South Side Magic...
October 25, 2006

At this time last year, we were held captive by the South Side magic. This year I have shifted to my Detroit Tiger roots- I feel no disloyalty cheering for my home town, and the American League. My blood pressure is more stable. My men are, too.  

Truth told, I am fine with the reduced angst of 2006, because my Championship memories are still so fresh, and so sweet. The White Sox provided a quality season for us to cheer, and hope was possible well into September. It is greedy to ask for more.

This year, however, the White Sox organization occupies a special place in my slushy heart.  They performed an unheralded good deed for a dying man. It is time to say a public “thank you.”

I have a cotillion of on-line friends. I have never met most of them, but they graze my world via Dahl.com with their insights and observations- sometimes with their criticisms. I edit these contacts, responding to those who are nice, eliminating or dashing those who are rabid or ill-informed. Over the past years, a gentle voice has popped up from time to time. This voice belongs to Nedra O’Neill, who provides hospice care for Palos Community Hospital Hospice, with a heart that wraps itself around her clients. Most often, she cheers me up if my Planet has been gloomy. At times, she will ask a question, such as where to find special, soft baby linens for a client who will not see her grandchild, but wants to leave a treasure behind. She is an angel for her people; she eases their journey while fulfilling their needs with kindness and dignity.

Last spring, she was advocating for a gentleman who was ill and fragile. His name was Joe Benz, Jr., and he was the son of Joe “Butcher Boy” Benz, a relief pitcher for the 1917 World Champion White Sox, as well as the 1911 Rookie of the Year. Joe’s dad was not involved in the Black Sox scandal, though he remained friends with his disgraced teammates until his death in 1957.  Joe Jr. was born after his dad’s brush with championship. As Nedra said- he literally waited his entire lifetime to see the Sox reclaim the championship. His dying hope was that he could touch the trophy before he passed, connecting his life with his father’s past glory. He never faltered in his pride and love for the White Sox. Joe’s mind was active, and he used it to share his oral history of the Sox with Nedra and his extended family of caregivers and residents at the Mother Theresa Home in Lemont. His body, at 89, failed Joe. He had outlived most of his family, and all of his cohorts. He could not get out to see the trophy. Nedra became his fairy godmother.

Nedra knew that Mike Dahl was interning with the Sox, and that Steve had some Tribune contacts that he could nudge. E-mail contacts were shared; calls were made. Nedra pushed, poked and prodded. She was relentless. No promises were forthcoming, but the White Sox never said no, either. We prayed that Joe would stay among the living for his dream to come to fruition.

On April 29, the White Sox called to say that they would stop in Lemont the next afternoon, bearing the World Series Championship trophy.

When they arrived the next day, it was clear that the guardians of the trophy had taken the time to research Joe’s dad.  They spoke with respect and knowledge. They spent time listening to him. (Note: Mike tells me that the young men who accompanied the trophy were sons of the Levy brothers of restaurant fame)  For forty magical minutes, they assured Joe that he was part of the White Sox family. They brought a championship ring, and let him wear it for the entire time. Joe wept. The residents and staff basked in the glow of Joe’s moment, posing with the trophy. The good deed was complete. Off went the trophy, leaving Joe awash in joy and importance.

Three months later, Joe was still hanging tough. The Sox were still in the hunt, but Joe was not stressed about the home stretch. He had his own home stretch to deal with. Nedra was still his companion, and she sat with Joe, swaddled in blankets despite the summer heat. Smiling, he asked her, “Nedra, when will the ship leave the shore?”

Her response was“ Whenever you are ready, Joe.” Ok, great,” Joe said. “Carry on.”

Joe Junior crossed over on August 18th. The White Sox lost to Minnesota that night, and the Twins would end up topping the division.

None of that mattered to Joe. It doesn’t matter to me. The Sox came through- like Nedra.

Nedra O’Neill saw Joe to his final rest. The White Sox eased the path.  The team provided closure and joy; the management reached out to enfold Joe Junior with quiet kindness and generosity. It seems like a little thing, but to Joe it was the climax of his dreams. For Nedra, it was all in the day’s very hard work- work that she performs with a steel determination and an enormous heart.

When the players take the field, they are doing their job. They are not heroes.
When the management goes outside of expectations- or when a case worker steps far beyond health and welfare to make a dream happen for a dying man- they ARE heroes. It’s good to have them around.  Thanks.