Dec. 21 is the winter solstice. It’s also the birthday of my childhood friend, Ed Wackrow. Ed and I have been friends since we were 7. We always made a big deal about Ed’s birthday. It was the kickoff to our Christmas celebration.
This year is different. Ed passed away on Sept. 28 just short of his 70th birthday. I’ve never lost a close childhood friend like Ed. It was always the three of us hanging out together: Ed, Bob Cullen and me.
We became friends because we lived along the “Great Shortcut” to Longfellow Park in Oak Park. We played year-round sports at the park. Ed was a gentle soul but he could be a fierce competitor. He was especially competitive at basketball, which we played on Ken Trainor’s alley hoop.
We also hung out in Ed’s basement because he had a pool table. The walls were decorated with psychedelic Beatles posters. They were hung there by Ed’s older brother, Jerry, who was our music influencer.
We spent hours listening to Jerry’s collection of 8-Tracks and albums. I heard Abbey Road for the first time. Ed was a music lover his whole life. Music was a bond but we shared so many others. The three of us were such good friends, we even enjoyed doing boring stuff together.
Ed and I attended Ascension School but drifted apart when we went to different high schools. Ed attended Quigley North. He was popular with his classmates and played on the baseball team. He went on to earn a degree in psychology from Quincy College.
Quincy was one of the towns Ed and I visited during our road trips. I used to bring him along for companionship on my out-of-town private investigator trips. He was my navigator, studying road maps to find our way.
Ed also started our annual pilgrimage to White Pines State Park. For years, our family drove to White Pines to hike the trails. We stopped at the Black Hawk statue on the way. On the way home, we bought pumpkins and apple cider.
Ed often came with us. He also traveled with us on vacation. My wife would be stuck in the backseat with young kids, while Ed rode shotgun. I explained that he needed the room because he had long legs. He was a shy person who rose to the occasion when necessary.
When he called the house, he always engaged my kids in conversation. It was a conversational tightrope, especially when they were teens. My kids called him “Eddie Spaghetti.” He was like an uncle to them. He was like a brother to me and Bob, who called him our “leisure consultant” because he was always available for fun. Ed tape-recorded all the major sporting events. We watched MJ and the Bulls on a nightly basis.
The highlight of our hanging out, though, was on Christmas Eve.
Ed would still be shopping for bargains on Dec. 24. Then we would head to Ascension Church for Midnight Mass. After mass ended at 2 a.m., we went to Bob’s to exchange gifts. Ed was a generous gift-giver. He once gave me two tickets to Frank Sinatra’s final Chicago concert. I still have them in my wallet.
During this time, Ed worked at the NAMI Drop-in Center on Oak Park Avenue. His mom, Marie, had founded the center, after Jerry was diagnosed with schizophrenia. Ed hosted barbeques, took groups on outings and was a wonderful listener.
I miss Ed very much but we’re still going to celebrate his birthday. It’s the least we can do for the tallest of our triad, who was born on the shortest day of the year.
