Bill Kurtis and Walter Jacobson always had a place at our dinner table back when I was growing up. No dinner was complete without some sort of red meat on our plates and Channel 2 News in the background. One evening, my brother and I were fascinated to hear Bill & Walter's story about some Chicago city workers who were on strike. We questioned my Dad about what a strike was and why people would do it. Before my Dad could finish explaining, I could see the wheels turning in my brother's head. After dinner that night, my brother suggested that he and I should also go on strike. No more taking the garbage out, no more mowing the lawn, no more chores until we received a raise in our allowance, he argued. So, I followed the orders of my newly-anointed Union boss, made paper signs, and "picketed" at the end of our driveway. Once my Dad caught wind of what we were doing, he gave us an ultimatum: "If you're on strike, then you can't go to the White Sox game with our Grandpa." We soon learned that White Sox pitchers weren't the only people who couldn't throw a good strike.
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