Life Itself Page #2

"We're not gonna print that tomorrow.

We gotta stop the presses."

Ebert became famous

to us for that,

because, you know,

here was a kid

taking control

of an adult situation

and making a news judgment,

an important one.

Chicago was the great city

over the horizon.

We read Chicago's newspapers

and listened to its powerful

AM radio stations.

Good evening,

ladies and gentlemen,

it's midnight here in Chicago.

Long after midnight,

I listened to Jack Egan

broadcasting live.

Chez Lounge and

the world famous Chez Paree.

Chatting with Martin and

Lewis, or Rosemary Clooney.

I'd been accepted

as a PhD candidate in English

by the University of Chicago,

but I needed a job.

I got a part time job

at the Sun-Times,

and then five months later,

the film critic retired

and they gave me the job.

I did not apply for it.

Newspaper film critics

had been interchangeable.

Some papers had by-lines

that different people wrote under.

For example,

the Tribune had Mae Tinee,

and that could be whoever

went to the movies that day.

Because Mae Tinee really

spelled out "matinee."

I was at that time the youngest

daily film critic in America.

And it was a real good time

to be a movie critic.

Armed robbery.

Bet you wouldn't have the gumption

to use it.

Now, come here.

It is also

- Hey! What's your name, anyhow?

- Clyde Barrow.

Hi, I'm Bonnie Parker.

Pleased to meet you.

"The fact that the story

is set 35 years ago

doesn't mean a thing.

It had to be set sometime,

Roger was the most facile writer

I ever came across.

Anybody that has ever seen him work.

He could, he could knock out

a full thought out movie review

in 30 minutes.

Fast and furious.

There were so many reporters

that formed

easy quick friendships

because they were smart,

they were good writers,

they were literate,

and they could tell

a good story in a saloon.

O'Rourke's was our stage,

and we displayed

our personas there nightly.

It was a shabby street corner tavern

on a dicey stretch of North Avenue,

a block after Chicago's Old Town

stopped being a tourist haven.

When a roomer

who lived upstairs died,

his body was discovered when maggots

started to drop through the ceiling.

For many years, I drank there

more or less every night

when I was in town.

So did a lot of people.

We all sat at the same place.

The newspaper guys here,

the druggies in the middle,

the surly staff

at the very end of the bar.

Roger has always been attracted

to weird types.

I mean, you should see

some of the women

that he's hauled in

to O'Rourke's over the years.

Back in the old days,

Roger had, probably

the worst taste in women

of any man I've ever known.

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