My Jerry Springer story

Photo by David Shankbone via Wikipedia

The passing of Jerry Springer this week reminds me of the time someone called and asked me to sue him.

This is how the phone call began: I said, "Jack Leyhane," and the caller said, "I want to sue Jerry Springer."

Even with this very limited vocal sample, I could definitely detect that the caller had a distinctive accent.

If you guessed that the caller's accent was Received Pronunciation, you are both very funny and completely wrong.

Although I do remember exactly how the call began, I don't recall exactly when it happened. I apparently did not note the call on my time sheets.

But the Internet tells us that the Jerry Springer Show was based in Chicago between 1991 and 2009; I was very much on my own when I fielded this call, so we can narrow it down to somewhere between 2004 and 2009. Because I did not take contemporary notes, the quotation marks used hereafter are taken from my best recollection, and not meant as an assertion that I recall the exact words used. Marilu Henner, I am not.

Now, if I had been blessed with even a modicum of common sense, I would have immediately responded with something like, "Oh, gee, that's too bad. I'm sorry, but I'm conflicted out -- I'm Jerry Springer's agent." But, obviously, I was not Jerry Springer's agent; I never met the man. Also, I never could come up with a snappy comeback when I got blindsided by something totally unexpected. And who would have expected this?

So, instead, I asked something like, "How did you find me?"

"On line," he said. Or, "on the computer."

At various times during the Aughts, when I still harbored dreams of building an actual firm with real-life associates, I dabbled in promotional websites with Martindale Hubbell and West. For a time, I may have had both. But, if this was the kind of inquiry generated by these efforts, I was clearly doing something wrong.

I plunged on.

Not because I had to, obviously. But, from time to time, I have been afflicted with a morbid curiousity. This was one of those occasions: "Why do you want to sue Jerry Springer?"

The story came tumbling out. It seems that Mr. Springer was doing a show on men who were cheating on their wives with one of their wife's relations. My caller, it seems, was carrying on with his wife's cousin. The producers flew them all up to Chicago -- himself, his wife, and his wife's cousin (I didn't ask if the caller took the center seat on the flight up, but I wanted to). The producers picked them up in a limo, then put the whole bunch up in a hotel downtown (no, I didn't ask how many rooms they booked either), and brought them down to the studio for the show. But they didn't get on TV.

As I sit here now I can't remember if he told me that the problem was the show ran long or whether the producers just decided to use one or more different threesomes. But my caller was plainly upset at not getting his 15 Minutes of Fame.

Seriously.

I asked some clarifying questions. "Did anyone promise that you'd be on TV?" I asked.

Well, no, he said.

"What did they promise you?"

"Well, they promised to fly us to Chicago and back again."

"And they flew you up just like they said?"

"Well, yeah."

"And they're going to fly you back, too?"

"Yeah. Limo is coming in an hour."

"OK. And they promised to put you up in the hotel? And they did that, too, right?"

"Well, yeah."

"They feed you and all?"

"Room service and everything. Very nice -- but they didn't put us on TV!"

"Well, sir," I said (I had never asked his name), "maybe someone else might figure it differently, but here's the way I see it: They did everything they promised to do. They didn't put you on the show, but they didn't promise to do that. I don't think there'd be much chance of winning if you were to sue. I admit that free advice is worth every cent you pay for it, but that's my opinion anyway."

My caller wasn't satisfied, but he could see he wasn't getting anywhere with me. Besides, he had a limo to catch.

I hadn't thought about that incident for a long time. But remembering that I had to field calls like that every so often makes my not-entirely-voluntary retirement just that much easier to bear.

I wonder now if the fellow got the center seat on the flight home?

Waiting for a telephone call from an oil change place....

I'm not Andy Rooney, but I'm feeling cantankerous and curmudgeonly these days and, like the late Mr. Rooney, I'm not afraid to tell you about it.

And right now, too, since I'm effectively prevented from doing any of the other things that I am supposed to be doing right now while I wait for a phone call.

The Millennials and Gen Zers are already rolling their eyes at this point: OK, Boomer. Nobody makes phone calls anymore.

But -- let me quickly interject -- I agree with that sentiment. I am indeed in total accord with same. I resorted to a telephone call only as a last result.

All I wanted to do was make an appointment for an oil change for the family vehicle. As a true modern person would, I visited the website of said oil change place for that express purpose.

Admittedly, I used a desktop computer and not my phone. The young people may be asking what's a desktop? In 20 years, or maybe in only 10, that may be a serious inquiry. I hope not, but it may. Right now, however, it's just heckling.

