"Ours was not a genteel neighborhood, by any stretch of the imagination. Nestled picturesquely between the looming steel mills and the verminously aromatic oil refineries and encircled by a colorful conglomerate of city dumps and fetid rivers, our northern Indiana town was and is the very essence of the Midwestern industrial heartland of the nation. There was a standard barbershop bit of humor that said it with surprising poeticism: If Chicago (only a stone’s throw away across the polluted lake waters) was Carl Sandburg’s “City of the Broad Shoulders,” then Hohman had to be that city’s broad rear end. According to legend, it bore the name of a hapless early settler who had arrived on the scene when the kind was just prairie and Indian trails. Surveying the sparkling blue waters of Lake Michigan, he decided that Chicago, then a tiny trading post where kind was free for the asking, had no future. Struggling through the quagmires farther south, for some demented reason now lost to history, he set up camp and invested heavily in land that was destined to become one of the ugliest pieces of real estate this side of the craters of the moon. Indeed, it bore some resemblance to the moon, in that the natives were alternately seared by stifling heat in the summer and reduced to clanking hulks when the fierce gales blew off the lake. Our founding father set the pattern of futility for all future generations."
Jean Shepherd was a raconteur of note. For years he entertained his radio audience with stories, mostly about growing up in the Chicago metroplex. He is remembered, if he is remembered at all, for the narrative voice in the movie, A Christmas Story, which was a confabulation of several of his shorter pieces some collected in this book. For those who have seen A Christmas Story, the style below will be familiar.
"One afternoon, with a snootful of whatever they were making down there, Emil came reeling out onto the back porch. He was yelling at somebody in the kitchen, his deep molasses drawl booming out over the neighborhood. “WHO YEW THANK YO’ TAWKIN’ TEW?” With that, he grabbed ahold of the back porch and pulled it right off the house. He just grabbed the porch and yanked it out by the roots: “AAAuuuggghhh!” From that day on, the Bumpus house had no back porch, only a door about eight feet up in the air and a rusty screen. Once in a while, one of them would jump out—and land in the garbage. And every so often, one of the skinny, red-faced sisters would fall out accidentally, usually carrying a pail of dishwater or chicken innards."
Yes, the Bumpus household is here, as well as all the Parkers: “The Old Man,” Mom, Ralphie, and Randy. Their friends, too, including Flick and Schwartz. I’ll leave you with this bit of childhood determination:
"“Well, I don’t care what your old man says, Flick,” I said. “I’m gonna ride on the whip—and the caterpillar, too. There are so many things that stunt your growth and make you crazy, you might as well do it that way as any other.” My wisdom, as usual was profound."
Oh, and by the way, the original story elements for the movie came from a story about Easter (not Christmas) and a ham (not a turkey). 3.5*