Louis Jacobs

On this brisk summer morning while dropping my oldest son Andrew off at his baseball game, I had one of my random thoughts.  Thoughts for me are like unexpected visitors who drop in and stay awhile.  Some of them welcome, some of them are the kind you continuously hint that they need to go.  Today's passing visitor lead me down the road of memory lane to being an insecure eight grade, slightly arrogant, student. 

In the midst of all that pubescent ignorance is some lessons that I never saw coming, taught by someone I least expected it from.  His name was Mr. Louis Jacobs or simply Mr. Jacobs.  Mr. Jacobs was the eighth grade English teacher and usually the butt of our jokes.  He was an older gentlemen that had suffered some sort of major medical issue in his life that had left his entire right side nearly unusable.  As he walked, he sort of limped and jumped dragging the nearly dead leg with him.  In all of our eight grade genius we dubbed him "Leaping Louey". 

I was above the jr. high games, so I just called him that in private.  "Louey" always just seemed old and cantankerous, ready to threw you out of class and send you to the principal.  Then I remember the moment it happened.  The moment me and Louey gained more common ground than I had ever realized.  Mr. Jacobs had worked for years part time on the local AM radio station covering high school sports, but his primary responsibility was the station's correspondent for the Chicago White Sox.  Now understand, I am a Cubs fan, I have been, always will be.  I have waited for next year for too long to switch allegiance. 

Then the moment happened when I realized the connection between Mr. Jacobs and I.  The White Sox where tearing down the Old Comisky for New Comisky (now called we paid too much for name on the building "The Cell").  This single event brought ceremony to Louis Jacobs.  Every media correspondent that followed the White Sox was honored with a clear plaque in the center was 2 inch square of brown.  Mr. Jacobs in his perfect grammer as only an English teacher would use explained that that small piece of brown was very dirt Frank Thomas, Black Jack McDowell and Ozzie Guillen played on. It was a living piece of history, it was the dirt of Comisky Park.

Suddenly, me and Mr. Jacobs were not so far apart, we were both baseball men.  I came to find out while I was boy playing the game I loved, that game had been robbed from Mr. Jacobs.  He dreamed of playing, just like it was my dream of playing.  A few months later at my 8th grade graduation I would be honored with a citizenship award, one of the biggest surprise of my life.  Come to find out Mr. Jacobs was the one putting my name in the running.  Maybe it was the baseball passion we shared.  Maybe it was because he could see past my imperfections, when as I as boy  struggled to see past his...maybe, just maybe little things like baseball can bring two different people one step closer together.