Snoopypuss Mysteries

Cross My Heart

by Georgann Prochaska

Our family understood loyalty and secrets. Living in Tinley Park when it was a small town, we shopped at chosen stores where we knew owners and they greeted us by name. 

Milk was delivered to our house as was bread.  The bakery truck came every few days, and if we kids were good, Grandma bought a package of strawberry, chocolate, vanilla cupcakes.  My mother and I shopped for food at Vogt’s across from the train station or to Wesolowski’s on 179th and Oak Park Avenue.  Down from the train station was the meat locker where my dad bought meat.

For picnics, my dad ordered ice from the Tinley Park Ice Company.  He picked up a big block slab of ice to bring home and chip with an ice pick.  If we went with him on hot summer days, the ice man nicked off shards for our small hands to hold, tongues to lick.

About the time I entered first grade, the National Tea Company opened and deliveries changed.  No more bread delivery.  Instead, Klepper’s Bakery allowed my dad to buy warm bread before the store officially opened in the morning just as the bread came out of the oven.  At home we tore the bread apart to slather with butter because slicing compressed it back into dough. For special occasions he bought canasta cake (a square-shaped, deep chocolate cake with thick fudgy frosting).

We banked at the Bremen State Bank. Family was buried from Hirsch Funeral Home.  We shopped at Bettenhausen Hardware Store, cars serviced at Devlin’s Service Station, and we ate special dinners at Jardine’s smorgasbord.  Pizza was Venuso’s, fried chicken at Try’s. (Miles Trylovich was in my class at school).  My mother and I went to Vi’s House of Beauty.  The Tinley Park laundromat washed our clothes, and Lou’s was our cleaners.  Ben Franklin sold us supplies for school.  One place we kids were told to avoid was Funk’s Tavern.

One day my parents, aunts, and grandmother went somewhere.  My cousin Bobby and I were left with our grandfather who was not in the mood to prepare lunch for us.  He warned us to behave and marched us into town.  The destination:  Funk’s Tavern.  “You’ll not be telling your grandmother or parents about this,” Grandpa said.

Upon entering, men in the dark tavern greeted my grandfather by name.  I marveled that they knew him.  The room smelled of cigarettes with a whisper of alcohol.  There were rules in our family about smoking and drinking.  Grandpa could, the rest of us not.  Bobby and I knew Grandpa smoked and even drank beer if he cut grass on a hot day.  Whiskey for celebrations was also allowed by my Grandmother. 

“This is our secret,” said my grandfather putting his finger to his lips.

I was well versed in the art of secret-keeping, and here was my grandfather trusting me with a secret.  I also knew of the lecture on the evil of drink my grandmother would give all of us if she learned of our adventure.  I crossed my heart and hoped to die, never revealing lunch with Grandpa at the tavern – until now.