Ed Johnson
Ed Johnson manages the local TV station here in Lake Forest, Illinois.
As head of our local station, Ed oversees the programming, manages production crews, oversees post-production, directs media expansion, and produces a lot of the videography for local broadcasts.
Five years ago, my father (who was then 82 and still living independently) had his TV go on the fritz. The TV was a relic from another era, but it was dad’s lifeline to White Sox games — and for him to be sitting in his recliner with no game on TV well, that totally shifted the axis of his world.
Here, I should probably mention that my father does not take personal disappointment lightly. Although he cannot walk without a walker, and his memory is but a memory; he is an unrelenting zealot on the subject of personal injustices. As a point of example, some years ago, when his cassette tapes of the Jackie Gleason Orchestra were not delivered as promised, he immediately dashed off a letter to the Attorney General of the United States describing his plight and insisting that justice be done. You get the picture.
So, determined to re-establish his White Sox connection, Dad desperately called the only place in town with he word “TV” in its name and expressed the urgency of his dire circumstances.
I can only imagine what Ed Johnson must have thought when that call came in.
Ed sure had a lot of choices in that moment. He could have had a staff member intervene. He could have referred dad to an actual TV repair place. But, instead, Ed Johnson went over to my dad’s apartment. Being a hip thirty-something guy and quite tech-savvy, he figured he could probably help. Plus, Ed loves the White Sox.
The repairs required a few trips. Ed replaced dad’s existing antenna (a Calder-esque mobile of wire coat hangers) with an actual antenna. The snow was gone, the picture was back, the Sox were on a roll, and dad was happy.
And then the weird thing happened: Ed turned to my dad and said, “Hey, you want to have lunch on Wednesday?”
Now maybe people just don’t ask octogenarians to lunch very often. Or maybe my dad’s unique character dissuades potential lunch dates. But nobody had ever asked my dad to lunch before.
Dad called me to discuss his quandary. He feared an ulterior motive. Was this guy on the up-and-up? What would they talk about? What should he wear? Did men wear white sneakers to restaurants? Would people assume that they were a couple?
After much discussion, and a fair amount of Ativan on my part, dad decided that the only right thing to do was to have lunch with Ed. After all, the guy had done him a solid. The White Sox were back. They went to lunch that Wednesday.
Afterwards, Ed suggested that they meet every Wednesday for lunch. Ed would buy one week and dad the next. They went to family-style restaurants that were inexpensive and that met dad’s basic criteria for fine dining (hot soup and cold salad and never the other way around). They continued going to lunch on most Wednesdays for three years. It had become a veritable tradition.
They talked about work, about aging, about baseball, football, women, food, about everything. And, as unlikely as it might have once seemed, they became friends.
When dad was hospitalized, the only person who visited him (besides my husband and myself) was Ed Johnson.
When I was unable to host a family holiday, dad was welcomed to join Ed at his parents’ home.
When dad misplaced his funds, it was Ed who made him a loan.
Over these years, Ed Johnson has now joined us at many family events including reunions, birthdays and my daughter’s Baptism.
Dad is now 87 and he lives in an assisted living facility. The facility has a big-screen TV and, tonight, the Chicago White Sox had their opening game. (They lost to the Royals ten to one.)
Why do I know this?
Because I saw a FaceBook posting tonight. It showed my dad, in front of that big TV, eating White Castle hamburgers, and happily watching the White Sox game with his friend, Ed Johnson.