I prefer to see what I am doing, and the larger screen of the desktop affords me a better opportunity for this than does my phone. Also, I can type. Therefore I can fill in the blanks on a website form faster and more efficiently on a desktop than most Millennials or Gen Zers can on their phones, even with their amazing thumbs. My thumb is not nearly so nimble. Consider the desktop as a sort of accommodation.

I have successfully scheduled oil changes on this site previously. On a desktop. Without incident. So (anticipating the follow-up line of heckling here) I did know how to use the site, thank you. I fully expected to repeat my previous accomplishment on this occasion without undue difficulty.

Yet my expectations were not realized.

The website loaded fine and I specified the services I needed with no difficulty. But for some reason, though I could select a date for my appointment, I could not select a time. The drop down menu would not drop down.

I tried clicking around a few different ways. I got out of the site and started again, but ran into the same problem.

But I did not despair. Nor did I yet resort to a phone. The site was not working properly in Chrome, so I tried Firefox instead.

But I ran into the same problem again, and at the exact same spot on the form.

It was only then that I determined to make an actual phone call.

I called the telephone number specific to the location where I hoped to obtain service.

But, of course, that's not where the phone was answered. The company I was trying to deal with has several locations in the Chicago area. Apparently calls directed to any one of these are answered at some central location.

I explained myself to the person answering.

"You are attempting to schedule this appointment for our Niles location, is that right?" she asked.

Yes, I did not say, that is why I dialed the number for the Niles location. I did not say this because this response sounded more snarly than sunny, no matter what reading I gave that line in the privacy of my own head. I realized it might have seemed hostile. I did not mean to seem hostile.

But, now that I knew this was some central location, after confirming my intent to reach the Niles store, I proceeded to explain the website issue. She said she'd have someone look into that right away.

No, I don't really think she'll actually tell anyone about that either.

Anyway, she tried to ring the Niles store while I waited. But, she said apologetically, the manager must be on the phone because there was no answer. She asked for my information, so the manager could call me back when he was free. I dutifully provided it.

And now I'm stuck here waiting for the phone to ring so I can accomplish the two-minute scheduling task that I undertook about two hours ago.

At some point, obviously, I have to go on with my day. But I asked for this phone call... and so, I think, I must be honor-bound to wait some time for the call to be returned.

What were the rules in college? If the teacher failed to show on time, the students were free to leave, but only after waiting a sufficient interval. Was it 10 minutes for an assistant professor and 15 minutes for a full prof?

Well, I've waited one whiny essay for the manager of the oil change place. Surely, that should be reasonable.

Except... well... if he calls and I don't answer... then I have to call back and start the whole process over, don't I?

I hope they get that website fixed soon....

Cook County to open south suburban center for hard to recycle materials

And just in time for Earth Day, too! Read on for the press release issued today by Cook County, but, bottom-lining this, the new CHaRM Center will take small appliances, TVs, even some styrofoam -- stuff that no one else seems willing to take....

Cook County Board President Toni Preckwinkle today announced the grand opening of the Center for Hard to Recycle Materials (CHaRM Center). Spearheaded by the County’s Department of Environment and Sustainability (DES) in partnership with South Suburban College (SSC), the new facility provides a permanent location for residents to drop-off items for reuse or recycle that diverts waste from landfills, waterways and vacant lots. Cook County allocated nearly $1 million in American Rescue Plan Act (ARPA) funding to partner with SSC on the new facility and to create sustainable practices and programs that increase recycling across communities in the Southland.

“Establishing a location where residents can bring items that are not typically accepted through traditional recycling services will ultimately help our environment by keeping these items out of landfills,” said President Preckwinkle. “I am grateful to South Suburban College for their partnership in ensuring critical recycling services are available to all County residents.”

The CHaRM Center is the first of its kind in Cook County. Residents can drop off materials such as electronics, textiles, used medical equipment, furniture and small appliances, Styrofoam and general household recyclables including plastic, glass, metal and paper are accepted. Materials will be refurbished or recycled.

The center opens on Earth Day, Saturday, April 22 from 8:00 a.m. – 3:00 p.m. at SSC located at 15800 South State Street, South Holland, Illinois 60473. The CHaRM Center will be open Tuesdays from 7:00 a.m. – noon, Thursdays from 2:00 p.m. – 7:00 p.m. and the second Saturday of every month from 9:00 a.m. – 3:00 p.m.

