Really, they shouldn't have given Obama the Nobel Prize
"Oh no."
It slipped out as I gazed upon the news -- Barack Obama has won the Nobel Peace Prize.
A strange reaction, since I like the guy, generally, voted for him, think he's doing an OK job in the face of strong, sometimes crazy opposition.
But I'm not a foaming devotee, not the false stereotype those who hate him like to conjure up to give themselves something to sneer at. Obama's too political for my liking, too cautious, deferential to his party, timid on gay rights.
But he's trying, and his job just got harder with this goofy prize. Not just because the Nobel Peace Prize will churn up his foes like piranhas in bloody water. Anything involving him sets them off.
But here they have a point -- the Nobel Peace Prize is tainted fruit. The Swedes give out the real Nobels -- in chemistry, in physics. The Peace Prize is given out by the Norwegians, and they are famous for doing a botch job. Three names: Henry Kissinger, Yasser Arafat, Jimmy Carter.
Which leads to the obvious question: "Where has Obama brought peace in nine months in office?" The award cites "his extraordinary efforts to strengthen international diplomacy and cooperation between peoples." That speech in Cairo? A masterful job, but worth the Nobel Peace Prize?
If he's indeed going to eventually accomplish something in the area of peace -- and I hope he might -- then they should have saved it. What happens if he actually brokers peace between the Israelis and the Palestinians? Will they give him the Mega Nobel Peace Prize? Nobody wants an honor they didn't deserve, and I would think that being elected president of the United States is honor aplenty for one year. This is just premature, at best, and weird at worst.
Remember, the Olympics aren't the only sporting event in the world.
For instance, at 7:30 a.m. Sunday, some 45,000 lunati . . . whoops, runners, will take off in the Bank of America Chicago Marathon, one of the top marathons in the world.
As happy fate decreed, I found myself having lunch at RL last week with my old pal, Lee Flaherty, founder of Flair Communications, who takes pride in having cooked up the idea of the Chicago Marathon.
"I not only founded it, but I underwrote it for the first two years," he said.
Now, I know some claim the history of the marathon is more complicated than that. But Lee's been my pal for decades, and if he says he created the marathon himself, battling a myopic City Hall and skating around uncooperative corporate honchos, then that's what happened.
Flaherty had three goals in starting the marathon -- he wanted to top New York and make it the biggest and best marathon in the world; he wanted to project a positive image of the city, and he wanted the whole thing to benefit charity.
Done, done and done -- and that last point needs to be emphasized for those who view the marathon merely as a traffic inconvenience: runners this year will again raise some $10 million for good causes.
"The goal isn't to live forever," said Flaherty, "the goal is to create something that will."
Mike Royko lived in Winnetka. I say this, not to diminish the memory of the "personification of Chicago," but to remind you the city's impact does not stop at its borders.
People often pretend otherwise. Whenever I make a point about Chicago that stings, someone invariably mentions that I live in Northbrook. So what? I'm closer to State and Madison than some parts of our far-flung city, and frankly, it takes a little more Chicago spine to be a suburbanite, because you don't have the automatic bragging rights that come with sleeping in a doorway on Division Street.
You have to stand up for yourself. When I wrote that there were no good Jewish delis in Chicago, the owner of Max & Benny's said, "Hey, wait a second!"
He suggested I visit. Unnecessary, since Max & Benny's is in Northbrook. I have been there many times, yet didn't think of it, falling victim to the bias myself. So I went again.
"Everything is homemade," said Lester Schlan, as we slid into a booth.
Frankly, I only had one question when it came to authenticity -- who are Max and Benny?
"Max and Benny are my two sons," said Schlan, pointing out their silhouettes on the menu.
That's important -- nothing screams falsity more than finding out Hymie Herskovitz was concocted at Leo Burnett. The second test is, do they make their own stuff? We toured the kitchen. Soup prepared from scratch, rolls baked twice a day.
"If I don't give bread, they'll skin me alive here," said Schlan.
In the back room, I met Benny, 25, the son who invented the Barack Obama cookie, a big seller.
"I did Obama as a sample, to show off a recognizable face," he explained.
And Max? Max was the son most interested in the business. But a joint venture soured; he became disenchanted and went to law school.
"We're happy for him," said his father, a phrase that felt like it carried a lot of baggage. Well, there's still hope. Law has a way of chewing you up and spitting you out. There are lots of lawyers, but very few men who are able to make corned beef that, I can vouch from personal experience, is excellent.