What, you may well ask, is a Chicago Bears ornament doing on
the Christmas tree of a guy who was raised watching the Dallas Cowboys?
The answer is simple enough. Marice’s father, my
father-in-law, was a lifelong Bears season-ticket holder. Even in the depths of
winter, he’d bundle up as only Chicagoans know how and trudge off to Soldier’s
Field to watch his beloved Bears battle in the ice and snow.
Fred Richter was a good man, loving father and devoted husband.
He also was a deeply committed Jew even though he was raised in a secular household and
came to Judaism late in life.
As a prominent member of his synagogue, Fred was one of the
Jewish leaders who went to court in 1977 to stop the Nazis from marching
through his northern Chicago suburb of Skokie, then home to the largest number
of Holocaust survivors outside of Israel.
Their lengthy legal battle and the constitutional issues it
raised ultimately convinced Nazi organizers to abandon their scheme to march in
Skokie, where they knew the impact and the anguish would grab bigger headlines,
and to shift to Chicago instead.
On the day of the march in the summer of 1978,
only about 20 knuckle-draggers showed up. When they were met with the jeers and
catcalls of 20,000 protesters lining the streets of Chicago, they fled the
scene after about 10 minutes.
Fred’s teenage daughter, Marice’s younger
sister Marla, was among those anti-Nazi protesters. She can be seen in a video
taken that day shouting obscenities at the strutting thugs. I strongly suspect
Fred secretly applauded her visceral, if crude, reaction to the strutting morons.
In his younger years, Fred had played football, so his love
of the game later in life came naturally. Marice has a couple of photos of her
father playing in high school.
In one, he is listening closely to a coach lecture on the
field. In the other, he’s trying desperately to catch a pass. His efforts are
being hampered by his helmet, which has slipped so low on his forehead that it’s
obstructing his view of the ball.
Sadly, Fred never saw
my son play. Alzheimer’s disease robbed him of his memories too soon for that.
But I’m sure he would have been a very proud grandpa and, knowing Fred, would have
insisted on instructing his grandson in the finer points of the game.
Marice and I framed those photos of her father on the
gridiron and gave them to Ethan. They are among his most treasured keepsakes.
When I look at them, I see a serious, good-looking kid, determined
to get the job done, a kid who grew into a man I respected and admired. Richter
family history doesn’t record it, but I’m willing to bet he caught that damned
ball.
No comments:
Post a Comment