“South Suburban College is ecstatic to partner with Cook County to further its environmental and sustainability efforts,” said SSC President Dr. Lynette Stokes. “The partnership will allow SSC to act as a community steward and lead by example, promoting materials for reuse and recycle to ultimately reduce waste. The permeant recycling drop-off facility is easily accessible to Cook County residents, fosters the local environment's health and educates the local community on the importance of recycling.”

As part of the grand opening of the CHaRM Center on April 22, the Illinois Environmental Protection Agency is sponsoring a one-day household hazardous waste collection event for residents. Accepted materials include items such as old gasoline, household batteries and lawn chemicals among others.

In addition to funding for the CHaRM Center, the County has allocated over $100 million in ARPA funding to support a clean environment for all and to fight climate change.

This is a great program... assuming, of course, that the stuff that gets dropped off really does get recycled. Which, in other cases, has not always happened.

Not meaning to provide a buzz kill to this feel-good Earth Day story, but Mother Jones magazine ran a sobering article recently, "Your 'Recycled' Grocery Bag Might Not Be." It's a long read, but worth your time.

Donation is one thing -- and it's one thing that we can all do -- but follow-through is necessary to confirm that materials intended for recycling really are. Because, unfortunately, and too often, material intended for recycling winds up in landfills (or our oceans) anyway.

Another problem I never thought I'd have: An old blog post is alleged to have violated Blogger's "community standards"

UPDATE: Immediately after posting this, I opened an email from Blogger saying that the 2010 post described herein has been reevaluated and reinstated. The brown paper wrapper is off. Kind of takes all the wind out of my sails, don't it? Today, at least, if not, a couple of weeks ago, I pressed the right button. My thanks to Blogger... although, in all honesty, I wish they'd held off for a few days so I could convince myself that the following article somehow helped my cause....

I've been using the Blogger platform for Page One of this site since 2006. I started this Page Two in 2008.

That was so long ago, blogging was fashionable, even (arguably) hip. (I realize, of course, that this time is long past; this is why I am so careful to call what you are looking at a "site" instead of a "blog." It sounds more current that way. At least to me....)

Anyway, in that time, between these two sites, I've put up over 4,400 articles (I like to think that 'articles' sounds more contemporary than 'posts'). Some have been better than others, obviously; I even won an award (in 2012) from the Chicago Bar Association for one post. I mean, article. I got an honorable mention from the CBA in 2014, too.

(It wasn't too many years after this that the CBA stopped giving out Kogan Awards. I deny any responsibility for this.)

Along the way, I've attracted some modest trappings of success. For awhile, I even had some of my own trolls. But I try not to be overly controversial in what I publish, and the trolls eventually lost interest.

In other words, I'm boring.

Which is why I was shocked, a couple of weeks ago, to receive a notice from Blogger that one of my articles on this site, a piece from 2010, was in violation of Blogger's Community Standards.

The article was entitled, "Up all night with a sick computer." If you are brave enough to click on that link now you will find the article shielded by the Internet-equivalent of a brown paper wrapper. Judging by the recorded page clicks, only about 250 individuals were potentially contaminated by this content in the 13 years before this label was slapped on.

If you do read the article, which recounts my experience battling a Trojan Horse virus encountered while innocently browsing the Internet, you may find it overlong, self-indulgent, or not nearly as helpful or amusing as I thought it was at the time I pressed the "publish" button. But while I understand that some people don't like The Quiet Man in particular or John Wayne generally, I don't see how the article could conceivably be seen as violating any reasonable set of community values.

My best, non-expert guess is that, after all these years, a passing AI "spider" picked up on the scary website names (the ones that the Trojan Horse virus caused to pop up on my computer screen that night) (not linked, obviously) and leapt to the wholly unwarranted conclusion that I was offering links to pornographic websites.

After receiving the message, I clicked around ineffectually, trying to find some human who could look at the article and remove the 'brown paper wrapper.'

Blogger does not have much in the way of in-person customer service, and understandably so: Who would want to field calls all day from old ladies unable to post their latest kitten-playing-with-yarn videos... or from old lawyers grousing about inappropriate warnings being slapped on essentially innocuous content?

But I have noticed that whatever I did that first day has so far brought no response from the folks at Blogger. The 'brown paper wrapper' is still on that 2010 post.

I looked over the post again today and noted there was a button that could be pressed seeking review. I pressed. Then I wrote this.

Neither tactic may succeed in getting the label removed. But at least I've tried my best.