me when I tried to kiss him at the bus stop leaving me with a black eye – there’s a picture somewhere), but by the fact that the man who made me feel so safe and alive in my country was leaving office.  This incoming new guy’s name was Jimmy Carter.  It was one of the first big changes in my young life.  Could he live up?  Does he have good quotes?

When I was in elementary school, I learned to love President Jimmy Carter, though my young heart still missing Gerald wanted to call this new guy Mr. Peanut.  That was, of course because unfortunate weather caused a peanut drought in the very later part of the 1970’s and my mom and I went from small town market to market looking for just one jar of my sustenance.  The magic ingredient between the bread and the jelly which was loving placed inside my beloved Speed Buggy metal lunch box.  I remember having a conversation with my mom about not being able to accept the new president.  She assured me the peanut drought would be over soon.   (He’s got the biggest smile – swoon – and he will live to see the cure for Guinea Worm, of which he’s fought so hard for a cure (love).

We would soon have the second oil crisis of my young life, and I would learn the ins and outs of odd-even rationing.  I was ten years old by this time, and developed a keen eye for license plate numbers.  I preferred to watch people waiting in gas lines on the television (this was before sensationalism and #fakenews) than actually have to sit in the back seat of the Cutlas with my 6 year old brother in the midwestern humid swelter.  Someone might see me for gosh sakes!  I should have supported my mom more and waited in those lines with her.  Looking back now, I’m sorry Mom, that wasn’t fair you waited in those long lines alone during a legitimate crisis.

But then we had an even bigger thing to worry about.  It was 1981 and time to escape my safe rural suburban life northwest of Chicago and move to California, where I would of course meet the Beach Boys and become Miss America.  And sure enough, we arrive, and not long after, the most wonderful man ever to run for office and run a country was elected as our POTUS and took office.  I arrived in Los Angeles just in time to watch the inaugural celebration in my 6th grade classroom.  The man had So. Much. Class.

I began to feel safe again.  I lived through the peanut shortage, the two gas shortages, now there would be plenty of everything for everybody.  It was the 80’s and The Gipper was my president!  No wait, hold on.  The Chicago Tylenol Murders just went down from the place I had just left.  Was that laced Tylenol meant for me, and I just got super lucky on accident?  I am never taking Tylenol again, I said to my now almost 13 year old self.

** It is 2017 and I STILL have not taken Tylenol.  Lots of other things, sure, but you will never find a Tylenol bottle in my home.  Superstitious much?  Yes.

I’m in middle school now and they are putting me in debate class.  Not all my friends had to live this punishment.  I would never elect this class.  I wondered if they took the absolute most shy kids they had and threw them into a debate class with the most aggressive 8th graders they had, just to see what would happen.  They had to have.

My debate was going to be titled: “Why did you try to kill me with Tylenol?” but for whatever reason, the teacher at the time rejected my submission and gave me a new topic of debate.  I was going to have to reach out to some very important people and get some help now.

Let me help you out there.  The title of the debate reads:

“Should the United States Rule Out a Nuclear First Strike?”

What?  Holly Heck!

Please note, my position was a resounding YES!

How I pulled that off, well, to this day I will never know.  I reached out to everyone I could think of who was as terrified at the thought of a Nuclear First Strike as I was.  I received personal letters (not form letters, mind you) from the following, who important at the time, continued to go on to do even bigger things:  Senator Alan Cranston, Senator Pete Wilson (before he was Governor), California State Assembly Member Tom Hayden, Congress Member Mel Levine, Anne Higgins, who was the Special Assistant to the President, assuring me that President Reagan too wants peace, a very thoughtful and well written letter from VP George Bush and the piece de resistance… the speech given by President Regan to Scholars honoring Excellence in Education and Nuclear Arms Reduction made on June 16, 1983.

Less than 2 years later, the man put an end to the Cold War.

So, in closing, I ask you again.  If President Reagan were alive today, would he take to Twitter himself?  I think not.  His Library, of course, (I love following the Ronald Reagan Library on Twitter!)

Post Scripts:  I still collect Bicentennial quarters, so keep your coin purse out of my sight or I will take them from you.  (Or come play coins with me).  I’ve blocked out the name of the boy with the eye blackening swing – rats!  I would have acknowledged him today.  To my 12 year old daughter, stop watching Gilmore Girls on Netflix and go write your government officials about something important.  Please.  And to everyone else, if you are the rare individual who wants to read my debate from the 80’s and see and touch these amazing historical documents, HMU, K?

Much love from the GenXSociety,

Shawn Anthony Noetzli

You can also find me @ www.shawnnoetzli.com

And here’s a little something extra.  A play list from this post, enjoy.